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I remember the first time I did it (wow tears come out of my eyes when I think of this) - left my left ring finger blank.
It makes me feel unsafe, unwanted, unloved... for it to be naked. I don't like it and might put it back. I unintentionally threw my Andrew wedding wring (sic) in the San Francisco Bay as I gesticulated wildly. I was never in love with either of them anyhoo - the rings. The only one I loved, was given to me by my family, and I have to live every day with losing it.
It's just a thing.
but isn't the play also?
So I sit in the town of my birth wandering why I'm here (sic). It's all sic.
I'm listening to a dirge on repeat. It's by Wilco "at least that's what you said".... there was another wilco song I was obsessed with when I was capitulating from my other divorce. God it sucks.
failling...
so I sit in a reverse exile, and I still sit alone.
Who gives a shit? maybe I'll stay out of trouble, but in many ways I don't think it likely. It seems more like a ghost limb.
And my crowned tooth remains unhappy and festering.
Maybe I'll use that on the first dude that bothers to try to catch my eye.
no doubt I'll have to compromise.
God I love it when wilco goes into the fucking swirl of the song. I often tap my 52 year old knee (and soon it will rhyme better if god grant's me another turn around le Soleil)
.
I just want someone fascinated with me and want to be fascinated with someone. Is that so fookin hard godhead?
yeah, I guess so. Maybe I've had my allotment. and maybe I'm splitting when I think of mark as so fucking good in comparison.... but, comparatively I was one million times more fascinated than boring ass safe (ha!) Andrew.
excuse me.
dance dirge break
I recall the client who had trouble dancing at her first night in the club, "I didn't know any of the songs"....
"Knowing the songs is THE ONLY way I can dance."
Perhaps it's because I'm a memorizer of tunes and let them envelop me - maybe that's why I dance so well. I'm also a fucking powerful singer, yet I doubt anyone will ever know. I've lost my voice.
I've put it 0n a shelf. under a bushel.
and I like the new cousin I met. She seems as morose as me... and let's be real, I only have one real cousin (who I'll never meet).... she's my mom's cousin.
Maybe I'll become a babysitter for the neighborhood. A great use of my counseling master's.
and money money money.... when hasn't it been a factor when I'm a single person in charge of my own ship. I'm lucky as shit, and I better keep kissing the ground.
Yet, there's also the knowledge that if my nest/den/hovel is a total shithole - or even something not done or sloppy, I'll not feel settled. Recall that I painted the walls immediately when I moved in my two houses. I love to feel surrounded by taste and gorgeous.
my standards.
I've decided on pink, grey, and beige for the guest room. I've decided that I'll love the $40 runner that I bought. I decided that I'll be.
I'm annoyed that I can't recall the Wilco song that I was obsessed with earlier, yet I'll find it one day... something about Coney Island?
I told you the peanuts boiled are steeping on the stove didn't I?
There are a lot of trucks here. I wish I knew them as I need trucks to input the stuff that will make my home pretty.
the weirdest? I'm not yet in the mood to get slammed. fucked. blotto. AKA, I haven't purchased any alcohol or run down to glean some CBD crack before it gets illegal.
We'll see how far it goes that I enjoy my natural mind - but it's like all the times before I've been sober as a judger.... I'm still weird without it all....
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