It calms me. As does recounting this past, all this past that is a part of me and will never belong to my ex. There, he was not there for everything it’s not like my whole life is ending. He never knew me. There was so much he never knew, and I am still all of that. My collarbones hurt, pinching in towards my throat on that place that I love so much on a man, and yes on him. On the place that I know, from my previous studies, autistic and aspergers patients focus on instead of the face in social interactions. On the place where animals focus, on the place where you must be sure to control when you’re facing down dogs so that they know that you are dominant, and you have orders for them.
My life would be so much easier if I just learned to love him. Instead, I tried to end this post 3 sips early, just because I always hit a brick wall when I think of him. He’s the only person that I can text my point for the day that would understand what I mean, and think about a reasonable response. For me, and for himself. He’s the only person that ever found me actually useful in the actual way I wish I was. He really is everything I’ve been looking for, but maybe I’m just enjoying the search. I wish I could just love him. Fuck it, I just downed half a cup in a single gulp, I need to bail.
Maybe I took the opportunity to break up with him because I needed something more to think about than this disaster that is happening in my body. Maybe I’m sick of having to fake happiness. I just want one last shot at life, after this court case, after everything. I’m not old, but to be honest, I was dating an old man, and maybe life would be different if I went out on a limb and had an actual relationship.
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 realized that this dog looked like the real life version of my favorite, only favorite, stuffed animal that I had when I was a kid. He’s still half eaten, boxed up in the basement, and probably exactly as soft as I remember. I should go get him.
I dreamed of boats, of a property that I owned, the property that my brother owned, the property that my friend used to own, on a dirt road behind a town that could have been anywhere, on an old road behind the main road that everyone knows, that everyone uses to get to two places that are somewhere, bypassing all of the cool stuff that only the older locals remember. All the lakes, rivers, old drinking spots, beached cars from the 60’s, the hollowed out ice cream truck that looks like it’s been there since the 40’s , the abandoned zoo with the art deco stone carvings to denote which exotic animal was in which cage.
Recognizing racial equality. Like seeing things for what they are is a talent, an achievement, a superhero skill. Like ignorance isn’t the problem, but rather this divine enlightenment is the goal. A lofty fucking goal, and look at how far we’ve come!
There are invisible wolves that chase us, through our whole lives. These are the wolves that raise us. They are our pack. And these are the wolves that will hunt and kill us, howling in mourning while they do so. Of course, my Father doesn’t see it that way. He doesn’t see anything at all. He is going blind.