One Hot Tear


I’m not even sure if I should be doing this today, as I have so much to do and not that much time to do it in. I was considering adding a to-do list here, but that’s a bit much, and as I’ve proven to myself in the past, not that interesting.

Suddenly, nothing I have to say seems that interesting.

Although, I find it interesting to note that I have, for the first time in ever and ever and ever, and a new phenomenon since I stopped working (I wrote started, considered keeping it) as usually I have pens from dozens of different hotels.

Speaking of, I opened my work email last night (I originally wrote tonight, and I will)…

I just got up, figuring I’d get a pen on my way back from the bathroom, forgot the pen, sat down, and see half my coffee is already gone.

I hope I don’t become arachnophobic again. I wonder who removed that word from my browser’s dictionary. I wonder how many kids will only ever use words that are automatically in the browser’s dictionary. I wonder how many of them will become teachers who punish children for using words that elicit that rude red wavy line underneath them.

That kind of idiocy happened to me, growing up hick. And my brother on several occasions as well. Why do morons always figure that they can become grade school teachers because they don’t need to know much. That’s where they do the most damage. And adults don’t care, but those idiots are just no longer doing damage *to them*.

I wonder if this homeschooling thing during the plague is going to be better or worse than public school. No more constant standardized testing, incompetent teachers, and terrible learning conditions. Hey, parents already know their kids are black and won’t beat them for it for years, and other teachers won’t assume that this means that the black child in question is an instigator and expel her from school after school despite stellar grades in spite of non-attendance. Private schools might even offer applications, being as the black kids never have to show up and thus won’t disturb the other students, as was told flatly to both me and my brother.

Ok, enough of that. I just get mad hearing people understand, even hearing people say (they lie) that they’re *trying* to understand. Bitches, where were you when I needed to be understood?

My friend’s little cousin hung herself in the closet when she was 10. I had my first suicide attempt around that age.

I have to call both of my parents today. I missed a call from my father while I was fucking another white man.

I have no idea what I’m going to do this year, on those holidays (it’s so weird what I consider identifying and not – this site got 12 visitors yesterday, which I believe is an all time high – I both want the clickpennies for a new domain, but I’m honestly a little nervous about someone calling me out – that’s why I do this, it’s just like talking to a real therapist, who would lock me up immediately if they saw the true contents of my mind) that both of them would like to see me on.

I just kept writing and deleting “I’m hoping” over and over again at the end of the last paragraph, but I couldn’t think of a way to finish the sentence, but I kept wanting to say something there. OMG. I would like a bit of optimism, but I can’t seem to find a possible outcome to anchor it to.

I don’t dare hope. Honestly though, no one is dying, even if they find out that I’ve been sleeping with other dudes. We all just shake it off like on big scam and walk away, right?

My ex is being an asshole again. He’s making significantly less sense these days, and thoroughly unhelpful. Like there’s really a lot of things he could be doing about our problems than screaming at me, but alright, let me just once again put the phone on speaker and mute and just wait until it stops.

I just got up and walked around. I have so many feelings for that man, most of them are not good. I have the stereotypical “one hot tear” going down the left side of my face, mourning the loss of a male figure.

I thought last night (I am getting defensive, but I’m almost done – I rarely write down any of my waking internal dialogue) about what I would say to my ex (I almost wrote the boy, so telling, and the song tag that popped up during this is insanely accurate, as is the next) if he were holding a gun to my head.

I feel like someone just delivered a body blow to me, right under my left shoulder, like a tackle in football.

In the cemetery near my house, there is a giant white marble pillar that says Mosely.

I’m finishing my coffee, I’m done here.

One Comment Add yours

  1. Anna says:

    Incidentally, I went to the funeral of a very great uncle of mine last weekend. He was not my blood uncle, but was legally adopted by my family at a young (teen) age, and ended up marrying my blood aunt.

    His last name was Mosely.

    It was a great funeral, apparently, even though he had no children, he had many great friends and was beloved by the community.

    I hope people say that about me, but I doubt they will.

    I have been a great friend, or at least I have tried.

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