vendredi, janvier 14


So there's a comment two posts down that might be the best ever.
Can't really take it to heart, though, because a girl's gotta have hobbies and mind is self-immolation for your entertainment.

After Wednesday's epic shitty day I asked the couch surfer if he'd please spend some time with me yesterday. He's not nice and not cute but somehow he makes my head be still. He said he would, and when I got home from work he was here, but on his way out. "We'll hang out," he said, "but it'll be sandwiched between me doing something now and doing something later. I'm running myself ragged."

I told him to not wear himself out on my behalf and headed down the road to have dinner with a friend. When I got home I sent him a text... basically said that it'd be cool if he was here. Hours later he responded saying he was in the burbs and too drunk to drive. He's even giving up the pretense of wanting to hang out with me, which is fine, but it'd be cool if he quit using me as a place to crash at the same time. If I'd wanted to live with someone platonically I would have stayed married for pete's sake.

mercredi, janvier 12

Like water for

So I was bitten by a cute, dreadlocked circus performer last night. Three times, actually - once on the arm and twice on the neck. I can't remember how it happened, exactly. I do know that she was introduced to me by a (smokin hot) acrobat as his girlfriend. He then introduced her boyfriend, and his date. I commented that the situation seemed complicated. He said "Fuck no. *Monogamy* is complicated", and then proceeded to pet me all night long.


I was, however, in the company of a friend, so did not go home with said acrobat or his multitude of female companions. I would be SO ok, however, if he were to find a way to find me, as we do have certain people in common.

Damn. The things we do for love.

And when I say love I mean, of course, the verb, because I've abandoned hope (all ye who enter here) of the noun.

My couchsurfer (the one who is fucking with my head) told me he loved me. I have only seen him for a few minutes here and there since that moment. This could be construed as partially my fault because I opted to spend my evening last night with circus performers and other interesting characters but, let's not kid, I didn't expect him to actually spend any time at my house yesterday. Or at all. 'Cause, you know, tonight I'm home and he's told me he's probably not coming back this evening.

Which, by the way, makes me feel like crap, even though I'm pretending really hard that it doesn't. Except for bawling my eyes out the whole way home from my walk, of course, but I was wearing sunglasses so who cares?

samedi, janvier 8

A choir of furies in your head

I quit taking the lexapro after one month because it's $100/ bottle and who the fuck can afford that when there are things like wine and shoes to buy? Things are blacker than black, though, and I can't get out of my head so when I went to the dr about my fire ant eyes (yes I've got fire ants in my eyes, currently; dr says it's 'pink eye', but I know it's fire ants) I asked him to give me something else & he wrote me an rX for paxil.

Came home and did some research & found that paxil makes you gain like 20lbs in the first couple of months and makes you not have any sex drive or be able to have an orgasm. 'Cause, you know, exactly what an almost-40yr old with depression &  major self esteem issues needs is 20 extra lbs.

Anyhoo, promptly decided against taking that shit. The question now, though, is what do I do? Do I call him and ask him to prescribe me something else or do I just succumb to the horror?

The previous post is kind telling 'cause I'm going through the same shit right now. Last night I heard "I love you. You are my dearest friend and the kindest person I've ever met in my life but the thing that makes it so I can't keep my hands off you is missing". A) that's the first time I've ever had a guy dump me because he *didn't* want to fuck me and B) shit how the fuck do I get myself into these situations? Like what part of me decided that it'd be ok to half fall in love with someone who only ever wants to fuck other people and who can't give me what I need & what I deserve?

And it's not as though he's conned me into this - he told me straight up that this is who he is and what I should expect. "I will hurt you", he said. And he has. A lot.  So last night he decided it couldn't go on because he doesn't want to hurt me (for the above stated reasons) and I practically begged him to continue.


How much damage can I do to myself before I completely self-destruct? How much pain can I take before I'm nothing but pain - banjo-plucking on each tendril sending white hot shoots through my heart? Who wants to watch?

jeudi, janvier 6

I used to be a writer.

I kind of even remember how some days. (fr. November 3, 2005)

warning - pity part to commence in tminus seventeen seconds.

In 1915, The National Council of Teachers of English established the first week in November as Better-Speech Week. I'm not sure why this tickles my fancy, but it does. In honour of this, I shall construct one of my rare blog entries which actually conform to most of the laws of grammar - most especially capitalization.

I'm quite incapable of lucid thought today. I'm trapped in a werewolf forest constructed by my own ennui. The trees are falling and the only one who is around to hear them is me, but I'm tired of being a witness to the systematic destruction of my own faith in love and relationships and happiness. I need to call TNB and ask him to just get it over with - just say the sentence which is, inevitably, a variation of "You are the best person I know and I don't want to lose you in my life, but because of [insert random reason here] I don't think we can see each other anymore".

Do you know how many times I've heard that sentence? I'm wondering if I should try to be *less* of a better person - maybe be a bit more of a Judge Judy-style harpy. Would that be more appealing to the opposite sex? I seem to attract men who are at a crossroads in their lives. They meet me and have a lovely time - have their faith in women restored - then move on to the next one. I can't seem to shake the roll of the cool chick you shag for a while then keep around 'cause she's such a great buddy. Maybe if I were more of a selfish beeyatch guys would take me seriously and stick around.

See - you all think I'm kidding when I talk about my bright future surrounded by my cats and discarded tv-dinner trays, but I'm really quite serious. I'm losing my energy and my desire to even try anymore. 'Cause really, what's the point? It always ends with the same sentence. The only variable is how well I can pretend like it doesn't matter to me - wouldn't want to blow the charade, you know, but sometimes it's harder than others. Only you know how it takes little pieces away from my soul, how it steals the sparkle from my eyes. Only you can see the how my shadow is growing in the midday sunshine. The werewolves are circling, circling, and I'm just lying here waiting.

samedi, janvier 1


So I'm starting off 2011 car-less, phone-less, and half in the bag over a guy who really doesn't feel more than vague affection for me.

I'm trying so hard to put a positive spin on everything. I'm trying so hard. And I'm sorry that you get to hear the shit but if I have to smile and laugh on the outside then this becomes the only place where I can curl up and cry. Well you know, except for when I'm on my 10mile walk home from a party I didn't want to attend last night.

I would like to be curled up in my bed crying, but the aforementioned gentleman is there currently. Credit to him - he did spend an hour driving around looking for me after I texted that I was walking home. Unfortunately I couldn't respond to him b/c (naturally) I lost my phone.

Happy fucking new year.