5/28/00
"Well, the dog act got drunk again last night...and the king and queen of the waltz clog team had another fight...the king lost control of his tango grip, nearly lost his queen in a dip...she righted herself, straightened out her slip and kicked him in the shin..."
Okay, enough of the whiny ass, heartbreak bullshit. I'm over it. Friday was way bad...all day long the reality of being dropped on my ass weighed on my brain...I ended up leaving work early (3:30) because I had a "headache." Got home and she was there. FUCK, woman, is there nowhere on this earth that you are not? So then she prepared to go out with Faggot and I got ready to go to that art show I was invited to. The show was actually quite fun...I was highly entertaining Friday night. Plus I was about the only person there (besides my friend the host) who was wearing shoes and had recently showered. But it was a pretty good time, I met some interesting people and it sure as hell beat sitting at home with a bottle of wine and my own misery. I was thoroughly into the "anger" bit by the time I got back home, and I lit into Miss Megan about how I thought this arrangement totally sucked and yes, it was her fault because never did I once say "things are so bad I want to split up." So after several hours of fighting, we retreated to our separate beds. Within an hour she was in mine, telling me she didn't know what to do, it seemed like a good idea to split up but it sucked, blah blah blah. So AGAIN we sleep in the same bed. Then Saturday morning, she determines that maybe we don't need to break up exactly, we just need to have some "space." What the fuck ever that means. We also discussed the fact that she considered my therapy and getting over the last 15 years of shit in my life really was like a bother to her, as bad as she knew that sounded, and she was sorry, but she'd already gone through all her shit and didn't want to be bothered with my shit. Hmmm...that's shitty. But I kind of understood. Then we touched on the whole issue about her not wanting to have sex...like, EVER. Apparently I'm just supposed to accept that she's not an "intimate" person.
Oh, really?
So last night I met my friend C at a very small and very quiet bar downtown. I told him all about what was going on...to the extent, that is, that I know what's going on. Because right now, I don't...we seem to be still together, or back together, or whatever, but living separate lives...whatever it is, I don't know if I like it any better. And as for the sex part, well, I think I've decided to see what I can get out of L. Because he continues to hit on me (at least, that's my perception--I may be totally wrong but generally with men, if you think they want you, you're usually not far off) and if your well goes dry, you have to get the water SOMEWHERE. And yes, that's shitty, but I no longer equate sex with love. They are not--I repeat, NOT--the same thing. And anyone who still thinks they are is in for a rude awakening one of these days.
I am currently at my mother's house in the Cess Pool. No one else is home. I come down to visit and there's no one here...my sister and her wife-beater boyfriend showed up very briefly and I swear, if that little fuckhead doesn't quit giving me that same filthy look, I'm going to beat his fucking ass. Oooh--tension! Suffice to say I think he's a worthless piece of shit and I wish he'd leave my sister the fuck alone. Anyway, here I am...my computer at home is still fucked up. I think I have a bad restore diskette, so I'm not sure where to go from here. Fuck fuck fuck.
I am completely numb. I don't think I could feel anything right now if I fucking tried.
"I hear them talk about the palace but it's so far out of reach...so I'll do my time...then say goodbye to Panic Beach..."
And tomorrow's the last day of this marvelous 3-day weekend. I am so ready to fly the coop I could just scream...
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