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I'm off to walk dogs.
This entry sux, and I'm not going to post this stupid shit.
OK, another start.
Mark has gone. I feel guilty because I wanted him to go. Usually I awaken earlier than him, so that I can
Have a room of one's own.
But he has felt guilty about sleeping until 10:30, and now I must share. Privacy is akin to sunlight to me.
I love you. I think of you all the time. I think of things to write you. You are my black hole. You are my message in a bottle - my immortality.
Like dreams, I always forget the things I want to tell you - the elegant phrases I've come up with.
Currently on the ipod is faultline's 'your love means everything'. Yesterday, I was listening to this whilst walking on the ocean's shore. I was returning to my apartment, and I cried. Yes, seven or eight tears dripped out of my ocular units, and I made the face that crumples.
The storms I throw.
It was a strange reaction for someone like you
To remain so sure.
And then a chain reaction I dissolve
And break
And then away I crawl
And then away I crawl.
And away I crawl.
So many starts I must make.
I haven't received a follow-up call from knoll to do my design test, so perhaps I wasn't 'the one' or 'the five' more accurately.
I had sent my resume's haphazardly - almost flippantly, so I was impressed to even garner an interview.
Marriage. Have any of you ever tried it? I am no good at it. I have never seen a good marriage (so many divorces in my family - and settling). I have so many issues. It must suck being married to me.
I want art and freedom. I want security and growth. I resent.
This is dangerous for me to write about, but as shirley the truckdriving golden pantry boss once told Mike and I: you may as well do and say what you want because you're going to do it anyway.
I am loved to a terrifying degree. I am loved completely. I have everything I ever wanted.
How many of you would like to have a lover who loves you, who pleases your eyes, who makes enough money that you haven't had to work in two years (or is it coming up on three?), who supports any whim you have?
As soon as I get the wherewithal, I'm going to attempt the therapy route.
You are such good therapy. I don't want you to feel underappreciated; however, there are things I won't tell you.
I am willing to be burned but no third degrees.
It's up to me now. Turn on the bright lights.
How many of you hurt someone with your very existence and your very timeline? How many of you have loved this person for eight years and feel that the dye has been cast the damage is done.
I would hope mark doesn't read this, but if he does - it is nothing he doesn't know.
Any person brave enough to be a tapping friend (and perhaps there is one) knows that I excel at honesty. I excel at emotional exhibitionism.
You play you win. You play you lose.
You play.
Sometimes I sit on my balcony overlooking the parking garage and smoke a cigarette. I wonder if I look beautiful. I wonder if someone passing by would think that my clothing choice is stylish and that my faraway eyes are intoxicating.
I wonder if I am beautiful, and I realize what a trap it is. I am a plucked flower. I want to be poetry.
I wonder how I can be both a monster and a saint. So weak.
Weak as water.
If I could be your camera, who will be your lens?
I am a bad wife. I never wanted to be a WIFE - with all the smugness and thumbing. I wanted the medical insurance. I wanted the assurance. Mark never wanted to be a husband. I made him. My proposal was something like: Oh it's 2000, leap year falls this year. Let's get married in vegas as marriage is life's biggest gamble.
I was happy. In our wedding video (which my fabulous husband is so expert at achieving - all things technical and pretty and state of the art), the last words recorded were me candidly saying "we did it write". I said it in my voice that I use when I'm myself.
Does any of this mean anything? Do you love me? Do I love you? Is attachment our biggest downfall?
'all in your mind' by beck ... now 'wicked little doll' which I will fast forward. Brian played that song.
Now you know.
What a witch I am for telling you all this. Shall I edit some of it out? Or fuck it? My friend mike once wrote the most revealing things on his 'grey green gospel' (archived?).
I'm over reading the comments. That is a narcotic for me.
Digable planets 'where I'm from', but I'm fast forwarding it as soon as my fingers leave these keys.
'the saddest song' by morphine.
I'm sorry. I edited the shit out of this.
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