Finally here.


My parents had to come back to town not once, but twice.
I’ve been in limbo all day.
It’s been too much.
I really pretty much resorted to begging all day.
Please take care of this water situation without me.
Please stop by the office and help me.
Please come be with me.
Anybody, just once, while I am brave or stupid enough to ask.
I offered to pay my friends.
Where is my fucking dignity?

I really honestly did not see this day coming at all.
Never plan to have a good day, I guess.
I have them all the time when I don’t need them so desperately.

Fragility makes me ill.
I know I have said it before, but I miss being heartless.
With all the energy I have posivitely WASTED giving a shit,
I could have easily been a very rich woman.

Today and tomorrow are the last two days that I would be able to say
“A year ago, grandma was alive.”

How dare my mother ask that I stay alone in this house this week!
She still believes I am the cold uncaring child that I was perceived as growing up. But though she expects many things, expressed and unexpressed, she rarely outright asks for anything. I have to honor that since I am so crushed my the rejection of my own simple requests of others.

She is my mother. And though I have criticized her for being so dependent on the love of her mother– especially since it made the loss that much greater for her– I should probably envy their friendship. For 57 years she never had to question love or commitment or loyalty, that’s for certain.

I think some people have the ability to ask of their lives and relationships “what am i getting out of this?” I don’t have that ability, or even the instinct . . . until I am utterly bereft. Empty. And that is the worst time to start trying to care for yourself, when you have no resources left.

Having been so clearly in charge of my emotions for so long, I never really learned to have them and tame them at the same time. It may be too late– but I can still make decisions, even if they are painful at the time, and know that eventually the feeling will pass and I will be left with something new that I made with the energy I would have put into feeling sorry or sad or lonely.

If I hadn’t been so self sabatoging, I would paint now. But I left my art materials at the house. Mostly I was too lazy to put them in the car, but I also wanted to force myself to deal with whatever funk I had left.

I’m sure I will be back here– since there is so little to distract me here. But the computer is slow and annoying.
I want food, but again, I am lazy.

I wish imaginary friends could drive to mcdonalds.


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