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I feel the need to slap a disclaimer on this one. it's gonna be pure diary - no art.
I miss wilmington because it seems like perhaps the only place where I feel - here's that word again - safe.
and why do I feel safe there?
because I know I was loved.
because I have memories and ghosts of being loved - even loving myself - everywhere. and my mean self immediately punches me, "probably because you were stoned", but children I was stoned in California much much more consistently. imagine having a store where the only substance on earth - besides ecstasy - that you have found turns off the chorus of negative creeps - and you can go in with an id and buy your self medication.
it was something.
I grew to be excited that I would be leaving it for dry Georgia. If only so I could try to be normal as the temptation would be erased.
and it's not like I smoke the doobie and bliss reigns supreme. I always get little paranoias - like I can feel this weird pain in my neck and sometimes it overwhelms me with I'm crazy and will never come back - but I can always get through that - especially now that I'm so old and experienced.
I digress all the time.
it charms me when I'm meta cognating.
let's be real. I love me. I'm fascinated with me.
and I'm so very alone.
and I think of you - who I write to - I can't accept that it's purely me because that would be so mother fucking claustrophobic. I have to - I have to - I have to - imagine that there's someone who would read me and think "WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!!!!" at least. I'll admit to you it makes me weep (such a better word than cry) to conceive of it and also weep to feel I may die erased, unknown, scorned as some intense too much nutter.
the Kent and Wendy thing puzzled me so much. it always interests me to imagine what it would be like in a relationship where the person pays attention to you. marriage number two was a relationship with an eleven year old in a fifty-nine year old body. and I won't say I'm such a mature lass, but I will say that if I love you, my focus is laser (if only to ensure I see the punch before it's thrown). so to hear them both separately bitch about the marriage and the other one and then to witness how delusional they are "dipshits, you love each other and are a match - you just communicate in fucking ruts - I mean so many many people do. snap out of it and talk different." it floored me when Wendy said, "it's so nice to have you here. I wish you could live with us and help us get along better." when all I did was say "he just apologized to you and you talked over it." or "for the fifth time, we smoke pot the same way you take a drink - sometimes that ninth glass is a mistake but you always want to continue the reprieve." and then "she doesn't want to be the bad guy but she wants to come home from work and not have to entertain and can't wait for it to naturally occur, and it sucks that you get to go 'oh I don't mind.' when you could go 'it's her house too. I respect her boundary.'"
and I'm hardly a fool. I can see how that would get old fucking fast. but it was a kind compliment I guess.
it reminded me of when Kent asked me to move in to help his son. I was like in my head, "dude I don't have a handle on it yet. I still seek oblivion way too much."
I'll have to look up the definition of oblivion soon.
and the fat bumblebees are still doing their thing. I'm so grateful we haven't poisoned them.
the only way I can see myself happy is if I had fuck you money. I don't see how that will ever happen. I don't even check lottery tickets after I buy them.
and you noel.
god I'm sick of mourning what I thought you were.
but like I have a choice. the best I can do is just do it like I diet: every day is less that I would have consumed if I hadn't been trying for a goal.
my goal. my gaol my jail.
believing that you were someone.
believing that I could feel safe with you and give a fuck about what we hung on the wall in our home while our pets circled our feet contentedly.
that you would have moments where you loved me
that I would see it
that we would use "we" for things like "we love that show."
that we would be alone but never alone.
but I chased you
like I do.
did you know I enjoy both - the chase and to be chased.
I write about you all the time because it's a cognitive blank for me - I can guess so much - I can guess that I'm correct: it got too much and you were relieved I broke apart.
I like to think you regret it. it makes me bitterly smile and subtly snort to imagine, but fuck it - I do. but more accurately, I think you don't even think of me except maybe when a code word like macon or wilmington or ... I guess we have nothing else. well, maybe Pina coladas and 'space cowboy' might remind you of me. fuck me. fuck me for fucking hoping.
but I loved what I thought you were. and nothing really cures the ache. the most I can hope for is I just get more used to it.
wah wah
It's weird. I walk by the yard and I got lazy and only cut the lower two thirds of the hill - but the upper third just looks fuzzy not crazy overgrown violation. hmmm.
and the cats.
I love cats. I used to be crazy allergic to them, but got over it being exposed to an orange kitten in Athens. they were magic to me a bit. one helped me when my dad died inside his body.
but six.
and I didn't choose them.
and they're not attractive to me (well maybe three kind of are).
it makes me wonder. what do I love? if I loved them objectively so much, why do I say to someone like Fred, "I mean it sounds horrible, but they just aren't what I would have chosen. I had no idea how shallow I was - I want works of art - I want something that I think is beautiful. I went to two animal shelters before I found my first cat. do you know how hard it is to say 'none of these' to cloying souls? but I did. so now I'm stuck with something I didn't ask for and don't really want, but I love them. I want them to feel wanted and to be content, but it's at the sacrifice of my own ... desires."
and maybe I'm evil, but the worst part is the obligation, the mornings, and who the fuck is going to go "six cats? no problem, rent is due by the fifth each month" - and they can't even all live inside. and I talk about it all the time and never do anything. I feel stuck. and guilty. all their little needs and being unable to not fulfill them. and all for orangie to softly cuddle me and take a bath on my lap.
and fred? what a letdown. a tiny glimmer of something fun and it was just window shopping empty. (or I could have loaded it up with a referendum on my self worth and drowned again).
and sure I suppose, who would really choose me - knowing me like I know me.
fucking ouch.
it's fucking ridiculous to believe that. I can't do it.
very very very very very few would choose me - knowing me. (and why so very few? perhaps because I poke hard)
but not
nobody
knot
your ore.
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