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Hey blog world. This is a random rantage... so use your seatbelt... and remember that if its not on, its not on. I'm floundering again. Rising out of the mire with my grand life plan, scrawled out on a piece of paper thats been made to look old with coffee and burnt around the edges for effect. Relics are priceless... only its not real. its not a relic. Its a fake. And I'm losing confidence. What is buried at the X? What the hell is that spot marking? Is it really a treasure? Domestic bliss my arsehole. I've got a revelation for you blog world, I am NOT a domestic goddess. There I said it. I'm more sylvia plath than martha stewart. I found an old picture of me today... 15 kg lighter. Somehow, I feel like I was better off before. Sometimes I want to just sit down with her and have her hear me... You've got a man who saw me go through an eating disorder and said nothing. Who watched as I fell apart and instead of helping pick up the pieces ran away with you. Do you really think that he won't do that again? There's something about seeing into the blackness of other people's souls... you never really shut that door again... and you might know how light he can be... but I remember the black. That never dies. But that was only sparked by the picture. Actually I looked extraordinary! I looked great. I wasn't mundane. I was free. Now I'm trapped by fat. I'm going to get the hell out of this cage if it kills me! I spoke with mine about kids a couple of times lately. I waiver between wanting them... soon... and wanting them never. I don't know. Until promises are really made, I'll never feel secure. I don't place enough stock even then to feel 100% safe... never... Am I writing in riddles? And half formed sentences... What I'd give to have you back from europe... I wish I'd been single when we met. Not so that we could hook up... god that would have been a mistake, but that I could have spent more time with you and gotten to know you better without fear of retribution and shame... without the stigma of deceit. I wish that i felt like there was someone out there who was listening to the story and actually cared. As I get older I realise that we're all simultaneous narratives, and very rarely do we actually care what other people around us are saying, its just luck and good fortune when we find someone who's story we actually want to read. Its exceptional luck when they want to listen back... God... I need people who will listen, who will know, who will care... I need a group again. I need stupid sit coms NOT to have lied to me and there to be some kind of real bond between women and men beyond sex... somewhere to be free... Maybe my older brother is awake... |
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i wonder if its possible that through the miracle of the internet and some kind of freaky fucking fluctuation in space and time, our younger selves are here blogging along side us. I know i read them sometimes... and its not nearly as disturbing as you think. I think when something stops making you feel uncomfortable then you know you've gotten past it permanently. |
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I'm starting to really get the idea that I'm pushing proverbial shit up a very large proverbial hill. And while I'm trying not to get my bitch on, repeated bullshit like this will result in conflict... mark my words. While I'm trying not to play the bitter bitch, and somehow see through all this to some kind of goodness in you, rather than just seeing the same transparent plays I used to get from her. The irony could be your favourite food... so fucking delicious... you're never going to be you are you? You're just going to be some twisted mirror of the latest fuck you've managed to charm with your strange combination of intelligence and clueless... Well I'm not going to be treated like last weeks cum rag. Not by you. So either man up and fucking deal with shit the way it is, accept the olive branch, stop being a drama queen and make something real of what is here in front of you, or slink away with your apologies and publicly fucking make a statement that you're the fucking arsehole you look like being right now. |
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... from my family. I realised tonight, that despite numerous second chances and plenty of patience from me, there's not a whole lot in my 24 years that can redeem most of my family. And the family members I do value, I've been really neglectful of. I feel like total arse. |
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its pretty easy, i think, to approach a 'new baby' with the same kind of excessive fervour reserved for stationary-philes on the first day back at school. I remember feeling like i had to have everything all ready for the first day... success depended on it... but realistically, I didn't even need that calculator till the next year, I wasn't going to really use all of those pencils... and how many pens does a person need anyway. On top of this is the convenience of knowing that there will always be a tomorrow and what I didn't have, I could usually do without and what I needed I could always get. I suppose some people might feel like they need the whole circus before the baby is born, but really, how much do you think that little blob is going to use in the first couple of months anyway? Why spend all that time and money collecting things that you might not need at the end of the day anyway. It seem silly to me. Can't you wait? Perhaps its part of the newness of it all... perhaps its a reassuring 'feeling prepared'... maybe you're never really prepared for everything. And perhaps at the end of the day, some people might compensate for their age and lack of experience with 'things'. I don't know. Its just a really recent thing that has come to my attention... and now its come to yours. |