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
My husband pawned his wedding ring for $275 two months after I gave it to him. He drank the money and fell asleep on Avenue B. When he came home the next day, he lied about everything. He lied about where the ring was. He lied about the drinking.
He lied. Again.
I tenderly removed my ring and tucked it in the silk-lined box I saved after purchasing the set I couldn’t afford. The money he took from a grey-eyed woman with sweaty hands was nowhere near what I paid. What I’m still paying back.
A week after it occurs, I realize I can no longer keep a piece of jewelry that bears no meaning. My therapist says my fear of rejection is what caused it all.
“You are too forgiving,” she said brushing wispy bangs from her face. “You’re the most forgiving person I know.”
I came to New York City to fade into the streets after I lost my soul mate in Australia because of a fatal accident. People always tell you that accidents happen. They leave out the statistics of people who actual survive them.
My Soul Mate is an unfortunate statistic. I am starting to understand that I am too. That he and I always have been. It’s part of who we are. Continue reading
the making of with and for
His hush floats into my insomnia,
And I learn to say please in seven ways. Continue reading