outer space

wow. i'm in a deep zone with radiohead right now. i don't even know what to say to you people. brigette- how's that poetry comin' along? mike- why the fuck are you suddenly unlisted? dave- how can you be so good looking and so damn nice at the same time? cheri- i miss tai chi in the park.

i spoke to my friend brigette tonight. she said she put some poetry on her blog. it got me thinking about my old poetry tonight. then i laid back in my computer chair and daydreamed with my music.

i gotta go to sleep.

i think 2 hours just went by while i was going through some old shit. i found some old journals and stuff i'd been subconsciously trying to forget. i read some of the entries, some ranting, some poems. damn, i was really depressing. but i loved san diego. i loved the ocean, the bums, the bus, the inspiration. so much inspiration it was the sweat from your pores. here, my skin is bone-dry.

i didn't realize how often i used to write. i wrote all the time. i read poetry and followed it around. i was passionate about it. hmmmm...inspired and passionate. an unusual combination.

i was going to leave you with a poem i wrote in california, but i couldn't find the one i wanted. damn- it was a funny, one too. but here are a few good lines from 4 different poems out of a poetry magazine i found called "The Drumming Between Us"- a creation from Peter J. Harris, a poet among other things, then living in L.A. i met him while taking a poetry class in san diego. he's a bad-ass dude. wonder where he is now.

anyway, some pieces from a few poems, Harris' magazine, written by various poets:

in fact, its even unscientific
not to evolve
not to love, not to
grow & give back
the only humans who actually evolve
are lovers
all others
just simply fuck and reproduce


why is it that leaflets
handed out on blustery march mornings
never discuss the injustice
of loneliness?


being with you is like being high and floating into my own groove
its like living free and doin what i want without having to watch every move
touching you is like touching satin, my hands glide to a rhythm all their own
its like that feeling one gets in a small dimly lit jazz club listening to a musician play the saxophone
kissing you is like having a dream so good you wished it was real


we sat there drinking miso soup
and tea
and eating sushi
in the darkness
of an empty theater
i looked over at her
she was smiling at the film
she is lovely
even in the dark
and i realized
even if she became a toothless old gypsy
or something
i would always love her
i held her hand
and it was good
i hugged her
and it was good
She's gone now
I'm going through withdrawal
I cried for her
and it was good



this magazine consists mostly of love poems, and in the back of it there is a passage that tells of a writer's workshop in L.A.'s Leimert Park Village. they read love poetry. i think that's pretty cool. it's dated 1997. i hope they're still there.

well, thank you Peter J. Harris, for the inspiration tonight, even if i get no sleep. and although you wouldn't remember me if we met again, i think you're the shit. it was an honor.

songs.

so, songs. i couldn't sleep, so what else was there to do besides utilize all of the extra shit that comes with my fancy cell phone? like browsing through artists and songs and listening to snipets of the good ol' days? i must have been playing with that thing for an hour, trying not to succum to ordering some gay ring tone that would eventually cause my phone to stop ringing. i did, however, find some old songs that flooded my mind with memories of yesteryear, and the depression began to seap out of my brain like piss in a full diaper. huh? anyway, suddenly i was back on ocean beach, camped in my favorite spot, just me and my headphones, the sun and the ocean. i was there almost every day- i'd take the bus, which was an adventure in itself, and get off in ocean beach, walk to a snack stand on the corner of a gas station, grab a hot dog and a fruit punch, and head to my spot. in miami, it was a blueberry muffin with the fruit punch- they taste so good on the beach for some reason! but i'd lay there with my headphones and my favorite cd, the one that cleared my head, and there was no better place on earth.

i came across another song that brought me back to the room i rented from a married couple in hillcrest. it was a lonely bedroom, and i had little privacy, being they were home all the time so i seldom had guests. but on the nights i stayed in, which were few, i dreamt of my military lover away at sea, and beckoned the gods to bring him home. everyone has a song or cd that got them through a really bad time, and i had mine, and it came to me tonight. the memories of those nights, with or without him, provoked some very dusty tears out of the attic of my mind. i just really missed those days, and haven't felt the happiness of the ocean or the longing for a lover in so, so long.

i miss being passionate about something, or someone. i miss the anticipation of a new day, like i had years ago. i miss the lack of responsibilty in my life, and the freedom. i miss being missed.

this isn't life. my life. being up to your ears in bills and being owned by your job and planning for months to spend time with your own damn family. it's all fucked up. it's not right. this sucks. i wanna sell my car and house, rent jet skis in miami, run a bed & breakfast in mexico, or cook burgers in costa rica. i could do that. let me know if you find my balls. i seem to have lost them somewhere in this town.

goodnight, my bloggers.

MAD. FAT. MAD AND FAT.

this town is no good for me. i can't walk anywhere. and if i do, i'll get hit by a minivan. when i lived in california, florida, montana in ten feet of fucking snow...i WALKED! jesus, god forbid they start building sidewalks in this place. people might actually WALK to the mcdonalds instead of drive. maybe it's because the death rate would RISE from fat people walking into other people leaving a mcdonalds.

i see pictures of myself and want to sit on someone. or sit on myself. whatever. i'm unrecognisable. i cut myself out of them because i can't bear to see what i've become! isn't that pathetic?? now i need to add DIET pills to my list! how big is santa's bag? can my pills fit amongst all of the nintendo games and polly pockets? surely, they can!

the fact is, exercise is not a lifestyle here. it's a chore. it's not incorporated into the daily routine- we have to make TIME for it. and who the hell has THAT? (and if you do, then go jam a yoga mat up your skinny ass.) send me to a fat camp. leave me alone. i don't want to see anyone for 6 months. as for my continual pessimism, go fuck yourself. it's my party and i'll bitch if i want to.

god- i'm sorry- how was your day?

Plop, plop. Fizz, fizz.

oh, what a relief it is. bullshit. there IS no relief. at least not tonight. i can't sleep, so i may as well write to all of you people. all 2 of you. the rest are weirdos with a sick, guilty pleasure to read my blog. tonight, i can't seem to get it together. i keep getting out of bed to read, or to take more miscellaneous pills, of which the supply is dwindling down to nothing, and none of them seem to have much effect on me anymore anyway. i need a refresher, my own shit, now that i have a necessary evil we call health insurance, which we use primarily for drugs and birth control. for christmas this year, i asked santa for lunesta and xanax.

i'm not a religious person, but tonight i prayed. totally against my will, gritting my teeth, clenching my fists, struggling with the words- prayed. there are just some things i feel i need in my life now, like peace and joy. and goodwill towards men. whatever. i prayed for peace, joy, the ocean, a house on the water so i could hear the waves crash over and over again, every day and night. i picture myself in this house, with a large, wrap around porch, where i wear my long, warm robe and hold a hot cup of coffee in my hands, looking out into the endless sea, and reflecting upon my successful life, hopefully before my parents die. and right now i'm in the middle of community college and a job that owns me. no equity in my house due to the shitty economy. no light at the end of the tunnel- yet. it took a while for those pictures of obama to kick in, the ones that say "hope." i get it now. we all need some fucking hope, and really, he is, at this point, our only hope at getting our shit straight. our only hope, like that guy in star wars. who was that guy? jaba the hut? no- he wasn't the hope. he was the giant glob of phlegm that wanted to molest princess leah. right? anyway, you know what i mean. got hope? does anyone know where yoda is now? wwyd? or dwwy?

look. what i wouldn't give to get on a damn plane right now and fly to some tropical destination. no plans. no return ticket. just a nice hotel with massages and room service. lobster. a sip of champagne. and soft slippers. ocean view. warm, humid breezes. mmmmmm...... i ask for an island calendar every christmas so i can look at each month's picture and dream about being there. the best one was a hammock over the white sand, shaded in between two palm trees, right next to the water. i'm lying on that hammock and smiling, in peace, and happy. my daughter is bringing me margueritas and gutting the fish that she caught in the ocean with a spear. how talented she is! like tarzan. without all the monkeys. and that blonde whore. yes, a hammock and the ocean. too much to ask? i know! i'll write the tom cruise fan club and ask how he did it in that movie "cocktail." what was the name of that bar? i don't know, but it was pretty gay. oh, "cocktails and dreams". all the dicks in "cheers" had cocktails and dreams- look where it got them. fat with more cocktails. i bet tom cruise never got fat- jumping up and down off of oprah's couch all the time. so maybe it worked for him.

well, i'm glad i had a chance to lift your spirits tonight, or today. check back in for another good dose of optimism. you'll need it to start the day, for christ's sake! i love you guys...

Living in the NOW, for christs' sake!

should i have capitalized "christ?" jesus. i have found that i can't enjoy my weekends because of my inability to sit back, relax, and enjoy the moment. i spend all weekend dreading the dawn of monday, the beginning of a new work-week, and that 5 day daily grind of waking up at the crack of 6:45, throwing the kid on the bus, then angriliy moping to the shower to get ready for work. and work. i admit it. i just don't wanna friggin work. and if i do, it's gotta be on MY terms. not someone else's. how the hell do i do that? the smart ones planned this way in advance, and work for themselves. i need to sleep late to survive. period.

so, hence the title "living in the now." i could spend 14 hours in a barnes and noble looking for the answer to my question. or i could ask a friend. or better yet, a friend who does YOGA! yeah! those guys know all the answers. there's a reason why yoga instructors are so damn calm and laid back. i'm in the wrong field. my new plan is to practice touching my toes without bending my knees, then raising my arms straight in the air without bending my elbows, then sitting on the floor and pulling my legs behind my head, over my shoulders, and placing them on the floor behind me, all the while keeping my fat ass firmly planted on the ground. then the answer may come to me. it must be hidden way down in the tissue of my tight ass muscles.

so you can't change the past and you can't change the future. you can only act upon the present. and freaking out, losing your breath, and stressing over tomorrow is pointless. right?? easier said than done. is there a pill out there that stops future thoughts? or present ones?

allah, budda, britney- i need your help. help me to stop obsessing over my crappy job and mondays. help me to enjoy today, or at least my two days off per week. and help me to be jobless, live on the beach, and sleep in.

until next weekend,

4am

so. it's 4 am and i had just lied down to go to bed, when i thought, "i owe you and myself a blog entry." I have forgotten about my blog, with the busyness of life along with my mild depression, or laziness, or lack of motivation- who knows. i don't know what my problem is. i think it's my job. someone said to me tonight that you should have a few part-time jobs- that a full-time job owns you. and in my case, it does. it has taken over my life, and there is nothing left for me. my neck and shoulders were aching so bad, i sat in front of my t.v. and did yoga at 4 in the morning. if you know me, i won't be doing yoga, and not at 4 in the morning. but i needed to do something to relax my muscles before i ripped them out of my body. if i were oprah winfrey, i would not only be crying on everyone's shoulder, but i would have a live-in massage therapist- one that rubbed me ALL the time, and made me very healthy meals, and forced me to work out, like a personal trainer. then i'd look like jessica alba, and the world would be a better place. oh, wait- i had one of those- it didn't work out.

so- the moral of this post is that i need to reclaim my life back. and i'm not sure if that's possible as long as i work like i do. i need to work for myself- be my own boss. the best fortune cookie i ever got read, "no man is free who is not master of himself." i still have it and it reminds me of what i need to do- get into porn. no, it reminds me to use the experiences i go through now to eventually get to that place. make my own schedule. make the rules. make enough money. take care of myself first.

i'm trying not to drink, and it's been almost 2 months now. it's strange what a big deal it is- not drinking and keeping the same circle of friends. alcohol is the driving force behind many of my relationships. it's been really hard, and i've given in to the drink a few times since. i've landed myself into a state of confusion, and i've begun lying to my friends and to myself. i'm turning into a sober fraud, and i need to do a bit more soul searching. i need to figure my shit out, get my shit together, and give up the shit that keeps me down. my neck feels alot better now, thanks to my corny yoga dvd and all the stretching. the yoga video was for beginners, but i think i need one for beginning beginners. it was pretty sad. but, i need to keep working at it instead of avoiding it. i need jerry springer to inspire me with a final thought.

i don't know. but i'll keep you informed.

yours forever, (and good night)

Mustard.

well, tonight i'd like to discuss the various types of mustard that i have tasted in my 300 years as an alcoholic. First there was French's yellow mustard. GREAT on hotdogs (i like to blend a little relish in there, for that baseball stadium feel), also good with french fries when mixed with a little ketchup. ketchup by itself was ok when i was a kid, then my tastes matured a bit and i started to get into spicier foods. so i added a little mustard to my ketchup to offset the sweetness of the sugary tomato concoction. Second, came honey mustard. now honey mustard is one of those condiments that would make dogshit taste good. you could put honey mustard on just about anything, and people would eat it. fries, salad, chicken, dogshit... whoever thought honey and mustard would blend so perfectly together must have invented the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. third, i'd like to introduce grey poupon. what can i say. that is the best fucking mustard on this great, green earth and what IS REALLY in grey poupon?? i don't think they even list the ingredients. all they say is "made with white wine". i think they left out one of the major ingredients, like crack. i won't even touch a fry anymore without my grey poupon. i don't blame the guy in the limousine. he knew his shit. especially when it came to mustard. man, i love that stuff. but i don't buy it in the new squeeze bottle. nope. that's like drinking tott's champagne out of a plastic cup. only glass jars for me, baby. so children- what have we learned tonight about these three different types of mustard? very good! eating dogshit is ok as long as it's covered in honey mustard.

I JUST DON'T KNOW.

well, my faithful blogsters. what can i say. i just haven't been able to bring myself to post anything in the last few weeks. my job is just too stressful, demands too much of my time, as well as the dog and child. you've heard it all before. and i'm just tired. i look at my computer and look at my bed, and well, my bed is just a little more inviting. i can't resist it's lure and warmth. i fall asleep feeling guilty- i'm to blame for your lack of late night entertainment, and for the real go-getters, your midday read. my work is never done, as i just finished rinsing the excess die out of the t-shirts my old people made this afternoon in a tie-dye class. they have no idea how much i slave away just to keep them happy. and they're seldom happy.

on a lighter note, i have some good news. i got my 90 day review today from my miserable boss and in all areas, i exceeded expectations. except one- which was my interaction with the rest of the staff. in that area, i got "met" expectations. why do i have to get along with all of my co-workers? so what if i am a little abrupt?? quit acting like a dumb-ass-lazy-fuck and do your job. maybe i'm a little bitter because i don't have the power to fire anyone. the people that suck just stay and suck. and it makes my life more difficult. hence the frustration. where's my damn raise.

as for my personal life, well, i don't have time for one. no- i just exist. and do arts and crafts with old people. and shop at walgreens. i'm still on the sober wagon, and it's interesting what it's done to my attitude. i have LESS patience, i'm MORE irritable, and my tolerance for bullshit has plummeted to about zero. after a few grievances with my daughter's first grade teacher, i was sitting at the kitchen table and thought to myself that she was rude and i didn't agree with her teaching methods. so i wrote her a note that said "i think you're rude and i don't agree with your teaching methods." at the end of the week i had a meeting with the principal and told her i should have held onto private school, but i couldn't afford it. i thought there may be some light at the end of the public school tunnel, until the principal herself used the term "warm and fuzzies", in reference to the teacher's lack of "warm and fuzzies" resulting in my hatred for the hag. it has nothing to do with warm and fuzzies. she's just a bitch. jesus. for just nine thousand dollars a year, i could drop off my daughter in the morning and have peace of mind.

i gotta go to bed. i'm starting to look like a hunched-back homeless person.

and there's a lady out there named brigette who needs to call a sista.

love to you all,

new post

just letting my 2 faithful readers know that i'm still alive...having to get up at the fucking crack of dawn during the week is kicking my ass, and it has totally and utterly destroyed not only my social life, but my non-social life of mommy time after 10pm. i don't even have the energy at this moment to get you up to date on the sooooo exciting events of the last 2 weeks. drained. i'm just drained. but i swear- i have so much to say!! so check back in maybe tomorrow. who knows. i may still be alive. love to you all,

SCUPPERNONG

SOOOOOOO..... i'm giving up drinking. it's day #4. haven't gotten the shakes yet, but i've certainly shed a few wet ones. tears, that is. funny though- i'm not sure whether it's from my break-up with beer, or just plain ol' depression. i'm not making any major commitments, but i'm going to go as long as i can. maybe a month if i'm lucky. i'm my own experiment. i'm curious to see how alcohol effects my life- my moods, my sadness, my happiness, my money, my relationship with my dog....

after day #2, i went to my first party. i thought my friends would be supportive and cheer me on, being that this decision could only be seen as a positive one. i was wrong as a motherfucker. "WHAT? YOU DUMB ASS! ARE YOU SERIOUS? I BOUGHT YOU THIS FUCKING BOTTLE OF CHAMPAGNE! CAN'T YOU START THIS THING TOMORROW? IT'S MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY! THIS BEER IS IMPORTED! I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS SHIT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! GO JOIN A MONASTERY YOU SOBER BITCH!"

i love my friends. i do. and i asked some of my sober friends how to let go of the drunk ones who don't support you. the answers varied. my backlash is yet to be seen.

but my biggest problem right now is the alcoholic obligations i have made BEFORE my decision to nix the drink. i have some really cool neighbors who brew their own beer. and it's a pretty big deal when a batch is finished- i'm there with a quickness to receive a big bottle of the latest batch. it's an exciting time. when rawboy lived here, we always drank it together and discussed it's unique flavors, placing our careful and fair judgement. now i not only have ONE bottle of delicious neighborly brew, but TWO! and the second one is their ANNIVERSARY brew! the one i've been waiting for! we've ALL been waiting for! 13 years of fucking marriage SHOULD be celebrated- by the neighbors, by their neighbors, and ME! we will all guzzle in unison and the world will be a better place, and the long marriage will suddenly make sense, and it would all be worth it in the end- for the anniversary brew. i can hear it fermenting now from my kitchen...."Drink me now, and you, too, will have a happy 13 year marriage..."

i sent rawboy a lame text message inviting him over to share the beer. i mean hey, it's tradition. so he accepts the offer, meeting at the end of the week, in a 2 second phone conversation- very rawboy. and then, a few days later, i decide to quit. quit the beer, the wine, the espresso flavored vodka. and i cancelled my beer date with rawboy. it's all for the best. but i haven't told you about the SCUPPERNONG...

as some of my dedicated blogsters know, i now work with seniors. most of them are near the end, or at least they appear to be, and so they deserve a little wine every now and then. right? so i organized a little "wine tasting" for my old people, and it was a big success. they come out of their rooms for food, bingo, and wine. well, my favorite couple was there, and mentioned that if i were to have a wine tasting on VIRGINIA wines, then i would have to have a wine known as SCUPPERNONG. apparently, it's the only true virginia wine, and dates back to like 1200 b.c.
so i promised my couple i'd have this sacred wine at our next tasting.

well, once again, if you're a faithful dyvacreem reader, then you'd remember my blog "Til Death Do Us Part." tina, half of my couple, took sick and went into the hospital. walter, her husband, left too, and they are no longer with me. tina got moved to a rehabilitation center, where she now lives. the day walter came back to get the rest of her things, he took me to the side and handed me a bottle of SCUPPERNONG virginia wine. they never made it to the next wine tasting, and he wanted me to have it. so no, i'm not letting go of my scuppernong wine. it may never be opened, maybe one day it will. but this one's sentimental.

and there it is. if you love me- i mean really, really love me, you'll give a little more support than "fuck you" or "good luck". geez, i know some real assholes... but anyway, i do idolize a few of my friends, and brigette, you're one of 'em. thanks for your awesome self. i'll be in touch.

soberly yours(for now),

richmond chainsaw massacre

I WANT A CHAINSAW.

do you have to fill out an application to buy a chainsaw? is there a 5 day waiting period? a background check? JESUS! you can buy a fucking chainsaw at HOME DEPOT!
my daddy bought me an electric hedge trimmer today. i went crazy with that fucking thing. it started with the hedges- nice, even, round stupid bushes. then the branches growing against the house. then the big bush in the backyard that keeps attacking me. then i just couldn't stop. i wanted to cut through the fence. i wanted to slice my dog's head off. i wanted to throw it at my bitch of a neighbor as she peddled her tall ass into her driveway from a long, nice bike ride. skinny bitch. i trimmed the trash can. i trimmed the gutters. YES, THE VIBRATION!! HAHAHAHHEEEEEHAAAHG! my whole yard looks like it's joining the fucking military. pounds and pounds of foliage gone. i feel refreshed. i feel new and clean. i think i'll shave my bikini line with it. i want an upgrade. i want a chainsaw. no more trees. for ANYONE!

i'm going to bed.

uuuhhhhh....

today is saturday. i worked all day. then i went to the dog park. there was one other dog there. the other dog humped my dog's neck. i guess our dogs had fun. then i went home. i didn't even drink a beer or a glass of cheap white wine. i'm sleeping late on sunday. i may go to lunch. i may cut the grass. i may shoot up. not sure yet. i like the sound of thunderstorms. and gas prices will be way up on sunday. some oil thing in the ocean screwed up today. well, goodnight.

yours,

whatever

so i feel like i need to say something before i go to bed tonight. i don't know what exactly, but something. i met two awesome chicks today. they live in d.c. and i was there for work. hopefully we'll keep in touch. i danced with a ballroom dance instructor and the cutest little old man with parkinson's. i was visiting an assisted living center there and i joined in on the ballroom dance activity. a large group of elders showed up to participate, and they just loved to dance to the music. the instructor even danced with the wheelchair residents, twirling them around on the floor. oh, the little things....

i think i've figured out why i have such a bad case of the lonliness blues. i was talking with an old friend tonight about relationships and why we can't seem to make them work, and why or how they end. he said that it was hard for him to get over his ex because everything they had together was still there. i mean, she's the one that moved out and made a new start- a new apartment, new furniture, new shit, whatever. he stayed- stayed in the house and everyday he saw all the things that they had together, did together, the memories of spaces and places where they sat together, talked together. you know what i mean. all those things are still here, in my house to remind me, too. and when i sit down at the table, the couch, the front porch- i'm always reminded, and get mad for missing him. i'd like to be over it, and i'd like to move on without any thoughts of him. but it is hard, and denying that is a big fat lie. yes, he was an asshole. but it's his presence i miss- the companionship. the routine. anyway, tell me to get over it again.

ok, i swear i'm going to bed. i'll dream about the wonderful world of work tomorrow and punching the 8 hour clock. sweet dreams, my bloggy readers.

LONELY

aaahhhrrrggggg. i'm feeling very lonely tonight. maybe it's the rain. all day i've just wanted to sleep and all night i've just wanted to cry. it's the end of my period. maybe that's it. rawboy said we only argued when i was on my period. i disagreed. the fights may have been worse, but we argued alot. i think. but what's alot when you live together? how much are you supposed to argue? what's normal? geez. i'm pretty pathetic right now. tired as i am, i must sit here and tell my two readers how sad i feel and that i'm really in need of some company. i seem to somehow take on the problems of the world, with my dad expressing to me his regrets after his wife died and how much he misses her. The old ladies at work tell me how shitty their husbands were and how hard it was being young and married with children in those days. How they used to do so much, and now they do so little. I'm responsible for making their last days exciting, and it's just too much. I don't want it. I want a deserted island, a hut, and an amazing view. Peace and quiet. No responsibility. When did i start using capital letters?

I call on the spirit of Sade to put me to sleep tonight. And a few sips of Port.

I'll be in touch, and i promise i'll feel better next time.

Yours,

oh, and will somebody please tell me why we all aren't working for our fucking SELVES?? is there really any other way to live???
maybe i just wanna sleep late.

how come none of you ever tell me to shut the fuck up? or quit whining? or get over it? i think i need new friends.

Who am I?

Before you bloggers read on, I hope you are all sitting down. This is serious. Hell has officially frozen over. Be warned.

I own a juicer. And it's easier to use than Rawboy's. It's easy to clean. It's white. It's quiet. It's quick. It's spectacular.

Carrot juice, hear me roar. I'm going to juice everything in the fucking house, even the dog. The neighbors will call the cops. The streets will be blocked off. Child services will come. I'll be on national news as the crazy juicer lady.

Give me celery, or give me death.

I'll keep you posted.

Bad Luck Me.

So.

1. Today I couldn't find a parking space.
2. My dog had diarrhea in the middle of a crowded street in the middle of a festival.
3. Some hippie guy in Jesus sandals stepped in it before I attempted to sop it up with my plastic bag.
4. I couldn't pick up diarrhea with a plastic bag.
5. I needed cash at the ATM but I forgot my PIN.
6. My olives fell out of the cart in the grocery store on my way out and spilled all over the floor.
7. My car had a flat tire in the grocery store parking lot.
8. I have to work tomorrow.
9. My tire may be flat again.
10. I have to work tomorrow.

A holistic counselor once told me that my energy was spinning backwards. I think it's just stopped spinning, or it's sitting at a bar somewhere in Tijuana.

SUNDAY

I didn't miss you til today.

I woke up late and you were supposed to be here

making noise in the kitchen

pulling out your chair

writing or reading with your tea.

I went out on my own but

it wasn't that peaceful-

In fact, it was a little

chaotic and

grey.

I went into your empty room

where I put more clutter and a

chair.

I sat in the chair where your bed

used to be and looked

around

and tried

to smell you.

There was no trace of you or

the smell of your candle

that you made for

us.

The only thing I asked you to leave was

the scent of your

room.

It echoes now and

echoes are lonely sounds

so I'm quiet in it

and so were the tears welling

in my eyes

sitting

in the chair.

I think some new

paint

will make your room better

and make me feel better but

not

on Sunday.

The Mourning

This is the final post to conclude the saga of the ex-bartender and Rawboy, a tragedy set in the semi-suburbs of an overrated town in Virginia. Yes, this is your over-the-top, dramatic, and somewhat pathetic confession of a girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders who needs no one. If I told you that Rawboy was moving out this time, you may not believe me. You wouldn't believe me because I've told you this a million times before, and he never left. But tonight is different because all of his things are packed and sitting in boxes in an apartment miles away, a perfect little oasis where Rawboy can do his thing, act like a child, express his anger, be silent, sing, cry, scream, cook, screw, grow up, throw up, mature, find himself, and regret.

Rawboy is an incredible, self-absorbed asshole.

But the reason I post tonight is because I'm mourning his last night here. Don't get me wrong- when it was bad, it was really bad. But there were also the days when we worked really well. I'm remembering a time when he took my hand and led me through the woods to listen to the trees and the water running through the creek.

During his first few weeks in the house, I got very sick and he nursed me back to health.

There was a moment when he stood there and cried over the pain of his childhood and the fear of becoming a parent. I held him and told him he'd be a great father.

In the morning, lying there silent, he played with my hair and had no idea how that made me feel.

One week he went to the Bahamas. My phone woke me one morning with a picture of the sunrise over the ocean. I never told him that I felt like I was with him as I looked at it and cried. I see it every day.

There was a time when he told me he was coming to realize what a beautiful person I was and that he loved me.

He reminds me to breathe.

So there. Maybe I'm too dramatic. Too honest. Too easy. And I'll never hear the end of it from my friends. I wear my heart on my sleeve and don't hide my emotions. I don't care what he sees, or what you see. This is all I have- besides the pill I take to help me sleep.

So tomorrow I am alone again, for the first time in 8 months. Yes, that's a record for me. This "living together" thing kicked my ass. I don't think I'm ready. Fuck, I'm just trying to breathe.

As for the future, I don't wish to continue any kind of relationship with Rawboy. Who knows. He has a lot of growing to do and it should be done in my absence. I would, however, like to see him in about 10 years. We'd run into each other in Figi, where I'll be living in a straw hut by the water, catching my own fucking fish.

Oh, and my kitchen is once again a very lonely place. I think I need a juicer.