so what if i didn't eat the whole plum?
sometimes there are nights set out to remind you of all the reasons you don't need to have nights anymore. the ones where you feel you really should have stayed in and finished off whatever it is you have been avoiding at home. like loose shelving or unhung pictures. laundry. homework. the last of the bath salts and wine. anything but spending another evening with a crowd of lost beings clinging together in search of one moment to make it worth remembering it all. and it all boils down to something trivial. like a by-the-water-cooler office joke. you learn how to get a nun pregnant and, surprise, the world keeps turning.
i don't think i need to do it anymore. i just can't keep up. alcohol does nothing but remind me that i am hard up with no outlet. i know, a sad, yet true, confession here. and while it does aide in alleviating the problem, it still serves its moral delivery in the morning, a reminder that pretty-done and liquored-up only leaves you tuned-in and turned-out the next day.
i don't want to be that girl who bitches about the loss of chivalry without taking on some of the responsibility. i mean, that shit works both ways. it's really that i spent the evening with a fucking maniacal libra and i'm bitter. i just have to wonder when i got this filter for motives that i cannot seem to shake. i feel like every guy i meet only wants to talk to me once i've begun to open the curtains of the window of opportunity that might be getting into my pants. is this a secret they've been keeping from me all along? maybe i've just reached the point where it isn't enough to have good sex anymore. something makes me want more. but the wanting and the needing begin to collide and i get scared. i do that cowardice thing where i act like i don't give a shit what happens because i know if you never really start something, you don't have to deal with it ending. what if i can't ever find someone that wants to give me both? sex and stability. or even can, no less?
i guess it doesn't matter. i have my own approach and i don't see how i can go about it in any other manner. trial and error, i suppose.
in other news:
my mother summoned me to get the last of my childhood memorabilia out of my old room today. i felt that i was being kicked off the island. and it was so strange to rummage through my emotional assets from around age 12 to 18. and you know i had to sit and read through every journal, drone over ever lost or unsent love letter. and they say i'm cheesy now... you will be proud the hear that i threw most of the bubba box out. well, after i spent an hour sorting it over, trying not to cry or invade my father's liquor cabinet. but i was strong and now what was once a love story is on its way to being recycled into toilet tissue. something about that makes me feel better.
other scores include: shelves for my kitchen, three dresses i forgot i had, one of those windchime xylophone thingys, and a box of crayons for adelia badelia. oh, oh, and a hand-stitched copy of the serenity prayer that my grandfather's mother made for mema. that made it all worthwhile. it used to hang above my grandmother's dining room table when she still lived in goodlettsville. it was one of the first things i ever remember reading. and feisty rhi-ta-ta thought it would be a fun thing to put in the yard sale. sure buddy...
i'm about done here. calming down from the evening, which in retrospect wasn't really all that horrible. kellog and i made a tasty vegan buffet and the boys brought over some wine. they let me listen to blood on the tracks on vinyl. all was well until the wine settled in.*
*see above
i don't think i need to do it anymore. i just can't keep up. alcohol does nothing but remind me that i am hard up with no outlet. i know, a sad, yet true, confession here. and while it does aide in alleviating the problem, it still serves its moral delivery in the morning, a reminder that pretty-done and liquored-up only leaves you tuned-in and turned-out the next day.
i don't want to be that girl who bitches about the loss of chivalry without taking on some of the responsibility. i mean, that shit works both ways. it's really that i spent the evening with a fucking maniacal libra and i'm bitter. i just have to wonder when i got this filter for motives that i cannot seem to shake. i feel like every guy i meet only wants to talk to me once i've begun to open the curtains of the window of opportunity that might be getting into my pants. is this a secret they've been keeping from me all along? maybe i've just reached the point where it isn't enough to have good sex anymore. something makes me want more. but the wanting and the needing begin to collide and i get scared. i do that cowardice thing where i act like i don't give a shit what happens because i know if you never really start something, you don't have to deal with it ending. what if i can't ever find someone that wants to give me both? sex and stability. or even can, no less?
i guess it doesn't matter. i have my own approach and i don't see how i can go about it in any other manner. trial and error, i suppose.
in other news:
my mother summoned me to get the last of my childhood memorabilia out of my old room today. i felt that i was being kicked off the island. and it was so strange to rummage through my emotional assets from around age 12 to 18. and you know i had to sit and read through every journal, drone over ever lost or unsent love letter. and they say i'm cheesy now... you will be proud the hear that i threw most of the bubba box out. well, after i spent an hour sorting it over, trying not to cry or invade my father's liquor cabinet. but i was strong and now what was once a love story is on its way to being recycled into toilet tissue. something about that makes me feel better.
other scores include: shelves for my kitchen, three dresses i forgot i had, one of those windchime xylophone thingys, and a box of crayons for adelia badelia. oh, oh, and a hand-stitched copy of the serenity prayer that my grandfather's mother made for mema. that made it all worthwhile. it used to hang above my grandmother's dining room table when she still lived in goodlettsville. it was one of the first things i ever remember reading. and feisty rhi-ta-ta thought it would be a fun thing to put in the yard sale. sure buddy...
i'm about done here. calming down from the evening, which in retrospect wasn't really all that horrible. kellog and i made a tasty vegan buffet and the boys brought over some wine. they let me listen to blood on the tracks on vinyl. all was well until the wine settled in.*
*see above