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Good for you.

The updates, the pictures...they don't bother me. I don't even recognize you anymore.

You were always just a stranger reading from a script. Always in it for the drama. For the stage.

When you realize you've gone blind from finding headlines in headlights, don't look for me. 

Flight Risk

Sometimes I think I could fall in love with just about anyone.
Most of the time, I'm glad it's you.
What the fuck was this day?

God bless this old scarlet letter. Bless it then fuck it til it dies. Like some baby seal. I'll fall asleep and pretend the movement is just the ocean. Pretend the pain is just a dream...

What the FUCK was this day?

Anniversary ER Trip

For grown ups, we probably need a little more supervision than we're willing to admit.
Or else we let too many things go unattended.
And I think that's how she ended up in the ER tonight.
Doing too much and too little at the same time.

I hate this day.
It's Dan's stupid birthday and my stupid wedding anniversary.
I'd like nothing more than to be sad. And bitter. And angry.
But the current state of my life - of this reality - is more urgent than the past. And futures have a way of becoming themselves too quickly - feeding off these kinds of presents. (That's why you had to go.)

I don't really have a lot more to say. My brain is full of warring gay men in hospital waiting rooms (I just typed wedding, not waiting, fuck you, Freud) and the love I have for the righteous anger in my beloved's voice upon his retelling of those events... Some vicarious interpretation of a battle that was never even really fought seriously in my own wedding/waiting room/bed/life...

Anyway, I'm sorry Philadelphia's clocks were broken earlier. Fifteen minutes seems like not such a long time to stay open... If that shit continues, I will come down there and correct your luck. Thanks for your face and the Holiday Inn. Please don't fall in love without me.


So I've been feeling decent about myself the last - what's it been - three days now? I've felt good about myself in general - including my appearance.

Then today, around 3, my grandmother called me. My Nana - my life's good pointing compass. She called to see if I knew anyone who would like a tray of homemade cookies/7layer bars/fudge. And I thought she was having a baking party with herself and smiled and loved her.

But no. She was asking if anyone ELSE besides me wanted a tray of sweets because she made my brother 7 layer bars and my sister peanut butter rice krispie treats and she felt bad not making me a tray but she didn't want to make ME a tray because I'm fat. So she was seeing if there was someone who maybe did me a favor or helped me move or whatever who would like my tray.

And no, I'm not looking at it wrong. She said she could tell my mom not to even put "my" tray out tomorrow at the picnic if I thought it'd be too hard for me to not eat it. And there will be healthy things for me to eat there - there's no reason to have one more temptation for me. Her words.

My interpretation is something like there'll be a shit ton of home made chocolate but since you can't help yourself from shoving it down your fat fucking neck, at least TRY to eat something healthy, okay, dear? Please? Lose some fucking weight so you have a chance a decent man sometime soon so I can have ONE fucking grandchild before I die? I'm eighty fucking eight...

If my grandmother ever says fuck ever I will pass out. But you get it. Fucking great. If this is seriously what the person I care most about in life thinks of me I am truly and sincerely FUHCKED as far as the rest of the population goes.

Hooray for Memorial Day... Let me not eat a single goddamned thing while I hug my skinny sister and my skinny brother and watch my skinny mom drink her skinny goddamned wine.

And the fucking sickest part is that I wore a dress to work today to try and balance the fucking crazy out! Feel terrible looking? Wear a dress. Great fucking plan.

I'm certain this is only the easiest thing to vent about. I'm actually upset about May 31 and the way it's nothing this year. Because I failed so gloriously at staying married to a man that these fuckers didn't even ever like. Thanks for the reminder, though, cookie cake. You too, six hour away sister who has three words for me all fucking day. Stupid traditions. Stupid fucking wedding in the first place. Fucking puke storm of awful.

I've out used the word fuck. I'm done pretending the things that aren't wrong with me are wrong just because my family is mean.  I have a building full of people who disagree. So I should stop rage sobbing. Because it's hard to sleep when you're hyperventilating.

(Enter the man of my dreams. Hope is such a slut! Just about ready to fall asleep crying when "You and Me. Any day." Fuck you for making me smile when I'm too pissed to breathe. Good luck playing this one loose, Steff. White horse and all. It's sickening.)

This probably isn't real

Okay so imagine a giant Pros and Cons list. Pros on the right, Cons on the left.
Everytime I talk to you, I'm putting up tally marks on the Right, on the right - everything you are in a box on the right.

God bless Tom most of all.

I think the moral of the story is that I'm selfish. Just to get that out of the way.

Tonight at work, a coworker had a very severe seizure. People jumped to action the way those types of people do. And He's going to be fine.

I had and still have a lot of competing big ideas about all of that. But I'm so sick of not having a human person to hear me spill my brains, that ill just skip to the fall in action:

when shit goes down that I need help processing, I think about that song that Elton John wrote for Marilyn Monroe. And I feel like I'm living my life a little too loosely if after someone else's public and terrifying medical emergency, all I'm thinking about is how much I crave a someone to come home to and tell all of these things to instead of never knowing who to turn to when the rains set in...

This is my Self-important monster face.

The truth of course, is that I never would've "stayed strong" for no one in particular if not for Tom. He's my proof of good in the world. And he can see things in my eyes even when they're closed. Everyone deserves a Tom. I just keep wanting to be something that Tom deserves. (If you ever find this, buddy, you keep me hinged.)


Now what do we have here?

Haikus from the last three days

May 12
When you break it down
And disregard the science
Love is mostly hype


You bring the friendship
I'll bring the benefits we'll
both wake up alone

Just watched a movie
about crazy people and
cried at all the wrong scenes

I've been thinking a lot about parking lots. Airports and Hospitals get all the hype for the extremes of human emotion, and that's probably about right. Maybe parking lots are the opposite of that. Little moments of rushed anxiety or absolute rage... Transporting all the things we carry to and from the places we live or visit.  It's all very temporary. Very transient...

I've not arrived at a point or even an understanding as to why I've been wondering what cars must talk about. (Pavement, mostly, I'd imagine.) But these little out of context snapshots are just as telling as big gestures, aren't they?

It's probably an exercise in trust, somehow - seeing a man get into his car and sit and talk on the phone for ten minutes before he leaves; watching a woman smile quietly at her phone before she gets out and walks into a more immediate reality... The shame and hurried pace I take when I'm walking in with fast food. Obvious laundry days. Early morning coffee in hand - business resolve. Dressed up smiles toward a car that doesn't sleep here. The mid-parkinglot turn around forgetful swing of an arm. Laughably bad park jobs. Robotic routines. Fumbling for keys. Too many groceries in one trip. Exhausted, heavy strides up the steps...

These little windows of pre and post travel have stuck with me like weather patterns lately. I'm not sure why. I'm lonely of course. But not alone. Not with all of these people who do the same things I do.

I dunno. I get to feeling off when I'm working on some bigger truth. I'm sure this is just a symptom of my mind being otherwise occupied. I'm sure it has something to do with the concept of home. I'm just not any closer to having an answer. I think it might be hard to feel permanent about any one part of myself when everything around me is so constantly changing. It's very hard to feel still or right or whole with so much constant movement. It's a movie about fifty different puzzles being dumped into the same bag and everyday, you get to draw a piece and try to make it fit. No wonder I can't sleep.

My brain is an ant colony and it keeps raining. Constant construction. Detour. Bridge closed. Re-route. Control Alt Delete. Program not responding...