This one has to get a title

Mercury is in Retrograde.

I really should write here today, there is so much in my mind and I really should deal with it, and I’ve found that this is, maybe not the best, but a way (I couldn’t even bring myself to say good way) to sort through it.

It’s funny how, with all that’s going on, the thing that I’m thinking about most is the boy. I called a friend yesterday, I actually called a few friends, and she set me straight. As far as life concerns go, he ranks ridiculously low and I know this.

Why does it hurt so bad? Does it matter?

Anyway, I don’t know why I feel compelled to write it down since I’m fully aware of what transpired and there is, according to the statistics, no human audience here.

Hello spiders.

I have a list of people to call today… there’s a lot. There’s a lot of people I should call, and a lot of people that I could call, and a lot of people that I want to call.

I had 3 drags of a cigarette before I sat down here. I feel so lost, I have to quit. It’s not good for me and I can feel it, and I’m frustrated because I was so close.

My new apartment is almost ready. I have to get back there today and start putting stuff away.

I’ve kept skipping around, I’m breaking up, I’m avoiding talking about anything I need to sort out.

Breaking up. I’m breaking up with the boy.

Since this, this internet tangle, began, I have been dissociating. I thought I was getting back to my real life, but it turns out, I feel it turns out, that the dissociation that I have been living in for so many years, almost 20, is now my real life, and this, this place where I have been trying to be “real” is now just a fake life where I pretend to have feelings, pretend to have a relationship, and pretend to have a “boy”. How do people live like this?

I called my real friends yesterday. The ones that know all about everything I never told him about. And basically, they were sympathetic. It happens to all of us. Sport fucking, like when a soldier goes awol and massacres a whole village of people in a fit of rage, disgust, fear, and a strange feeling of superiority even while all these people who will never understand what you’re truly capable of ineffectually try to fight you off or flee from you, both useless, and all the while you just wish you had met someone who was a worthy adversary at the very least, and perhaps searching for someone that would understand you and your rage and be able to match you… and in the best case, someone who would be so sympathetic that they kill you and put you out of this misery.

Coming home from war… civvies will never understand <=== why does civvies have two v’s?

I stopped and went back to read, which is dangerous, because that and the combination of the 3 drags of cigarette I had have me dangerously close to the end of my coffee and I have not achieved any sense of clarity yet.

I’m supposed to see my side dude tonight… I texted that random dude from before… I called my boyfriend… my ex called and screamed at me again… I plugged in my work phone and answered a few people (maybe today I’ll open the email <=== this is the point of today, I think) all trying to fill in the space that this boy wrenched himself into, inflated to fill, and wrecked everything around to make progressively, slowly over 7 months, more space for himself, and will now leave empty ragged and destroyed when I tell him, as I am planning to tonight, that I am headed back into battle.

He sounds like the tumor I just had removed, when I met him. It’s actually a great huge life drama of irony, and I love that. I do love that.

Why are there so many stories to tell, yet no one to listen to them?

I think this is why white boys can’t resist the urge to make podcasts. They actually think we care. Sometimes when we’re bored, we pretend to. It’s like highbrow reality tv, which I also can’t stand.

I have a TV now… it’s not plugged in. Last time I had a TV, it sat for 2 years without getting plugged in, and thinking about it, it sat for years before that being plugged in. It came from NY, my stupid ex had spent all of our rent money on a TV because it was a “good deal”. He was right, it was in fact a good deal, but he had spent my money and I had nothing left to pay rent.

I threw him into the TV. <=== there are many ways this story could be told.

There are many ways any story can be told.

Oh, of note to me, I did go back and finally apologize to that other random dude I was messing with before. He was cool about it. He told me not to do it again, but I probably will and I can’t help it.

My ex and I were both pretty impressed that I managed to throw a 300lb man across the room.

I wonder if my ceiling can hold 300lbs.

Anyway, I’m breaking up with the boy, it’s hard because I’m so busy and it feels like I haven’t had enough time to consider my approach but I know if I take the time he’s going to go stick his dick in a disgusting flabby ass empty headed gaping mouth white girl and I don’t want to be in a position where I have to look at him again after that.

I don’t know why every white man will literally take the most busted ass white girl over an Ivy League, Playboy model Penthouse quality head game Black girl. Please someone answer this for me. <=== there is no question mark because fuck you this is not a question.

I don’t know, I had to deal with this with my ex and I am not going to do it again. That is a hard line, full stop. I don’t care if it goes terribly, I don’t care if the whole fucking world gets blown up one more time I am not going to tolerate this at all not this time.

Consider this my own mini race riot.

Fucking the shit out of my side dude tonight. He gets it.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Anna says:

    I wonder what effect my internal linking, referencing, commenting, and consequently rereading has to do with my subsequent thinking here.

    Are there any good tools to track site flow here? I wonder.

  2. Anna says:

    Reading the comment on this post, I’m going to go check the heatmap. I installed one, but it doesn’t appear to be working, or maybe my site is what sucks here.

    Anyway, I slid back from quitting smoking, but reading my posts here I see how often I mention it. Maybe that’s the problem.

    The boy told me that he used hypnosis, and gave me the name of the hypnotist. I of course forgot, I have to ask again… I hate asking him to repeat what he told me, I don’t know why.

    I think hypnosis will work.

    Something will.

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