I’m still in the detox phase, all of the time that he takes up is left unclaimed and has to be reorganized back into my own life. But I see that it’s there, and the potential for me to take my life back is there. Yes, I’ll miss texting him throughout the day, but it’s time for me to think about who I should be texting instead. So, so many people.
I’m afraid he’s stupid. And I’m not really afraid, I know he is. I’m so disappointed. My most recent ex was stupid too, that was one of the biggest problems. But this one is stupid and cantankerous, so the stupid behavior that my last ex displayed only in arguments is stupid behavior that I have to see constantly when I’m with a cantankerous bitch.
I don’t know if I believe in love, but I do certainly believe in the longing for it.
I should have stayed in New York for Friday, so that I could sleep with my favorite client again, and that is the God’s motherfucking honest truth right there. That is what should have happened, and that is the lesson that I need to remember. I just hope it’s not too late for me.
I made more money on the way to the airport than work will pay me for my entire business trip. I have to understand that, fully, and embrace that, fully. There’s nothing wrong with that, and I truly don’t understand how anyone who understood that would fault me for taking the money.
They say it’s normal for relationships to fade, but I don’t think that’s it. I think that I was expecting something that I’m not getting, henceforth (yay) he is then not getting what he was expecting. I don’t know if I have the causality correct here, but it doesn’t matter.
There were some other reasons why I took this job. It’s a tremendous learning opportunity for one, and probably most importantly. Although unfortunately, I don’t seem to be capitalizing on that opportunity as much as I’d like. Let me take this opportunity to refocus and remember what I came here for, and figure out how to get it.
Why do I do this? Why am I cooking French Vietnamese duck and savoy cabbage cream confit for a white man who will say the faintest thank you in between hours of complaints about everything that has nothing to do with me, and not for the man who introduced me to Alice Coltrane and listens for hours while I talk about what matters to me, the universe, and my brain mirroring the natural order, the flaws that it exposes the natural order, and the general wonder at the idea that anything can be a flaw when the actual objective of the place where the flaw fits has yet to be defined, so how did we even come up with the idea of right and wrong, and why do we so quickly point out wrong while debate until the end of time what is right?
I don’t want to go home, and I don’t want to stay here. I want the world to stop, I want to quit my job, I don’t want to get old. I figure eventually I won’t care, I really won’t care, if I die. And that’s when I will. When dying isn’t so much an avoidance of what I don’t want to do, but just whatever, who cares what happens. If I die, I die.
They do not care about me, why I am I pouring myself so hard into something that doesn’t even pretend to want to provide a return on that investment. I will just spill, like chocolate milk, all over the floor, surrounding an unapologetic cup, pooling onto an utterly apathetic countertop and dripping onto an impossibly far away floor. To be wiped up by a a sympathetic, but final kitchen rag and washed away when whatever is watching all of this finds it convenient.
And this is why men, insecure men, can’t handle whores. They don’t want to give the woman back to herself at the end of the night. They are sore losers. He can’t have me, and he can’t handle me.