Don't You Want to Share the Guilt?

When you are involved and he belongs to someone else,

your self becomes less of a self.

You only get fragments.

At first they're the good parts:

excitement and giddiness,

until confusion seeps in, and confessions pour out

and then you get the sad parts and the mad parts.

All the while you're constructing yourself as an image,

spending hours creating an idea

made of lipstick and moisturizer and deep-conditioned ends,

so when he shows up -- late,

if he shows up --

you can smile and sympathetically nod,
offer yourself as affirmation,

until he exhausts himself of complaints

and you reach out to touch his arm

and provide a different way for him to exhaust himself.
This is what validates you.

And he pants

and he begs

and he whines,

and he's so much like an animal

he makes all men animals.

It is guilt

and control.

You torture yourself with pictures of his "real life",

consoling yourself with whatever flaws you can find to tear it apart --

she has man lips --

as if that's some sort of a sin she should be punished for.

As if you're entitled to do the punishing.

You are appearance.
He is not interested in insightful or profound,
so you dilute yourself,
hollow yourself out,
tightly contain everything you,
because he might get annoyed.

You don't get a whole person.
You are not a whole person,
You don't deserve a whole person.

He leaves over and over and over --
because you tried to be a real person,
you demanded attention that you didn't deserve,
you used the word 'feelings' --
but he always comes back,
pleading, insisting that he needs you.
This makes you feel secure.

You know it's only you because you're there,
but you like his reason better.

He gets to disappear
and leave you to contend with
all the ugly little pieces.

The Longer I Lay Here

   Two posts in one day? Talk about narcissism! But seriously people, shit's about to get real.

   I just had a long conversation with Johnny, who you may or may not remember and are welcome to catch up on here. He and I have fallen out of touch with each other, due to time, distance and the awkward stiff exchanges that have developed in their wake. It's often easier to let things fall by the wayside, to succumb to the seeming inevitability of drifting. Until today, when he pissed me off.
   I posted a dreamy facebook status about the romance of youth and letting the world break your heart, and he responded with a snarky psychoanalysis, claiming I was projecting frustration I felt with my own apathy onto the rest of the world. I responded with a sarcastic thank you for his insights, and forced myself not to send him a text message demanding that he never dare psychoanalyze me ever again, for fear of death or whatever.
   Tonight I saw him on facebook chat and decided to make a joke of it, asking very sarcastically when his interest in psychoanalysis had developed. He responded sincerely, the bitter undercurrent evidently (and fortunately) having been swallowed whole by the internet, explaining that it was an ongoing process, "sparked by the fire of self-discovery." Driven by his sincerity, I told him I was in the process of redefining my own identity and trying to overcome my fears of intimacy and communication through breaking down my mental barriers, but that it was still in its infancy and I wasn't sure "which barriers were appropriate." He responded with: "You are awesome. Honestly. I'm so glad we can talk like this and I want to support you any way I can." This led to an hour and a half of confessional honesty, a baring of egos and self-inflicted obstacles on relationships and the construction of self-images and the limits of our very similarly contained selves.
   The conversation ended with an agreement for another later in the week. Whether it will happen or not- your guess is as good as mine. Either way, I'm happy and nervous that I overcame a little bit of myself tonight. And that's one of the best things I've been able to say to myself in months.

Tell Me in the Morning

   The Weekend That Shall Forever After Be (Kind of) Remembered as The Birthday Bender


   I got drunk Friday at noon, and basically stayed that way until Sunday morning. It was the most exhausting weekend of my life.
     We spent Friday afternoon talking to the most country bartender ever, who told me about "an article" he read that was talking about sexting, explaining that there are vibrating devices your phone hooks up to that you put between your legs that are signaled every time you receive a text. The ride home was spent laughing with Sister #3, who turned 31 Friday, about how how grossly misinformed he was.
     "I wanted to be like- you have OBVIOUSLY never sexted" I gasped.
     "I know, seriously! Because THAT IS NOT WHAT HAPPENS!" she added, equally hysterical.

   Saturday we went on a Pub crawl. Bobby came along and I got so wasted that at one point I actually pointed to him and yelled to my cousin, who has read my blog via my Twitter account, "THIS IS BOBBY MCGEE! THAT'S HIM!" (Note: When you are drunk enough that you TALK ABOUT YOUR OWN BLOG, you should have stopped drinking at least an hour ago. And that wasn't even where it ended.) There was also a sing-along, which was super awesome, and at one point we talked about Pink Floyd and I insisted repeatedly that The Wall album "gets me on a level that no person EVER will. EVER. EVER." Which was true when I was fifteen. Not as much anymore.

   Then I went to Girls Night with several of my friends where I rambled nonsense and told them over and over "I broke my phone and I DON'T EVEN CARE!" 

   I dropped my phone hard enough to destroy the screen, and now I kind of do care about that. I also spilled an entire drink in my lap. I hold my liquor really, really well. Anyone want to party?

Maybe I'm Just Tired

Sometimes I miss you to the bone

in a way that keeps me up at night

you used to keep me up at night,

with your pleading and your laughing and the guilt-ridden, empty promises

you forgot to take with you

when you disappeared.

i finally shut you out

but my mind let you back in

while i was sleeping.