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 have only one psychic talent. I have one very excellent overarching talent, and that is listening to my intuition. My intuition has been sharpened and informed by my intelligence, and my openness which apparently is a separate aspect of personality for some reason. I think it should be obvious, to an intelligent person, that this world holds so much more than I’ve seen of it yet, and therefore openness should be a given for all intelligent people. There’s no way to avoid the unknown, at one point all of this was unknown to me, and the only way to change that (if I ever wanted to, did I?) would have been and will be to go out there and get about knowing it.
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.
I am so mean to people when I try to protect myself. Like a fucking cornered animal. He is going to leave me, so I have to leave him. I can say whatever I want about it, and I will, I have, but that is the truth.
It’s like those dreams where everything is just so normal that you would swear it’s real life, until you find the one thing that doesn’t fit, and then comes that awestruck, almost terrified feeling as you realize that so many things that you thought did make sense actually don’t, and eye everything about your day with quiet suspicion until you just give the fuck up and go with it, ask your ex if he actually called, realize that the friends you called are actually dead, and that you never actually took the laundry out of the dryer this morning