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There's this picture of Gladys Presley that haunts me. She looked like one of the most miserable people on earth. it was after Elvis had gotten famous, so it wasn't even during the poor days. I heard she and Vernon actually said they missed being poor. Interesting huh.
I'm not very confident in my writing today - if ever; however, it's the only thing I have yet again. So it goes...
The walking man is doing his laps with gloves on an a hoodie. I'll venture out later. I'm still reeling at how negative and boring I allow myself to be. How stupid to have invested so much in a relationship - and let's be real - unbeknownst to me, it was another situation ship. I mean I'm not wrong that relationships are what we are here for and that so many people seem to take theirs for granted. At the end of everyone's day, their partner is the most crucial thing. I wasn't incorrect, but I was stupid.
I wanted to take up hobbies ... together. I wanted to go to a shooting range, to an archery range, to a golf course, to all the hiking trails in Georgia. My error was in waiting for someone to do those with me. It would be so much more interesting to already have them under my belt.
My hobbies are thinking too much, reading (I mean of course I'd love to do more - that Vonnegut biography is just not that interesting besides that he loved to drink and his second marriage was a bit of a shit show), drinking, and ta da! writing drivel about my inner psyche.
Yesterday was a fucking weird one for me - dirging all my family pain and in particular the abyss betwixt me and my sis. The only hope I have is that I might get some traction with sending this shit out - maybe another human being would actually feel seen by reading my mind. It was a lot heartbreaking to have flagpole lead me on, but I'll pick myself up off the rejection floor and try try again. Hello, maybe I'll even keep writing on the mystery. I already have the murderer and the end written - just need the middle parts juiced up.
Last night I texted the man that I've been falling in love with for half a year. I was abject and begged him to see me what I fibbed and called "one last time..." It was quite the embarrassment. I remain ashamed. The only nice thing out of it was I wondered what it would be really really like to see him again. Would we be able to banter better. Could I actually be with him and not fucking fawn. Ah, it would have been such an academic puzzle.
The garbage truck is here picking up my trash. That busted up candle is in there. Bye bye.
My fear is that I'm the most boring human being on the planet and that I only come alive when I'm a particle observed. But I tell you humans, I look around at others and think I'm not. And what's so very wrong with wanting someone to share my life with. Even my drug dealing nephew in jail has a girlfriend. I'm the only one who is single.
My mom and aunt are coming next week to "cheer me up", and of course I'm fucking dreading it. I want to send them a text. "you've invited yourself, and lord knows for many reasons I can't say no, but for the love of god and all things holy please do not tell me for the millionth time things I already know: I'm too fat, I drink too much, I need to get botox, I need to get liposuction, I need to wear more makeup, I need to join a gym, I need to volunteer, I need to join a church, I need to cut my hair cute like it was last time, I need to get on the dating apps again, I need to clean my house better, I need to set up that back patio cuter, I need to find a walking buddy, I need to have things I don't have in the house, I need to improve my wardrobe, I need to write a book about my family, I need to..."
Can I just be loved for five seconds just exactly as fucked up and imperfect as I am?
Can I mourn that I loved someone and was excited like I haven't felt in decades - and I lost him because I wasn't able to just be who I am. I felt I had to perform. I had to earn it. I had to pre-purchase all the affection by... god knows. I haven't been able to even go into that room that we made ... fucked in... last. I see him everywhere in this house. I'm just trying to survive here. please don't try to fix me. I view it as such harsh criticism. I'm not able to see the love you say it is.
I texted my mom last night some piece of writing that I had done about her leaving and watching her car and wanting to be loved even though I'm not anything spectacular. I put her response into the robot and got validation that she really doesn't get me.
Elvis really loved his mom. I guess.
The prism is spitting out those rainbows like mad.
And I was thinking about AF, avoidant attachment and narcissism are very similar. I think I still believe he's ... well I don't know. All I recall is that I remember our first married fight going "I'm realizing you have this wall, and I thought I was in, but I'm not. I want in or it's not going to be fun for me."
I never got in. I'm not very great at walls.
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