This time of year was the constant breaking point between my ex and I, and it looks like, incidentally, it will be again. How ironic. I didn’t realize that until now. I wonder how this will all play out – I love surprises.
I remember the first time I had to drive myself to the emergency room, leaving my ex sleeping in the first bed we ever shared. My eardrum had blown out, and he didn’t care. I dragged myself sideways down the emergency room corridor, and with little hearing I remember the hollowness of my voice when they asked me if I came alone, the echoing “Yes” sinking what felt like forever from the back of my throat to the bottom of my spine. I could barely hear the outside world, and I was alone. Yes, I was alone, much moreso than the nurse realized, and I realized it right then. A random stranger was more interested in my wellbeing than the man whose cum I still had inside me.
But something told me that I had to get in to write today, it was the two betta fish swirling in a puddle, beautiful and fresh in my mind when I woke up. I couldn’t make sense of how the water pooled enough, just deep enough for them to live, and that cognitive dissonance woke me.
But does he eat pussy?
My first client yesterday, when I told him that I was trying to be in a relationship. Several of my clients have met my boyfriend, but they do not know he is my boyfriend. They just wonder why he is there, and always assume that he is attached to one of the other girls in our profession. Never me… I can’t say that I mind but I do wonder if there’s something in there that I should pay attention to.
We were waiting for someone, a blonde woman, or at least I imagine she was blonde. The boy said that she was coming, and that we all just had to look around, maybe she was already in the room.
It was at that moment it occurred to me that the woman was dead as well.
There it is, the turning point. I just wish that every interesting thing didn’t automatically have to implicate someone else. I don’t know why I feel like it does, but as I sit here and write for no one but myself (when did noone get dropped from the dictionary? I clearly remember in 5th grade being taught that this was a word) I realize that I’m the only one making that distinction.
He went outside to the parking lot, they were waiting outside, her in a white tank top and birthday tiara (I shouldn’t have to explain this to anyone). My girlfriend, the person who threw the whole party, was of course nowhere to be found.
His daughter, in the same weird outfit, was holding the door for him.
I remember when I first broke up with my ex, the first time. He was devastated, and I know what that feels like. When everything hurts so bad, so bad, and the only person who can help is the same person who is hurting you. I wonder if I ever told him that I understand what that’s like, because I really, really do. And if he doesn’t know that I understand, I can understand why he still hates me.
Repetition is part of who I am, and everything I do. I guess I intrinsically know that no one is going to listen to me the first time, or the second time, but after all is said and done – no one can tell me I didn’t tell them so.
I just hate the fact that I’m giving so much to them, for nothing in return. I suppose yes, it is my choice to give some of the things – all of my time, the expensive gifts, vacations, etc – but I don’t see how caring for someone to the extent to which I care as *optional* in a relationship. And I’m frankly disgusted to a core I can’t even see that they do. In so many ways… the ways in which these men (and I should say people) disappoint me are as different as they each are.