I still hate the holidays but that last entry was a ray of sunshine, huh? Good grief.
It's a constant struggle as of late. Part of me wants to give up, curl into a little ball and wait there until I'm old and then I can simply ...fade away until everyone forgets about me and I even forget myself and I don't even bother to die; no, I just slowly wither and shrink and eventually, someone glances over at where I used to be and shudders as an uncertain chill runs down the spine...hair stands up on necks or arms, a memory tickles the back of the mind, too infinitesimal for focus, too insignificant to develop and too fleeting to grasp, a shadow even in the brain, ultimately receding there as well, utterly and truly gone...
and part of me goes, "are you BATSHIT??? YOU are UNFORGETTABLY tectonic! You shift realities just by existing and you're flirting with shadows? Shut all of your fucks up, pop your mouth off your titty and go get fucking drenched in life, you spoiled twat!"
I want to shelter my kids while exposing them to the realities we are all facing. But…gently.
I want to smother my husband. With a pillow. Made of kisses. And bricks. Of chocolate. And cement.
We used to be very intimate - not just sensually (laughing at myself since I had to pause and confirm I meant 'sensual' and not 'sensuous' and yes, I mean grown up stuff, not all my senses stuff, but I guess that, too) but with how close we were with one another. I bragged, "you know how couples finish each other’s sentences? POSERS! We say the same word at the same time!"
Occasionally, we’d come across the odd one who’d audaciously retort, "big whoop. We do too." Haaarrrumph, HA! Not like us. No one is like us. "Oh, really?" I’d scoff, ever the more haughty. "Are they made up words? Like eleventeen or Januholic?" *blank stare* "I didn’t think so." And therein would ensue much self-congratulatory back-patting at the flawless eternal nature of our indestructible love.
BULLSHIT.
BULLSHIT.
BULLSHIT.
How do I explain what I mean...how do I...ah yes. Bishop Briggs puts it quite nicely in her song, "River,"
Hairpin trigger. Fuckdammit, yes. That’s what it’s like. The slightest little thing sets his little bitchass off. I miss our laughter and our sex.
Did I mention I’ve known him since kindergarten but we only started dating in 2013…he’s had a crush on me, for really really, since 2002. Sheesh. That alone tells you something, doesn’t it?
It's a constant struggle as of late. Part of me wants to give up, curl into a little ball and wait there until I'm old and then I can simply ...fade away until everyone forgets about me and I even forget myself and I don't even bother to die; no, I just slowly wither and shrink and eventually, someone glances over at where I used to be and shudders as an uncertain chill runs down the spine...hair stands up on necks or arms, a memory tickles the back of the mind, too infinitesimal for focus, too insignificant to develop and too fleeting to grasp, a shadow even in the brain, ultimately receding there as well, utterly and truly gone...
and part of me goes, "are you BATSHIT??? YOU are UNFORGETTABLY tectonic! You shift realities just by existing and you're flirting with shadows? Shut all of your fucks up, pop your mouth off your titty and go get fucking drenched in life, you spoiled twat!"
I want to shelter my kids while exposing them to the realities we are all facing. But…gently.
I want to smother my husband. With a pillow. Made of kisses. And bricks. Of chocolate. And cement.
We used to be very intimate - not just sensually (laughing at myself since I had to pause and confirm I meant 'sensual' and not 'sensuous' and yes, I mean grown up stuff, not all my senses stuff, but I guess that, too) but with how close we were with one another. I bragged, "you know how couples finish each other’s sentences? POSERS! We say the same word at the same time!"
Occasionally, we’d come across the odd one who’d audaciously retort, "big whoop. We do too." Haaarrrumph, HA! Not like us. No one is like us. "Oh, really?" I’d scoff, ever the more haughty. "Are they made up words? Like eleventeen or Januholic?" *blank stare* "I didn’t think so." And therein would ensue much self-congratulatory back-patting at the flawless eternal nature of our indestructible love.
BULLSHIT.
BULLSHIT.
BULLSHIT.
How do I explain what I mean...how do I...ah yes. Bishop Briggs puts it quite nicely in her song, "River,"
How do we fall in love? Harder than a bullet could hit you
How do we fall apart? Faster than a hairpin trigger
Hairpin trigger. Fuckdammit, yes. That’s what it’s like. The slightest little thing sets his little bitchass off. I miss our laughter and our sex.
Did I mention I’ve known him since kindergarten but we only started dating in 2013…he’s had a crush on me, for really really, since 2002. Sheesh. That alone tells you something, doesn’t it?