I never wake up alone anymore.

on

It’s been such a long time since I wrote, I’m forgetting how. I’m also realizing that I didn’t really set up my office to write, as I shift stuff around on my desk so that I can actually sit comfortably.

I’m pleased with how the surgery came out, for the most part. Some of the pain is still there, but I guess that was inevitable. But a lot of the anxiety is gone. And yeah, about 60% of the pain too, maybe more.

I had imagined a start to this post, when I began writing, and forcibly made myself flutter my fingers furiously through any kind of orchestrated idea. This, for once, is not a stage and I should not be planning my words. This, for once, is supposed to let me know what’s in my head and not what I want to let out.

I again was going to go back and deliver my canned first line but I won’t let myself. Although I think I have a title for this post now, but I don’t let myself title things until the end. Maybe I’ll forget it by then.

I almost forgot to write a song tag.

So much I pronoun, but I’m actually beginning to feel less defensive. I’m beginning to see why I like doing this exercise, and what it does for me. Is there another way, and another reason, to use the I pronoun? I wave it around like a shield, maybe I should start wielding it like a sword.

(I before e except after c, or when sounding like a as in neighbor or whey. I just typod sheild and weild and that means that my neck is fucking with me again and I can’t truly see straight)

It occurs to me why I notice things more clearly aurally than visually. I simply can’t believe my eyes. Never could trust those fuckers, broken windows to the soul.

Anyway, I’m back for the day. I wish for longer, but be careful what you wish for. I’m learning to stop wishing for things, stop wanting things, stop trying for things, and just learning to wait and see what happens. It sounds bad, but it doesn’t.

The Master is not the one with the best circumstance, the Master is the one who makes the best of any circumstance.

I almost wasn’t going to write this (and will probably check it out on Google after this to see if I should keep it) because it’s so identifying. I remember one time, maybe 6 or 7, or 8 but I think less than 8, where I came downstairs to see my Father, who says this often to me as a message of empowerment, tripping face at the kitchen table. That was when I realized that “the Master” was an inkblotter full of acid that he kept at his desk. I wanted some, my Mother wouldn’t let him give it to me. I didn’t figure out it was acid until I was just a little, just a little, bit older. I think my little brother was walking by then. Actually, he was old enough to know that I was sneaking into my Dad’s office when I wasn’t supposed to.

I should have stayed away this weekend. I need to reconnect with a few things. And I don’t want to do it here, in my apartment, I never do.

I’m going through my available list of friends, and realizing that there are so few. So few that I’d actually jump into the deep end with. It’s right now and only now that I miss my ex.

There’s something that I have to do, and then something that we have to do, before we can ever speak again. Not that we’ll ever speak again after it, but if we do it should be by choice and not by some loose ended legal obligation.

This is my ex’s favorite song.

Just in time, my coffee is almost done. I guess I don’t have to dive off into the deep end today.

Baby steps…

Should I let myself try and squeeze in my opening line?

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