Been and gone, and I've shut down.
I have good friends. They deserve better.
My "real" friends, are people I can be around without wanting to claw my skin off. These are not always the people they perhaps should be, and often aren't the people they think they are.
I could say that there are other criteria, but in truth, anyone's fascinating if you aren't spending your time not punching them in the face.
It's a chemistry, like romance but different, and it's either there or it isn't. I've tried to build it, and it always ends the same.
There are other people I call friends (and do try hard to treat as such), with whom I have some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement with. Work colleagues, if you will, except that I have no work.
I go through phases... I mostly just want to be left alone, so I don't have to do the exhausting endless social dancing. But alone is so lonely, and I'll throw myself anywhere, everywhere, looking for contact. Touch you could say.
Bipolar. Juxtaposed. Binary, always always.
I am so tired of my mother, and I feel so guilty for it. Especially with how much she's helping me. I feel like an emotional whore, being a friend for groceries and the occasional bill pay. But what can I do? And I suppose it's a mostly mutually beneficial arrangement...
Everyone thinks I'm fascinating until they actually have to deal with me.
I'm goddamned emotional crack. And I'm livid.
And hurt.
Yes, I know what my romantic life looks like.
I know why it is, and why I'm mostly angry at myself.
(I cannot be angry at a sociopath for not caring what I feel)
((PPS. "You may be pleasantly surprise to know that karma has kicked me square in the balls; Immediately after 'chemistry' turned into 'feelings', Kim got a job in Montreal and moved there three days later." What the hell am I supposed to do with that little piece of information, you little shit?!))
But I don't know how to not be who I am.
And hearing it hits the same nerve that disintegrates when "whore" is thrown at me.
I want the kids without the husband.
I want a partner who can tolerate me.
I want to stop falling in love with fucking americans.
(((I am not at all sure I want to meet Michael)))
I have no thoughts. Nothing new.
Maybe I'm just done with words. Maybe I should buy a paint set or something instead.
I could trace out the sunrise with my fingers. I think that'd be proper.
Maybe I'm finally starting to see, with my eyes. It would be an interesting adventure.
(Maybe that is my current fascination with sexual bloodletting. To cut a line I can feel, to leave coloured wet fingertrails on velvet white skin.)
((Or maybe I'm just bored))
But I think I'm just stagnant.
I hope, I hope, I make it across the border.
I need this vacation. I need to breathe fresh air, fresh people, fresh steps.
Wanderlust. Run, for running, not to get away like people assume.
Like I sometimes assume.
I can't sleep.
But the dawn was heartachingly beautiful with the crows and the still weak but brave sunlight. |
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so that's a plus.
