So I am here, smoking too many cigarettes and trying to get drunk by drinking Bailey’s.
My Padawan has informed me that my mission buss, because you cannot get drunk off of Baileys. Damnit, I was trying so hard, but I think she’s right.
I am miserable, and all my thoughts of pragmatism and mental and emotional distance are shattered.
I do not want to spend months writing about this fucker… not like last year when that other motherfucker absorbed way too much of my time. I don’t want to feel as though darkness is swallowing me, the way I did last year.
There are too many entries like that in this blog from that time period already.
I keep seeing the pumpkin i fixed in my head, spinning in the rush of Grand Rivere’s rapids, and I remember that weekend; I am remembering all our weekends, and why nothing I do ever seems to be enough.
It’s fine to know you are beautiful and capable, strong and intelligent, but if every man you come in contact with simply doesn’t have the strength and wherewithal to keep up, then what do you do for man/woman love?
When will it be my turn. I don’t remember what being in love was like, and I’ve never been in a remotely satisfying relationship and I am 30. Almost 31. When will it be my turn for babies and year-long bouts of regular mind-blowing sex?
My mind-blowing sex with YMK didn’t last long enough for it to be an anathema to the hole men have made in my life.
Padawan says I wasn’t missing him. She says I was missing the good times, missing the memories we made. She says I’m lonely now and that is what is fucking with my head. Jesus, my Padawan is smarter than me. Although I think we share the smart stick and pass it like a baton when we need it, so I don’t feel so bad.
FUCK!!! I HATE THIS!!! DAMNIT!!!
Where is that godamn bottle of Bailey’s? Surely if you drink an entire bottle of Bailey’s you will get at least slightly fucked up.
To make matters worse, my cousin just walked into the room to meet my face streaming with tears. He doesn’t even care, walked right by me and said nothing.
Right now, my loneliness, my joblessness, my homelessness, my rootlessness, my manlessness is killing me. I am alternating between numbness and grief… keening grief.
All attempts at pragmatism have left me.
Where is that godamn bottle of Bailey’s?
Going to get some more Bailey’s, going on the deck by the lake to shiver and smoke. And cry… really allow myself to cry.
Padawan says to go and look in the mirror first and smile… she says it helps. She also says love, love, love, love, love is all for me.