Sigh Bye

*sigh*

Tomorrow's my B-day. My last year of twenty-something-hood. Not doin' anything. Might go to Yoga in the morning. Maybe I'll try and get work done or get my apartment "show ready". Or maybe I'll take a long bath or just sit around with my thumb up my ass.

I got a tattoo. Ohm.

I got laid. Oh my.

I got nothin'.

Still wounded...still questioning...still wondering...

I have got to got to got to got to let go of the fantasy because it ain't ain't ain't ain't ain't gonna' happen.

Weeds was good last night. Weeds is always good. Good fucking show.

See? See how lame I'm feeling right now? I'm commenting on fucking TV SHOWS! Good lord. (It was only becuase I just saw my banana peel from this morning. I will never look at a banana peel the same way. Wish I could try that out...)

Bye.

3, 2, 1...Done.

This is it, man. I am DONE. Three days ago I gave the universe three days...three days to fuck with me. Three more days to ream me up the ass. Three more days where I would respond only with a "Thank you, Sir. May I please have another?"

And now I'm done.

Got it? The universe, the universe is no longer allowed to screw around. I've been dealing with friends' meltdowns, family's health, family's death, family's feud, my heartache, my health, my career, my parents' marriage falling to shit... The hits just keep on coming. I'm so fucking tired. I don't sleep. I finally started eating again.

It's like having a bad cold. You know how when you have a cold, your throat hurts worse in the morning and worse at night, but during the middle of the day you feel kind of okay? It's like that. During the day, I'm coping pretty well. I even have fun sometimes! There are actually instances of laughter. But early in the morning, and GOD especially late at night, it's bad. Bad bad bad. I've never been one to cry myself to sleep, but fuck if I'm not crying myself to sleep. Well, that's kind of a poor description. I sob in bed until I get aaaaall tuckered out. Then I pass the fuck out.

Aren't I fun? Aren't I cute? Don't you want to hang out with this? Fucking hell.

Hey, I think I might be tapping into some anger here. That's a good thing. I could use that power.

Humpty Dumpty Sat On A Wall

Alright then.

Well, not alright then. But, yeah. Alright then.

I feel obligated to write something a little less...morose. I've been told morose doesn't suit me. I beg to differ. Bitch never saw me all gothed up. Gothed out. Gothy. Gosh.

I need to rebuild my candy-coated shell. I keep thinking of myself as a giant M&M. Seriously. This is the way my mind works. I'm a red one, thanks for asking.

Remember smit shit? Yeah. But beyond smit. And beyond shit.

I've been assured, though, that it is only by touching and accessing and experiencing those primal wounds am I accomplishing the growth and "fixing" I've been wailing about. Primal doesn't begin to encompass the feeling. My reptilian brain is seared. My organs got electrocuted and burnt to a crisp. I felt an ache all the way through to my spinal fluids. Strangely enough, although my logical mind disagrees, it wasn't an overreaction. It's the first reaction. It's the only reaction. It's the reaction I've been fighting against for years. Possibly for ever. Clyde says humans aren't cut out for this. I don't disagree...but without it, what is there?

Here's an interesting thing: Even while still holding the belief of no other and the fantasy of future, my eye is roving like a starving prostitute.

Hey, Joie? Thanks for "fat girl brain in a skinny girl body". Like so many of your sayings/songs/truths...it keeps running on a loop through my thoughts. And it actually helps.

Ladies of my life...you've been amazing. Thank you thank you. I know you're taking care of me. I'm not used to being the one that gets taken care of. It's hard to reconcile myself with myself. I know some of you have seen my weaknesses (Lisa you know them intimately) but ever since I first grew my ice castles, I like to think I'm hard as nails.

But so many of you have seen my squishiness lately. Maybe it's time to completely discard that persona, huh? Fucking hell. I liked the badass. I liked the hard crusty bitch. She served, she served. But when I'm being scraped off the sidewalk at Sidewalk I guess I can't maintain that any more. Once again a new shape.

Hmm. Perhaps not any less morose I think. But possibly less deadly.

An Update For People In the Know

I don't know.

It's painful and weird and strange and fucked up and odd right now.

I care about you too much? I don't have it in me to be responsible? I should be spending my time with someone I hate?

I've never encountered this sort of thing outside a soap opera before.

Drama drama drama.

And I REALLY don't want to talk about it so this post is in lieu of conversation, k?

If You Can't Handle Raw Thoughts Don't Fucking Read This

I can't connect my heart with my pussy.

It's already happening again! When the hanky panky first started, my body responded as it should (could would) but now that my spirit is getting involved, my tingles shut down and my juices stop flowing.

Shy? Scared? Self Conscious? Or just Conscious?

My therapist found it interesting when I said many weeks ago that I wanted to work on "sexuality" and "dating". He thought it was odd that I would separate the two as if they were not connected. But the thing is, for me they're not connected and never have been. I've only had great sex with guys I've never dated. And when I've been with someone...let's just say the sex life was never the draw.

So yeah they're separate. I don't want them to be. Some of what attracts me to someone in the first place is the chemistry. But then, I don't know, it dies. It dies! It goes to sleep and hides away and dries up and vanishes and pisses me off and pisses them off and causes anxiety and frustration and rejection and pain. This isn't what I want.

How do I keep the two connected? I think I need to attain an even greater level of authenticity. (Possible?) I feel like I keep evolving. Mutant authentic. Maybe one day I'll be see-through.

Unknown

The other uncle has cancer. Now it's in his lungs too. Monkey see monkey do.

Pops sees trains in the canal and my dad in the next room. Dementia and hallucinations and senility oh my.

Pops can't walk. Pops can't see. Pops can't be Pops.

Grandma's out of her fucking mind.

Man doesn't call when he says he will. I don't like that.

I stole my friend's one free night.

Haven't slept in days. Days and days and days.

I can't think.

But I'm a Likeable Lickable Loony

Even after being a total nutjob weirdo hormonal wacko sleep-deprived dingbat anxious goofball retarded freak!

He like likes me.

(Insert girlish "tee hee" here.)

Goofily grinning.