Morning. Nothing To Say.

"If you set out on a journey pray that the road is long
a wandering without apparent aim a blind groping
so you come to know earth's harshness not just by sight but by touch
so that you measure yourself against the world with your whole skin."

--Journey, Zbigniew Herbert

Ordinary

I just noticed that my one and only blog in this journal portrays me as a sloppy drunk. All I can say in my defense is that like most writers, I may unfortunately be best inspired while under the table. To anyone I offended: sorry but I can't erase it. I made a deal with myself that no matter how terrible or short-sighted my writings turned out to be I wouldn't cover anything up or post any convincing excuses that might portray me in a more positive light. I'm a horribly flawed person and I've come to terms with it--mostly.

I will admit though that some of what I wrote is not an accurate depiction of my feelings. Things aren't so black and white as I made them in that moment (although I believe he did pick me up that night thinking I looked like a disheveled $5 whore) and I certainly don't make real judgments about a person's character based on their appearances alone (see: peroxide and silicone). In fact, in an odd and private way I may even aspire to that kind of beauty since on any given day without the right application of make-up I'm in danger of looking a little homely. Ordinary. Possibly a touch Jewish.

(TBC...)

So drunk I can't communixate.

Drinking at Applebees

In my right mind I would never blog while drinking in a small town chain bar a few miles down from a hotel I'm staying in just to tell everyone I'm alone and getting shit faced while my boyfriend visits his ex of ten years for thanksgiving. What would you do?

I suppose I should be rooting him on like the good, mature adult I'd like so much to be. He is after all spending quality time with her kids. Kids. Well, her teenagers and adults (16-21). Hahahahaha. And he's being a good friend to her, the peroxide blasted silicone pumped woman he called "wife" for ten years. The same ex-wife he can't stop confiding in, calling, texting, emailing. And, I mean, I really want to be enlightened about all of this.

I want to see things for what they really are. I want to believe this is about "the kids" and smooth transitions, not co-dependence and moronic therapeutic ideologies. I want to think he actually loves me and I'm not some catalyst for transformation amid a midlife crisis and marital dry-spell.I want to believe he's not going to pick me up from here and decide I look like a drunk and disheveled $5 whore in the face of his beloved Christian princess who lives on the hill saving the world one psychotropic drug at a time and reminding him what a failure he is so he'll always strive to meet her, to please her.

I want to believe he won't see that I'm imperfect and too fragile for betrayals. I don't want to be left alone in hotel rooms anymore. I can't be left on streets in towns I don't know in the middle of the night. I don't want to be abandoned anymore.

It sounds weak and so simple but I want more than anything now just to be normal. I want to belong to someone and be safe in their world. I want to be loved like other people are loved in the average, basic way. I want to be his family on holidays and that woman he can confide in and would come to at any time of night or day. I don't want to be...

doing a shot now with strangers



...very suddenly drunk.