you’ve got to be fucking kidding me November 26, 2009

huh. and so here i am.

crying at yet another grey’s anatomy episode.

in my bed. right where i should be.
all snuggled into my pillows and bear, right where i should be.

so i got fired/laid off/i quit. and i’m thrilled. i couldn’t stand another day at work. it’s like i’m in seattle all over again, unable to force myself out of bed to do another day of drudgery. and i know, i had a great job. but i couldn’t do it anymore. i tried to get fired, and i succeeded. just like i tried to be dumped, and eventually, it happened. my passive-agressiveness won yet again, and therefore i’m free. maybe one day i’ll make decisions for myself, instead of letting them happen to me.

i’m crying. part of me is just so sad, that i can’t do anything but cry, and the thought of doing anything else is absolutely ridiculous. i will just cry and cry and cry until i run out of tears. and they will be because of you.

but another part of me knows that i could reach out and have someone listen to me, and hold me tight, and keep me from the immediate pain. my friends. thank god for friends, who are ready to keep me safe from myself.

safe. i am beginning to be safe. if i stayed here any longer, i would die. my liver would give out, my lungs would quit. staying here is a matter of life or death. and the best part about that?
i want to live. and so, that’s why i’m going. i want to live. i want to live. i want to live.

that guy died November 8, 2009

that girl just changed her hair color.

I’m not the only one (who loves you) September 18, 2009

I love it when you break my heart. You do it so often, I may as well get used to it, huh?

And you know what’s funny? My jealousy. It’s so abject and absurd. What do I care about those other girls? It certainly doesn’t matter anymore.

I erased my myspace, only to want to cut myself a little deeper by listening to the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard, song in part by one girl who was a vision of my jealousy. But it’s somehow comforting. And to distance myself from the real myspace, I borrowed the best alias a girl could – one deceased grandmother who practically has the same birthday and name as me. God bless you, grandma. Thank you for being a party to my demise. Maybe I’ll see you soon.

“I’m not the only one…that loves you…” she sings, a tiny death in my heart, partly because, well, it’s just a beautiful song, and she’s singing about “I don’t know who you’ve been, or who you’ve been with…” and so on and so forth…but a tiny death because…well, shit, because I can’t sing like this. Or can I?

I’m not the only one that loves you. Or am I?

My tears and years certainly don’t love you, rather, they hold things against you, like geography and promises and sketches of people we might have been.

Oh! How funny it is. How truly comical is my life. How incredibly ironic and entertaining and…so funny. SO ironic is my life. That I followed you back to my own insecurities just to be left in the dust once, and then, when I finally find a voice of my own, it is tempered by Jameson, your drink, it sits alone in the dark, smoking Parliaments, listening to this song, of all songs. I’d laugh, but it’s just too sad right now.

It’s funny, ain’t it, how a broken heart just simmers, until maybe all the blood just boils away, and I’m left with the memories of life lost.

Thanks, Margie Lee Davis, for giving me your name. At least, for tonight.

And you, the destroyer of me, well, I’ve got nothing left to say to you…for now.