Work is very uncomfortable today. Not my actual work environment, but what I am wearing at work. My dress is pinching me in the arm pits It feels like I have two Miniature Pincher's under there just going to town at my pittage. This is really not conducive for success. I feel so much rage. Like I just want to swell my biceps and burst though the dress to make it stop. Every now and again I will shake violently in my chair tugging at my under arms trying to help reduce their stress. No pits should have to go through this.
Besides my pit induced rage, I hate wind. It was being an asshole yesterday, just like Kevin Bacon in that movie Hollow Man. He becomes invisible and taunts people and watches them go to the bathroom, and fights things. That's exactly what the wind was doing.Well, not really, but it kept trying to rip my umbrella from my hands. Wind is a little bitch. It can be everywhere all at once. Like a sinister blanket of evil. Just blowing everything in a 100 mile radius. It has no regard for human life, or posters, or empty trash cans. It's motto is destroy everything... I mean, if I went up to a violent criminal and just started blowing at his hand with my weak ass little mouth, these little tiny wuss breaths.He would laugh and I would probably be talking about how I got stabbed in an alley one time instead of how much I hate wind.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Darn socks. See what I did there?
Hey now, I forgot I started this blog. I will probably forget again because that's what happens to me.
So, Mike's socks have been the bain of my existance lately. He hides them everywhere, under the coffee table, the computer desk, next to the couch, shoved behind the leather ottoman. They are like little dirty gifts of love left all over the house. The other day the dog was furiously pawing at something underneath the couch. I watched him for a few minutes thinking he saw a toy or hid something stupid like a used napkin. Being the nice dog owner I am, I got up and physically lifted up the couch for the dog. What was the thing he was trying to get you ask? A sock, naturally. Mr. dog grabs the sock in his mouth and prances off with it happily to my bed. Ew. Later when I was watching tv, he climbs up next to me and lovingly lays it on my chest , nice and close to my face, like a beautiful, thoughtful gift. Except it wasn't beautiful, it was wet, and it smelled, and was kind of crunchy. Thanks dog.
This is not the first time this has happened, nor will it be the last. Seeing as the socks are always on the floor, the dog thinks they put there for his and apparenlty my enjoyment. I have tried to explain the concept of hampers to Mike after showing him 37 pairs of chewed up, wet socks. He does not understand. I mean, why would he when he can just go buy new packs of socks? They are dispoasable right? No one wears socks more than once, guess that was my misocnception.
This goes far beyond socks though, pants lay in the same place from where he disrobed, shirts cover the chair in the bedroom, towels are meant for drying on the back of the computer chair. It is as if the entire house serves as his laundry basket. There are times though, that he makes the attempt at picking his clothes up but for whatever reason it always looks like he gets distracted half way through and just drops them on the floor in a pile. I am still not sure what causes this to happen. Like some force of nature stops him in his tracks and forces him to drop whatever he is about to do with his dirty clothes, unless of course it is to drop them on the floor. Never ceases to amaze me. What is ironic about this whole situation is that the man will not let me use mismatched hangers to hang my clothes in our closet. My hangers all have to be the same color, hanging in the same direction and need to look in his words "neat". Really Mike, really? Even now, if I have say, a hanger from something I bought at target in there he gets all "NO WIRE HANGERS!" I mean, he's not waking me up out of sound sleeps to re organize the closet but I can tell he wants to. " Why are these in here?" " what is this?" " get this out this is gross. Okay, mismatched hangers are a murderable offense but dirty socks and clothes strewn all over the house is adorable or something? Makes sense right?
So, Mike's socks have been the bain of my existance lately. He
This is not the first time this has happened, nor will it be the last. Seeing as the socks are always on the floor, the dog thinks they put there for his and apparenlty my enjoyment. I have tried to explain the concept of hampers to Mike after showing him 37 pairs of chewed up, wet socks. He does not understand. I mean, why would he when he can just go buy new packs of socks? They are dispoasable right? No one wears socks more than once, guess that was my misocnception.
Imagine this on draped sweetly on your face.
This goes far beyond socks though, pants lay in the same place from where he disrobed, shirts cover the chair in the bedroom, towels are meant for drying on the back of the computer chair. It is as if the entire house serves as his laundry basket. There are times though, that he makes the attempt at picking his clothes up but for whatever reason it always looks like he gets distracted half way through and just drops them on the floor in a pile. I am still not sure what causes this to happen. Like some force of nature stops him in his tracks and forces him to drop whatever he is about to do with his dirty clothes, unless of course it is to drop them on the floor. Never ceases to amaze me. What is ironic about this whole situation is that the man will not let me use mismatched hangers to hang my clothes in our closet. My hangers all have to be the same color, hanging in the same direction and need to look in his words "neat". Really Mike, really? Even now, if I have say, a hanger from something I bought at target in there he gets all "NO WIRE HANGERS!" I mean, he's not waking me up out of sound sleeps to re organize the closet but I can tell he wants to. " Why are these in here?" " what is this?" " get this out this is gross. Okay, mismatched hangers are a murderable offense but dirty socks and clothes strewn all over the house is adorable or something? Makes sense right?
Monday, January 24, 2011
Teeth: a trial of endurance and shame
Dentists are capable of much destruction. We all know this. Despite the scary instruments, I went to see one today after a 4 year hiatus. Apparently 4 years in dental world is a long fucking time, also teeth are pretty unforgiving. If you stop doing things like flossing, and using expensive mouthwash, they start to just dissolve and make you wish you were born a toothless freak.
My panic set in when I woke up this morning, I felt like a cat trapped in an oven. No way out. I could already smell the pain. After a few unsuccessful attempts at making excuses not to go, I schlepped myself onto the wonder that is public transit and went to meet my maker. I mean dentist.
I always feel an unbelievable amount of shame when I walk into a dental clinic. Like my mouth is filled with dead babies instead of teeth and that somehow this is all my fault and oh God why am I doing this. The hygienist is always the first person to have a look at the atrocity that is my mouth. She asks questions like " how long has it been since you have seen a Dr?" This is always the most shameful part for me. " Um. Like, 3 years maybe, I mean maybe less, probably not though" This always gets looks of disapproval and usually the exact moment where the judgement begins. The hygienist will then open a pack of silver poke-y stab-y instruments and the panic about being stabbed in the mouth completely over rides my fear of being harshly and unfairly judged. I cry silently inside.
After this ordeal subsides it is then time for the Dr. to come in. I always fear this part the most because I know that he is like " WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK" As soon as I open my mouth. Like, teeth are his business and looking at mine obviously makes him feel like I just took a shit inside of his heart because I let my teeth basically decompose and at one point almost kill me. That's another story all together. Anyway, the Dr. beings to call out things that sound like codes to set off a NASA shuttle. " Cr 24, TH 3, XTZ THERMO DEPOST TO THE RIGHT CANINE, RC 28" Pretty much he goes through all of my teeth calling things out. I know that is bad. The Dentist should never start at tooth number 1 and end at tooth 24 shaking his head. Always skipping a few numbers because those teeth are missing. I knew I was done at that point. Still, I tried to be a little optimistic. Maybe it was not as bad as I thought. Wrong was I, so so very wrong.
"We are looking at an estimated cost of $12,000" Trying to remain composed after hearing that I personally had to pay the $12,000 was difficult. I just wanted to say "well, we've done all we could, time to let them go" Dentists won't hear that though, they want to "save" everything.
So this is what my teeth have done to me after a long hard 28 years together. They never could understand the whole " live and let live" concept. No, since I was 5 years old those bad boys were busy starting some shit. Making themselves grow to large, cementing themselves to my gum's even when new teeth were coming in, impacting themselves, fucking re- impactig themselves. I was always told " your mouth it to small." As if this was something I could control. It is not my fault that God decided to make my mouth the same size as chihuahua's with a cleft lip. This meant I never had enough room for my teeth so lots of them had to just be ripped out. I clearly remember lots of dental trips, coming in a smiling happy child, leaving a bloody, slobbering crying mess. It never did get any better as I got older. It just turned from extractions to surgeries, from surgeries to infections, to more surgeries. Teeth do not forget they do not forgive they just turn into gnarled squares of imminent pain and torture. They will never let you rest until you give them what they want. Apparently what mine want is to see my bankrupt and anemic. So far teeth you win.
My panic set in when I woke up this morning, I felt like a cat trapped in an oven. No way out. I could already smell the pain. After a few unsuccessful attempts at making excuses not to go, I schlepped myself onto the wonder that is public transit and went to meet my maker. I mean dentist.
I always feel an unbelievable amount of shame when I walk into a dental clinic. Like my mouth is filled with dead babies instead of teeth and that somehow this is all my fault and oh God why am I doing this. The hygienist is always the first person to have a look at the atrocity that is my mouth. She asks questions like " how long has it been since you have seen a Dr?" This is always the most shameful part for me. " Um. Like, 3 years maybe, I mean maybe less, probably not though" This always gets looks of disapproval and usually the exact moment where the judgement begins. The hygienist will then open a pack of silver poke-y stab-y instruments and the panic about being stabbed in the mouth completely over rides my fear of being harshly and unfairly judged. I cry silently inside.
After this ordeal subsides it is then time for the Dr. to come in. I always fear this part the most because I know that he is like " WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK" As soon as I open my mouth. Like, teeth are his business and looking at mine obviously makes him feel like I just took a shit inside of his heart because I let my teeth basically decompose and at one point almost kill me. That's another story all together. Anyway, the Dr. beings to call out things that sound like codes to set off a NASA shuttle. " Cr 24, TH 3, XTZ THERMO DEPOST TO THE RIGHT CANINE, RC 28" Pretty much he goes through all of my teeth calling things out. I know that is bad. The Dentist should never start at tooth number 1 and end at tooth 24 shaking his head. Always skipping a few numbers because those teeth are missing. I knew I was done at that point. Still, I tried to be a little optimistic. Maybe it was not as bad as I thought. Wrong was I, so so very wrong.
"We are looking at an estimated cost of $12,000" Trying to remain composed after hearing that I personally had to pay the $12,000 was difficult. I just wanted to say "well, we've done all we could, time to let them go" Dentists won't hear that though, they want to "save" everything.
So this is what my teeth have done to me after a long hard 28 years together. They never could understand the whole " live and let live" concept. No, since I was 5 years old those bad boys were busy starting some shit. Making themselves grow to large, cementing themselves to my gum's even when new teeth were coming in, impacting themselves, fucking re- impactig themselves. I was always told " your mouth it to small." As if this was something I could control. It is not my fault that God decided to make my mouth the same size as chihuahua's with a cleft lip. This meant I never had enough room for my teeth so lots of them had to just be ripped out. I clearly remember lots of dental trips, coming in a smiling happy child, leaving a bloody, slobbering crying mess. It never did get any better as I got older. It just turned from extractions to surgeries, from surgeries to infections, to more surgeries. Teeth do not forget they do not forgive they just turn into gnarled squares of imminent pain and torture. They will never let you rest until you give them what they want. Apparently what mine want is to see my bankrupt and anemic. So far teeth you win.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Skip this if you want to laugh. If you feel like the opposite of laughter than please read on.
Thinking. I had far to much time on my hands this week and lots of it was done. I felt like I had a new strand of Ebola that has went undiscovered, but it turns out it was a Sinusitis that had decided to wreak havoc in my lungs as well. Oh how I love these little surprises. As if my body is a child who craves attention it's not getting so it then decides to act out and I have no choice but to give it it's desired attention. Even if it means going to the dreaded Dr. and filling up on antibiotics and steroids. It got it's attention though, and now seems to have calmed down some.. for now.
Back to this thinking problem though. I love the holidays, but they have such an undertone of sadness for me anymore that I can't quite shake off. I keep having these, sort of flashbacks about my Dad's dying. It's not a thought, or a memory, like something that I am actively choosing to participate in thinking about. It's more of just this sudden rush of way to much emotion for me to handle, and just parts and pieces of him dying, and of his funeral. It makes me visibly shaken. I feel like I can't even catch my breath sometimes. Almost like being smothered in way to many feelings that I have no idea how to even begin feeling, nor do I want to.
Grieving, its broken down into time lines, and steps. It has stages and precipices you are supposed to hit. Grief is supposed to be put neatly into a box. The same for everyone. Widows should take precisely two years to overcome their heartbreak, children 1-2 years, etc. What the "experts" on grieving do not tell you is how you are supposed to reach these goals. They all say, as so many people do that " time heals" and " just give it time it gets better" but I find the more time that passes, the more difficult it becomes. The whole " acceptance" part is when your grieving is supposed to stop. I don't believe that to be true. I have for all intensive purposes " accepted " that my dad has died but it still does not deter me from thinking about the so many " if only's and "what if's" that stew in the back of my brain. I am unable to turn them off, I can't help but feel like I am going to feel the loss of him everytime something good happens, something bad happens.
I was never much a fan of God, so I can't find comfort in the thought that he is in Heaven, or that I will see him again or any of those cliche things people tell you to comfort you, and themselves. I can't help but dwell on the fact that he will not be there when I or my sister get married, when my sister graduates from College this year, when I have a baby, I did not get to tell him about the new job I got, or what I ate for dinner last night. He never got to see me move out on my own or my new house.And those are things that I just can't seem to let go of.
We had a tumultous relationship but I loved him, and he loved me,. After he died I felt so completely vulnerable to everything. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't turn out lights anymore. I was 28 and became afraid of the dark ( still am 28 and still am afraid of the dark.) I never realized how protected I felt with him around, how I felt like he was indestructable and that made me feel a little less..destructable I guess. It also left me with this sinking feeling of responsibility. Before he died he told me over and over to" take care of your mother." I feel like I sort of suck at that, because I don't really know what to do for her. I try but, I'm not sure if it's enough sometimes. She breaks my heart sometimes just by seeing how broken her own heart is.
So, I don't know if I am over the "first year hurdle' yet. It's been 1 year and 5 months. I can't believe it. It still seems like it happened just yesterday some days. I still cry when I talk about him, I still can't look at pictures of him for too long. It just feels like I'm nursing a wound that will never quite heal right. Basically, I feel like I grieved wrong. Or am grieving wrong, sometimes I wonder if I grieved at all I don't know really what it's supposed to feel like. I worry constantly about losing my Mom, and my sister. I tried to put it out of my mind that the people I love so much are actually mortal and so not have some secret long life elixer. I wish they did, and losing my Dad made that all the more real to me.
While I do not like to think about this to often. I can't help it. When I see things I want to buy him for Christmas, when I hear jokes I know he would like... it hurts still. I don't think after another 6 months goes by and I hit the 2 year mark in this whole grieving process that it's going to feel any different really. So much for time lines I guess. I was never very good with deadlines anyway.
It's nice to just pretend he is on an extended vacation, somewhere he always wanted to. Reality, is way overrated to me. I hope in a few more years that I can talk about him without feeling my chest tighten up. Everyone says "it gets easier" that "it's still to new for me" but when is it ever easy losing anyone, anything? Losing is hard to accept, and it's impossible to understand the one question that keeps arising. "Why?" I guess there is no answer really, other than the "all things happen for a reason" which in my opinion simplifies things way to much, like Einstein said; " Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler." I completely agree.
It feels a little less complicated getting this out on proverbial paper though.
Back to this thinking problem though. I love the holidays, but they have such an undertone of sadness for me anymore that I can't quite shake off. I keep having these, sort of flashbacks about my Dad's dying. It's not a thought, or a memory, like something that I am actively choosing to participate in thinking about. It's more of just this sudden rush of way to much emotion for me to handle, and just parts and pieces of him dying, and of his funeral. It makes me visibly shaken. I feel like I can't even catch my breath sometimes. Almost like being smothered in way to many feelings that I have no idea how to even begin feeling, nor do I want to.
Grieving, its broken down into time lines, and steps. It has stages and precipices you are supposed to hit. Grief is supposed to be put neatly into a box. The same for everyone. Widows should take precisely two years to overcome their heartbreak, children 1-2 years, etc. What the "experts" on grieving do not tell you is how you are supposed to reach these goals. They all say, as so many people do that " time heals" and " just give it time it gets better" but I find the more time that passes, the more difficult it becomes. The whole " acceptance" part is when your grieving is supposed to stop. I don't believe that to be true. I have for all intensive purposes " accepted " that my dad has died but it still does not deter me from thinking about the so many " if only's and "what if's" that stew in the back of my brain. I am unable to turn them off, I can't help but feel like I am going to feel the loss of him everytime something good happens, something bad happens.
I was never much a fan of God, so I can't find comfort in the thought that he is in Heaven, or that I will see him again or any of those cliche things people tell you to comfort you, and themselves. I can't help but dwell on the fact that he will not be there when I or my sister get married, when my sister graduates from College this year, when I have a baby, I did not get to tell him about the new job I got, or what I ate for dinner last night. He never got to see me move out on my own or my new house.And those are things that I just can't seem to let go of.
We had a tumultous relationship but I loved him, and he loved me,. After he died I felt so completely vulnerable to everything. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't turn out lights anymore. I was 28 and became afraid of the dark ( still am 28 and still am afraid of the dark.) I never realized how protected I felt with him around, how I felt like he was indestructable and that made me feel a little less..destructable I guess. It also left me with this sinking feeling of responsibility. Before he died he told me over and over to" take care of your mother." I feel like I sort of suck at that, because I don't really know what to do for her. I try but, I'm not sure if it's enough sometimes. She breaks my heart sometimes just by seeing how broken her own heart is.
So, I don't know if I am over the "first year hurdle' yet. It's been 1 year and 5 months. I can't believe it. It still seems like it happened just yesterday some days. I still cry when I talk about him, I still can't look at pictures of him for too long. It just feels like I'm nursing a wound that will never quite heal right. Basically, I feel like I grieved wrong. Or am grieving wrong, sometimes I wonder if I grieved at all I don't know really what it's supposed to feel like. I worry constantly about losing my Mom, and my sister. I tried to put it out of my mind that the people I love so much are actually mortal and so not have some secret long life elixer. I wish they did, and losing my Dad made that all the more real to me.
While I do not like to think about this to often. I can't help it. When I see things I want to buy him for Christmas, when I hear jokes I know he would like... it hurts still. I don't think after another 6 months goes by and I hit the 2 year mark in this whole grieving process that it's going to feel any different really. So much for time lines I guess. I was never very good with deadlines anyway.
It's nice to just pretend he is on an extended vacation, somewhere he always wanted to. Reality, is way overrated to me. I hope in a few more years that I can talk about him without feeling my chest tighten up. Everyone says "it gets easier" that "it's still to new for me" but when is it ever easy losing anyone, anything? Losing is hard to accept, and it's impossible to understand the one question that keeps arising. "Why?" I guess there is no answer really, other than the "all things happen for a reason" which in my opinion simplifies things way to much, like Einstein said; " Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler." I completely agree.
It feels a little less complicated getting this out on proverbial paper though.
Friday, November 19, 2010
I know what it sounds like when a Grizzly Bear murders a Unicorn.
Broken turtle tank filters are unreasonably loud. I feel like a grizzly bear is in the other room and it is murdering a unicorn... Loudly. Ay Dios Mio! My hearing is pretty sub par, so I can imagine what this sounds like to the normal human ear. Probably like cars crashing into Veliceraptors that are attacking wild boars that are covered in steel. Horrible.
Since I have to listen to the sounds of grizzly bears and unicorns murdering each other, I am drinking to numb the pain. Nothing that a little Vodka can't right. Seriously, nothing it is even good for sterilization purposes. Plus the living room is about as warm as a cold naked night in Siberia. So, alcohol help to insulate my insides and raise my body temperature back to at least 94 degrees. Bottoms up.
Also everyone toady was all " wow you look like you just died and came back then died again" " Holy crap is that your face! I mean, sorry feel better" ' Fuck get it away get it away." This was slightly alarming seeing as usually people are like " you are so prettifull and it hurts my eyes in a good way" and " It looks like Jesus hugged you out of your mothers room". So to hear that I am looking kinda fug today, something is wrong. And I will drink so that I don't have to notice that I've apparently become uglier over night.
Maybe tomorrow I will be a little less disfigured looking and can go out into the real world and socialize with others. I am in no mood to be judged upon my physical appearance today. But that's kind of to bad because, I was judged earlier. Damn.
Since I have to listen to the sounds of grizzly bears and unicorns murdering each other, I am drinking to numb the pain. Nothing that a little Vodka can't right. Seriously, nothing it is even good for sterilization purposes. Plus the living room is about as warm as a cold naked night in Siberia. So, alcohol help to insulate my insides and raise my body temperature back to at least 94 degrees. Bottoms up.
Also everyone toady was all " wow you look like you just died and came back then died again" " Holy crap is that your face! I mean, sorry feel better" ' Fuck get it away get it away." This was slightly alarming seeing as usually people are like " you are so prettifull and it hurts my eyes in a good way" and " It looks like Jesus hugged you out of your mothers room". So to hear that I am looking kinda fug today, something is wrong. And I will drink so that I don't have to notice that I've apparently become uglier over night.
Maybe tomorrow I will be a little less disfigured looking and can go out into the real world and socialize with others. I am in no mood to be judged upon my physical appearance today. But that's kind of to bad because, I was judged earlier. Damn.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Credit and how it mocks me.
I found out today that Macy's closed out my credit card. The whole event was rather unceremonious, considering how distraught I am over it. I only forgot to may the bill, what, 3 times. I mean, it's not that serious really. I remembered to pay the bill today. Is that not what counts? Today? I am trying to come to terms with why they would just close out my account without ever alerting me to this violent disruption of my credit usage? Having a credit card made me feel like a real person, like I mattered. Now I just feel like a paper cut out person with no eyes and a big drawn on X for a mouth. Why did they do this to me?
I feel a human jello jiggler. All wiggly, and sad because who the fuck wants a jello jiggler Not Macy's , thats for sure. So, I contact a representative online and I inquire as to why my account has been closed. She never really gave me an answer but said if I call this 800 number, after I pay the bill they might be gracious enough to re open my account. Or they could taunt me and just take my money and set my card on fire and tell me what a bad creditless person I am. No one will ever love me, my mother will shun me, stray dogs will bite me for my insolence.What a horrid shamefull existence I will lead.
I feel a human jello jiggler. All wiggly, and sad because who the fuck wants a jello jiggler Not Macy's , thats for sure. So, I contact a representative online and I inquire as to why my account has been closed. She never really gave me an answer but said if I call this 800 number, after I pay the bill they might be gracious enough to re open my account. Or they could taunt me and just take my money and set my card on fire and tell me what a bad creditless person I am. No one will ever love me, my mother will shun me, stray dogs will bite me for my insolence.What a horrid shamefull existence I will lead.
Relationships and how they are definitely not like a Hippo fighting a Pirate. But sometimes they are.
Lately, I have been thinking a lot about dating... Who I dated, why I dated, what kind of psychosis was I under to date some of these people... I promise this post will make you feel better about yourself.
Now, let me take you back to a time when I thought I was in love, and everything smelled like ness cafe and hope. It was a grand time and the whole world felt right. Except for that it wasn't, and that ness cafe smell was really the scent of my dreams and soul being shoved into a garbage disposal and then doused in lye and draino. It hurt. A lot. My dream guy ( or so I thought) was tall, dark, and handsome, so obviously something had to be wrong, right? He was a republican, Catholic, and had a slight speech impetiment. It was as if one of the many God's people speak of, came down and hand crafted him just to my specifications. At first things were perfect. Every day was like walking though fields of flowers and having angels gently glide their wings over my face. Then one day the angels died and all the flowers turned into pieces of dried up dog shit and my tall, dark, handsome man turned out to be a sexual deviant with homosexual tendencies.
Threesomes, foursomes, 36somes, he wanted it all and more. He wanted to fuck bus loads of people .I did not know what to do. Why was this happening? I could not grow 36 vaginas for him, even if I had wanted to. Tall, dark, and handsome went on wild sex rampages, like a hippo in a watering hole. He trampled everything that I had ever known about love, and trust, and my idea of what "crazy" sex. I was no match for him, and he knew it. Tall, dark, and crazy he became. He wanted dicks, and lots of them. I would never have a dick and definitely would not have lots of them, so needless to say this took me out of the running for his future wife/husband.
One day, tall, dark, crazy said to me after we made dinner, that he no longer wanted to date me because I could not drive a car. I was as puzzled hearing this as you probably are reading it. I said " I can change, I can learn how to drive." He said " no, no you can't and you did not like to go to the Dr's when you were 5 years old because you thought Dr's were scary." Yes I did hate Dr's and I still do, because they do scary shit like inject you with attenuated virus's and say things like " this might hurt a little", and then it hurts a lot. I did not realize though, that being afraid of the Dr. was grounds for dismissal. That it made me less than human and undesierable by even a crazy person. I tried to understand this, I could not. I was also faulted on being depressed because my Dad had just died, apparenlty I was supposed to have a more robotic reaction and shed no tears. Everything about me was wrong, but yet.... I sensed something was not quite right with these allegations.
Here I am, a forgiving person, taking tall, dark,and crazy back after he has a suckathon on more than one occassion putting me at risk for all sorts of lovely std's. I forgave this albeit being horrified by it, but because I did not know how to drive and did not welcome surgery and lumbar punctures... there was something wrong... with me? We went bowling that night after he told me I was a horrible unlovable person. I paid, as I did for everything ( this was another one of my many flaws) because he has no job and then I never saw him again. I guess thats how the gays do it, you break up after a night out on the town. or in this case a bowling alley in New Jersey.
There is a lot I can say about this experience but mostly it comes down to simply "live and learn." And, I learned that when the guy your dating tells you he wants to try anal.... with a guy. It's time to dash those dreams of becoming a Mrs. Tall, Dark, and Crazy.
Basically this is what has been encompassing my brain the past week or so. Wondering why people do things, and why they say words, and what those words mean, and how can I make people stop saying words I don't like. If a hippo and a pirate got into a fight who would win? Then I went back to thinking about why would I date a guy who I clearly could tell was in love with himself ( and other guys), not me.Why do I have to have such gut wrenching insecurities about why someone would possibly like me, Why about a lot of stuff I guess. why why why. why. And the answer I came to was, dunno. People just do weird things,
I guess you either choose to be stuck in the past or you choose to move forward. My coordination is to bad to walk backward. Anyway, my head feels a little less jumbly now. Apologies though if I made your brain all soupy with this long ass diatribe about relationships and deer pee.
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