It is odd as women how we put the angst we have towards our exes on the new women they date. Like somehow it is the new girls fault that the ex boyfriend is such an asshole. In my case, I feel this to the extreme, because, I feel everything to the extreme.
But in my case, I am right, because, I am always right.
Ok, enough of that.
Dean was an inherently bad person, he is an inherently bad person, but I continued to go back and forth, probably because it kept my otherwise boring life, unboring. I think a lot of people do that, stick with the people they are dating because loneliness is just sheer boredom. I know this, because I am living this way now. I am bored. And perhaps that is why I fill my empty thought space with mean thoughts about Dean's new girlfriend Cara (who he already cheated on with me 4 weeks ago, but I suppose that is non essential).
Instead of living in disbelief that Dean could be such an asshole to keep dating this chick after trying desperately to get back together with me, sending me 25 e mails straight of pictures of us together when we were happy, telling me that this Cara dirt bag slut (SEE THERE IS THE ANGST) was boring and bad in bed, who knows why I listened to that, instead of hating Dean for that I live in disbelief that he has chosen this girl. For some reason I just hate her.
She is not a bad person, but she is young, and she has a bad nose job, apparently 3 times over, her hair is pixie short, none of these qualities make a bad person, of course, I can be reasonable, but its the way she walks into a room with him, like she won some kind of prize. The way she flirts, friendly flirts, but flirts, with every man in the room and brings along only uglier then her so she can feel better about herself. Anyway, I hate her. She also INSISTS on engaging me in one way or another and I ignore her, my new philosophy is to ignore people I do not want to talk to. No more fake! Then instead of taking the hint, that I find her abhorrent, she tries to talk to me, without fail and the other day she tapped my shoulder to get my attention. EWW.
I almost turned around and looked at her and said, please refrain from touching me, you have a really bad nose job and your boyfriend has already cheated on you with me only to return to you when I rejected his advances to try and get back together.
Instead I just said "oh, hi, how are you." And turned around. I was with two friends from London who were visiting and thought it the polite way to be.
Then I proceeded to chat with Dean in front of her to show her who was boss here. And the thing of it is, that I do not find him attractive, I am not in love with him, I am just still so angry at him and making her uncomfortable made him uncomfortable and it made me really, really happy!
It is a little sick. The thing of it is, that I actually just hate her because she is still in the dark about Dean. She still thinks he is good. She still hears his words and takes them as truth. She gets to think he is just the Cat's Pajamas. Which he is not.
Living in the dark, even living in denial is more comforting then admitting reality or being faced with reality head on. I don't know why I can't give it up though. Why do I care? Why do I keep holding on?
It ignites the fiercest anger in me and the fiercest resent. Two of my least favorite feelings.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
update
Charlotte home from vet, 10:27 am, Vitamin K in hand along with two other expensive medications, making my morning a $413 morning! Woo hoo. She looks to be fine and has pooped not once, but twice today! Fast asleep on the couch, surely still reveling in her victory!
And the irony....
Just as we were leaving the vet a quite normal looking woman walked in with a carrying case full of her rat, who had just eaten licorice. If only my dog had eaten a licorice.
Motherhood.
And the irony....
Just as we were leaving the vet a quite normal looking woman walked in with a carrying case full of her rat, who had just eaten licorice. If only my dog had eaten a licorice.
Motherhood.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
A dog of a different story
I adopted a pit bull almost 4 months ago. It was an impulsive decision, as all of my decisions are. It was the right decision for me. It was fate, at a time when fate was not working out as intended, not that one can intend fate. Charlie was 8 pounds when I found her, she was beautiful, small, vulnerable with a permanently furrowed brow and she was all one color, her coat, her eyes and her nose are a reddish, light brown. She had an intense gaze, I picked her up in my arms, she licked my face and I looked at the shelter owner, Robert, and said "I really don't have the right lifestyle for a puppy." He looked at me flat in the face and said, "come on, do it, dogs are not that much work." He was dead wrong, but he was right too, he knew, like cupid knows when a lover has met his match, that I had met my fate. This dog was meant for me.
...I started this post about an hour ago and since then my dog has ingested a dead rat. This was going to be a loving ode to the being that changed my life, instead I sit here deliberating, do I shell out $500 to get a vet to make my dog throw up, do I give her bydrogen peroxide to make her throw up, do I cross my fingers and assume the paper thin, flattened out, 5 days dead rat probably died by car and not by poison? An hour later it probably makes no sense for me to make her throw up, spend $500 for someone else to make her throw up. All I have left to do is wait it out. And so I will wait it out.
Let me tell you what NEVER to do in this situation, google. Google leads to severe paranoia and will inevitably be the reason for my sleepless night. That and the fact that I own a dog who would likely eat shit and find it a delicacy. I have no idea. Am I bad mother for allowing this to sit for 24 hours? Should I run to the vet with her in my arms? She is a pit afterall and not that small either. I assume she should be fine.
My parents never got worried when I got sick. The reality of being a doctors daughter is that nothing is ever really that bad if its not brain surgery related. And I wonder if I get my lax attitude from them. My mom never carried tissues in her pocket, my father never thought it was worth skipping school due to sickness. I called him on the phone just now and told him that my dog swallowed a rat whole and he said, eh- wait it out, the chances it was poisonous are slim to none. Just like that. And then suggested that I keep rats out of her diet for the next few days.
I love my dog. It scares me that I have this responsibility, but in a way, that was the point. I wanted to give myself something to love more then myself, that I would have to commit to and follow through on, unlike so much else in my life....and here we are today, on my couch, she is snoozing and I am wondering at which part of her digestive tract does this rat lay, and I mean tail and all.
And of course, what does this entire experience highlight. The fact that I am alone. I am all alone. Are you supposed to take care of a dog alone? I always envisioned this kind of project one I would do with a partner and accepting this on my own was this understated, or overstated as the case may be, submission to the thought that perhaps there would be no partner for me in the end. That perhaps, something like this, would be something I would have to do on my own.
Thinking back I should have just stuck my hand in there and pulled that rat out, i just could NOT handle the thought of touching it. I am so worried about this.
...I started this post about an hour ago and since then my dog has ingested a dead rat. This was going to be a loving ode to the being that changed my life, instead I sit here deliberating, do I shell out $500 to get a vet to make my dog throw up, do I give her bydrogen peroxide to make her throw up, do I cross my fingers and assume the paper thin, flattened out, 5 days dead rat probably died by car and not by poison? An hour later it probably makes no sense for me to make her throw up, spend $500 for someone else to make her throw up. All I have left to do is wait it out. And so I will wait it out.
Let me tell you what NEVER to do in this situation, google. Google leads to severe paranoia and will inevitably be the reason for my sleepless night. That and the fact that I own a dog who would likely eat shit and find it a delicacy. I have no idea. Am I bad mother for allowing this to sit for 24 hours? Should I run to the vet with her in my arms? She is a pit afterall and not that small either. I assume she should be fine.
My parents never got worried when I got sick. The reality of being a doctors daughter is that nothing is ever really that bad if its not brain surgery related. And I wonder if I get my lax attitude from them. My mom never carried tissues in her pocket, my father never thought it was worth skipping school due to sickness. I called him on the phone just now and told him that my dog swallowed a rat whole and he said, eh- wait it out, the chances it was poisonous are slim to none. Just like that. And then suggested that I keep rats out of her diet for the next few days.
I love my dog. It scares me that I have this responsibility, but in a way, that was the point. I wanted to give myself something to love more then myself, that I would have to commit to and follow through on, unlike so much else in my life....and here we are today, on my couch, she is snoozing and I am wondering at which part of her digestive tract does this rat lay, and I mean tail and all.
And of course, what does this entire experience highlight. The fact that I am alone. I am all alone. Are you supposed to take care of a dog alone? I always envisioned this kind of project one I would do with a partner and accepting this on my own was this understated, or overstated as the case may be, submission to the thought that perhaps there would be no partner for me in the end. That perhaps, something like this, would be something I would have to do on my own.
Thinking back I should have just stuck my hand in there and pulled that rat out, i just could NOT handle the thought of touching it. I am so worried about this.
Monday, April 13, 2009
another day
I am drunk and I thought I would write in the moment. I cant believe that Heidi even would put Spencer in therapy, can a therapist really change a man who is just all wrong? I remember when Dean suggested we go to therapy, and we were already in trouble because he was already pathologically cheating on me. Therapy, what does it really do. I met a boy on Saturday night, I am sure it was nothing, but he was awfully nice to my brothers and I have a photo of him looking at me like he meant it. I don't know. He is hot.
Write more tomorrow.
Write more tomorrow.
28 Years ago
I always know when it has set in. Food starts to taste different. I can't swallow it. My head is heavy and it takes my hand an extra long time to grab the receiver of the phone and my mouth falls behind my voice in mouthing the words, "hello?" I can feel my heart beating. I smoke cigarettes, I lose weight, I sit on my couch a lot, I stop talking to my friends, I can't finish anything I start. I start watching movies constantly, so I can pretend I am somebody else. I'm depressed, I guess. Usually precedes a big change or follows a traumatic experience. Or is just the day after I run into Dean. Or I work a job I really don't want to. Or I realize I have been in the same place for too long. Or I hear another musician that just is not good enough and wonder how the world will turn out altogether. Nothing is really how it was. Nothing is really how it is going to be. Nothing is kind of uncomfortable.
1981 is about to turn into 28 years ago.
UGH.
1981 is about to turn into 28 years ago.
UGH.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
?!#$%
All we can remember is what tore us both us apart
Instead of what's forgotten at the bottom of our hearts
Smiles filled the silences and laughter filled the sound
And everyday was more important when you were around.
Instead of what's forgotten at the bottom of our hearts
Smiles filled the silences and laughter filled the sound
And everyday was more important when you were around.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Citizens of Humanity
Red Out Loud had a nightmare about being fat last night. She dreamed that being between a size 4 and 6 was just not acceptable. She dreamed that this number defined her. She dreamed this and woke up depressed feeling unloved, minus her puppy that she was comfortably spooning.
Why do you think size, weight, looks, so often define the way a woman feels about herself? I mean, should we not, by now, in our later 20's, recognize that it is what is on the inside that counts? It is funny for me, my weight fluctuates frequently, generally with my mood. Because I take certain things to heart, my body reacts, nerves make me nauseaus, sadness makes me crave, anger makes me stop. My weight never fluctuates because I think I should look a certain way. It is always just a natural reaction to something that is happening to me.
Right now in my life, I can admit, I am uneasy, however nothing is happening to me and my weight, after losing so much of myself in Dean, has reached its normal number. And somehow it is the only thing on my mind. I feel fat, but I know I am not and if I was, I know there would be nothing wrong with it. Regardless. I am a size 2. I am 5'3. I am tiny. I have never been called otherwise. Yet, its on my mind.
And as I obsess about it, what to eat that day, what not to eat, as I stare at my body, unclothed, in the mirror, I think, this must be about something else. I must be worrying about something else, or many things, it can not literally be my appearance.
I hope I put my finger on it soon, actually, I hope I squash whatever it is with my whole palm. I never want to have a dream about my weight again. It is a waste of my quietest hours, dreams should fill with my greatest ideas, hopes, desires, even my fears. Not some issue that really is just the top of a casket full of the heart of the matter.
How do you grow from a nightmare about your jean size?
Why do you think size, weight, looks, so often define the way a woman feels about herself? I mean, should we not, by now, in our later 20's, recognize that it is what is on the inside that counts? It is funny for me, my weight fluctuates frequently, generally with my mood. Because I take certain things to heart, my body reacts, nerves make me nauseaus, sadness makes me crave, anger makes me stop. My weight never fluctuates because I think I should look a certain way. It is always just a natural reaction to something that is happening to me.
Right now in my life, I can admit, I am uneasy, however nothing is happening to me and my weight, after losing so much of myself in Dean, has reached its normal number. And somehow it is the only thing on my mind. I feel fat, but I know I am not and if I was, I know there would be nothing wrong with it. Regardless. I am a size 2. I am 5'3. I am tiny. I have never been called otherwise. Yet, its on my mind.
And as I obsess about it, what to eat that day, what not to eat, as I stare at my body, unclothed, in the mirror, I think, this must be about something else. I must be worrying about something else, or many things, it can not literally be my appearance.
I hope I put my finger on it soon, actually, I hope I squash whatever it is with my whole palm. I never want to have a dream about my weight again. It is a waste of my quietest hours, dreams should fill with my greatest ideas, hopes, desires, even my fears. Not some issue that really is just the top of a casket full of the heart of the matter.
How do you grow from a nightmare about your jean size?
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