Namaste love family
TGIF bitches… this week has been as equally horrible as the preceding.
I’ve been writing a lot of poetry over the past 48 hours. I wouldn’t say it’s helping, but at least it’s distracting.
I pride myself on not taking anything that matters to me lightly. The trick is picking what to take on as significant while spending time on the perplexing planet of Earth that we share. Regardless, we all make our own choices. Continue reading
I’ve been vacant a few days. This has resulted in a couple of interesting things. I shook my boyfriend off once and for all. I tried to be upset, but I’m used to dumping boyfriends by now.
I’m not even sure if these people are boyfriends. Maybe they’re just lovers I briefly obsess over because I’m fond of the poetry it all bleeds. Continue reading
I don’t have a boyfriend again. After we spent four days making up, I had an anxiety attack this afternoon and told him we shouldn’t see each other.
This is upsetting for a spectrum of reasons. However, I feel myself retreating to the safety of where I cut the world off and fall into a meditative state of complete nothingness.
There are a lot of reasons I suck at being a girlfriend. However, I find my greatest issue in feigning relationships with the human species is the anthropomorphic perception of time.
I’m hard and fast. Life is short, experience is precious. If I start having experiences with someone, like I had with Anthony recently, for example, or even the Frenchman – I can’t comprehend why these experiences don’t occur as frequently as possible.
As much as I’m in love with being in love, I also feel like love is a fucking joke and probably not in the cards for me this walk around. I take “in or out” to a manic level that most Earth dwellers cannot comprehend.
It’s pushing four in the morning. I’m drinking vodka sodas, looking at the east river out my window and blasting Elastic Heart in my ears. I’m not sure why I do these things that pull my heart strings to a vague sense of torture.
Sometimes I think it’s because I’ll never heal from my marriage breakdown. I certainly won’t as long as I keep spending time with people who only give a shit about me on their clock.
I don’t want to change anything about mySelf. I’d like to stop trying to find someone to love though. It’s not even like I’m stomping streets trying to find it. It’s just that when I meet someone who is extremely special to me, I take it too seriously.
I’m going to try to stop doing that.
Everyone has opinions on whether to still be mates with someone after you shag. My stance? Oh hell no.
There are a few reasons that set me in this position. Being a serial bride, I’m used to an inkling of committment. And a breakup, is exactlty that. A break of committment. When committment breaks, someone has decided the sexual relationship is over.
That’s when I bounce, blog family. Continue reading
I decide to start to collecting lovers again. With a smart phone, in New York City, it’s simple. www.click.person.
The first response comes from Kentucky, but he was actually born in Washington State. “I grew up in Indiana though.” He owns a tattoo studio in Harlem. “And I deal drugs.”
I wonder if he knew that I do days as a chief officer, he would still be so blunt. Not that it makes any difference to me. In my experience, selling them when you’re on them usually turns into an economic catastrophe. And he seems like a walking disaster.
We’re in some trendy vegan cafe in Hell’s Kitchen. A fat girl next to us turns to her companion and says, “That’s why everyone hates J.P. Morgan Chase. They like, caused the financial crisis.”
Before I worked on Wall Street, I had no exposure to economic anything – quite deliberately. I hid in Australia, with you. Reading hands and flipping cards. Continue reading