I can feel the soil falling over my head
it's the strangest thing. Somehow he stole my idea. Today the only thing running over and over through my head was...dear diary...I am fucking miserable. Let me just say one thing. This isn't entirely my fault. My misery and lonesomeness isn't equated to myself alone. I can thus far blame for sure nobody else. But I can't accept full responsability. Maybe that makes me selfish. I have been a lot worse wretched things than that before.
Thus begins.
!5 deaf old people sitting around a table at a restaurant. I happen to be their server. They sputter and spittle all over themselves moaning and creaking for coffee and salad and I'm lost in the outpour. I get a few glasses of wine and wipe my disgusted tears off my pale and worn the fuck out face. merolt? Cabernet? they can't hear me. I can't hear them. It's like a dialouge with a new born baby except one that will repremand you for your mistakes not theirs. 30 minutes go by and I'm crying in the bar to some goth boy who got bit by a poisonous spider the day before. His arm is infected and oozing. I feel closer to him than anyone in the entire world because he makes jokes as bad as i do and for some reason i feel like this shit life isn't his fault. But the deaf people I have no compassion for. I could as easily serve them spaghetti and smile as kick over their chairs and oxygen tanks and let them grasp for dear life on the floor as i step over them to serve table 145 right behind theirs. In the last hour when I utterly gave up...we started writing notes. I hated her. I hated her disability and her speach and her way of inconveniencing me in my time of frustration. she wrote down...can you take a check? In sprawling old lady handwriting. I walked to the computer in the back of the restaurant and gripped my eyelids so tight to keep them from exploding. I folded up the piece of paper and put it in my apron. to keep. to remember. to look at in 9 years and recall the freakshow cripple of a woman who had no voice but the power to frustrate and belittle me to tears.
The bartender put his arm around my should and said you have to be kidding? I assured him no. non. non. I picture myself having sex with every person I meet. for jest alone. yet I still do it. It made me want to vomit. I moved his arm away and continued the bullshit nonsence work i was doing before.
In my car belle and sebastian was playing on a tape my best friend had left in my car when we used to live together. It was muffled and worn...the tape...I wondered if he maybe wanted it back someday. he never wanted anything. I figured it was mine for the keeping.
My love. My one real /fake lover gave up on me in pity and grief on main and fourth. I hung up the phone at 129 curry ave. driveway of apt. #2. royal oak michigan. Sitting in the car I decided to walk indooors and smash every fucking thing that could possibly break or at least bang and fall to the wooden floor. i decided my energy wouldnt last to clean it all up. It actually ended up like this...A girl in her bedroom playing stanlow by o.m.d. on her record player over and over. on the third time she stood against the closet wept every fluid out of her tiny green eyes and had a disgusting dialouge with the towel hanging on her wall as her face hid inside its fold..."I just want you...sob sob...and nobody else....to wake up next to and take me to fly kites and kiss me night in your bedroom in our underwear. I just want you. and i need you more than I love you. But I love you more than I have loved anything tangible or untouchable. You bastard son of a bitch I hate you. sob sob. "
I woke up today and worked from ten am until almost 9pm. I had dinner with rebecca. she just may be my saving grace and we just may be the stilts that hold eachother up in this fucking hole we have fallen into. the games just dont work. It hurt today. We made a cd for eachother and while she went to the bathroom I stared into the wall and realized that this is actual moving on. never have I had to do it beofre but I guess this is the real thing. he is so close. about 3 blocks away sleeping in his bed I'm sure with the grey sheets and blue blanket over him. I wonder what his tattoo looks like. i wonder if he fell asleep to pulp or bauhaus tonight. I wonder if its cold inside his room and if he's more excited to see emily in the morning than anything else. And then i wonder if I am my own downfall and if my mind is going to kill my body long before my body kills itself. I would have to say yes.
I was warned that this may be the hardest and worst winter I have had to take. Alone. Far away. No family. Only two girls to hold onto. My beautiful fearful lover long gone and removed from my sheets that still sometimes smell like him. alone. fucking alone. god help me make it through this one because we both know Ihave always been weak and pitiful. now more than ever. I'm a repulsive pitiful binewski fabulon rather than a bright eyes black haird girly who used to believe in magic. I don't believe in majic or foction anymore. Just faction. Thats my life.
Thus begins.
!5 deaf old people sitting around a table at a restaurant. I happen to be their server. They sputter and spittle all over themselves moaning and creaking for coffee and salad and I'm lost in the outpour. I get a few glasses of wine and wipe my disgusted tears off my pale and worn the fuck out face. merolt? Cabernet? they can't hear me. I can't hear them. It's like a dialouge with a new born baby except one that will repremand you for your mistakes not theirs. 30 minutes go by and I'm crying in the bar to some goth boy who got bit by a poisonous spider the day before. His arm is infected and oozing. I feel closer to him than anyone in the entire world because he makes jokes as bad as i do and for some reason i feel like this shit life isn't his fault. But the deaf people I have no compassion for. I could as easily serve them spaghetti and smile as kick over their chairs and oxygen tanks and let them grasp for dear life on the floor as i step over them to serve table 145 right behind theirs. In the last hour when I utterly gave up...we started writing notes. I hated her. I hated her disability and her speach and her way of inconveniencing me in my time of frustration. she wrote down...can you take a check? In sprawling old lady handwriting. I walked to the computer in the back of the restaurant and gripped my eyelids so tight to keep them from exploding. I folded up the piece of paper and put it in my apron. to keep. to remember. to look at in 9 years and recall the freakshow cripple of a woman who had no voice but the power to frustrate and belittle me to tears.
The bartender put his arm around my should and said you have to be kidding? I assured him no. non. non. I picture myself having sex with every person I meet. for jest alone. yet I still do it. It made me want to vomit. I moved his arm away and continued the bullshit nonsence work i was doing before.
In my car belle and sebastian was playing on a tape my best friend had left in my car when we used to live together. It was muffled and worn...the tape...I wondered if he maybe wanted it back someday. he never wanted anything. I figured it was mine for the keeping.
My love. My one real /fake lover gave up on me in pity and grief on main and fourth. I hung up the phone at 129 curry ave. driveway of apt. #2. royal oak michigan. Sitting in the car I decided to walk indooors and smash every fucking thing that could possibly break or at least bang and fall to the wooden floor. i decided my energy wouldnt last to clean it all up. It actually ended up like this...A girl in her bedroom playing stanlow by o.m.d. on her record player over and over. on the third time she stood against the closet wept every fluid out of her tiny green eyes and had a disgusting dialouge with the towel hanging on her wall as her face hid inside its fold..."I just want you...sob sob...and nobody else....to wake up next to and take me to fly kites and kiss me night in your bedroom in our underwear. I just want you. and i need you more than I love you. But I love you more than I have loved anything tangible or untouchable. You bastard son of a bitch I hate you. sob sob. "
I woke up today and worked from ten am until almost 9pm. I had dinner with rebecca. she just may be my saving grace and we just may be the stilts that hold eachother up in this fucking hole we have fallen into. the games just dont work. It hurt today. We made a cd for eachother and while she went to the bathroom I stared into the wall and realized that this is actual moving on. never have I had to do it beofre but I guess this is the real thing. he is so close. about 3 blocks away sleeping in his bed I'm sure with the grey sheets and blue blanket over him. I wonder what his tattoo looks like. i wonder if he fell asleep to pulp or bauhaus tonight. I wonder if its cold inside his room and if he's more excited to see emily in the morning than anything else. And then i wonder if I am my own downfall and if my mind is going to kill my body long before my body kills itself. I would have to say yes.
I was warned that this may be the hardest and worst winter I have had to take. Alone. Far away. No family. Only two girls to hold onto. My beautiful fearful lover long gone and removed from my sheets that still sometimes smell like him. alone. fucking alone. god help me make it through this one because we both know Ihave always been weak and pitiful. now more than ever. I'm a repulsive pitiful binewski fabulon rather than a bright eyes black haird girly who used to believe in magic. I don't believe in majic or foction anymore. Just faction. Thats my life.