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well, today is the day. Hello 1st person narrator. It's the birthday of the ex mother-in-law who made me cry with her neurotic relatability and easy vibe, and the birthday of the man I used to divorce me from her son. You know how first birthdays are always hard in a relationship? well, I didn't have to worry my crazy little head about such a thing. it's easy to recall when I transgressed - it was the last day of winter. I remember thinking how dramatic it was that year, the pollen actually popping out on the first day of spring. Of course, I related it all to magic. By the grace of Mark, I didn't have a job and had much much time to be a crazy fuck-up. You remember though, I was extra crazy with a cherry on top because I believed it was all destiny or some shit. In reality, I'm sure it was just...tawdry cliche. If I could have compassion for her, I would sob that she never meant to ... she had thought if she had feelings for someone not her spouse, then those feelings had to be honored and what she had for her spouse was by the very fact of her having these feelings - void. It twas twisty also because she felt a deep soul connection to spouse #1 and thought there would be no relationship ever if she had to hide anything. She had thought that he had to know because he had the right to her brain. fucking insane. If only she had been discreet. If only she had let it die. But, she was blatant. She was in full on crazy mode. Her ex-mother-in-law had studied her disease a bit and said that it manifested when the structure upon which the crazy rested their life was ruptured.
oh god... remembering the fear of leaving Wilmington. it was like mourning a deathbed victim. and years later, she encountered this man whose birthday she had tattooed on her tramp stamp to always remind her that she was... this was before the tramp stamp. This was when she came back to restart her life on 7/7/07 - or die trying. She was staying with a Demi-goddess of the scene who had brokered a meeting with said man. She had asked "do you love her" and he said yes. The weirdest part was that it was dead to her. She remembered trying to poke the stick in the lain horse by going to his bedsit. It had been a contrast - an awful room and the thing she noticed the most was that there were no bed sheets on the mattress among the filth. She - fucking hypocrite that she was - or was it being vampire honest - "there's no blood to suck from you because you don't have anything - you don't even love yourself." They did cocaine with the town stars. Once again, she realized that her brain just did not enjoy the columbian star dust - yet, she tried several times to go with the sniff. She was lost like a llama. So, after decimating her fragile reputation and numerous friendships, she left the town with a new crush. She decided to wrap a fantasy around some fresher carcass. That blew up also, yet she'll tell you something. Both of those - including the future tv star - all of those men - she had had that "magical day" with that tripped her the fuck out. How could you have magical days and then ... thud turd. That's a great name for a shitty band.
So, whether it was a penance or a controlling fear, she was once again in exile of a different set of walls. She had remembered the magical day of the last one she had ever "loved" - it was in Atlanta and they stayed at the place where the hotel restaurant revolved. She burned her hand with the cigarettes she had started smoking with magical bullshit bro #1 and said on the balcony "this is to remind myself to never love again". It was much fainter, but the scar still existed. What bad drama.
The loneliness she feels is better than being with the douchebag that she now realized #2 soused spouse was. As she had another toss and turn night, she did a sleep-bringing exercise (wow, I would love to psychologically dissect why I 2nd person-ed) that involved thinking of Andrew and trying to remember one happy time of connection - just one. He had defied all - every single one - of the "rules" she had lived by before - no magic, shitty first kiss, absolutely boring as shit to talk to, father of kids, dull. She thought stupidly that by reversing her bad streak, she would get a winning streak. In retrospect, she was acting every day. Perhaps that's why she got through the marriage by drinking/eating/smoking week like a fiendish dumbass. She used the poor dude. She SHOULD have been brave and gone with her first instinct after their first date "I'll never see that dude again", but there had been another instinct she had had that was a bit stronger. When she found out his last name, she instantly thought "Oh, I'll have that." And she did. It pleased her to remove her father's mark on her; however, what a mother-fucking price toupee. He was indeed balding and had tried rogaine, and she was convinced that why he had such magnetic limerence towards her was because she coincided with his first taking of Cialis as opposed to the formerly-used viagra. She knew it was all in his head though. He had performance anxiety. She understood. It was sad to realize that although he was the first consensual man to give her an orgasm that the reason she could orgasm was corroborated by his doing it. Because it was the second time, the common factor was that she wasn't really there and didn't really care. She too had performance anxiety. She was famous in the sack for saying "don't worry. I don't orgasm to sex, but I really really like it."
What she really was was a vampiric whore. She used all of them to take - to try to take - away the daddy scar. It was embarrassing that finding out what he did to her sister made her pop into mania again (structures broken for fucking sure). It was always embarrassing that she couldn't compartmentalize. She loved tripping and riffing and filtering what she felt to everyone. In many ways, she probably could have been an artist - there just wasn't the right blood sucking.
The real answer was she was a coward. She screamed it at all of her fathers - screamed it. She hated cowards. Duh, she hated herself.
So, the tattoo remains and today is its day. yawn. An ant crawls on her window, and she's headed to virtual work. Magic was last seen during the first mushroom trip. she's told you this several times but that feeling of "this is all in my head. I'm doing this."
She had wanted the letters to be red, but the tattoo artist pushed back saying it would fade too soon. If only she had been brave enough to stand her ground. Fading would be good.
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