Bear with me here, I am feeling desperately needy.
Sunday night, sitting on the couch, leaning on Laura, with two dogs and a cat piled on top of me, warm, comfortable, full of food and beer, I felt completely content.
Two wishes for this week:
-that that feeling will carry me the rest of the week
-that will let myself cry everytime I need to. I cry everytime A. emails me.
Saturday night made me think of something I wrote last year:
Sweetness Never Suits Me.
Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow. Every morning, wake up depressed and angry, confused, tense. So many secrets, I have no secrets. Everything is written in my face, my bruises, my trembling hands, my empty stomach. I want to be alone, to be surrounded by people, to never say anything wrong, do anything wrong, to be able to make all our wild plans come true, to be notorious, loved. I forgive me, I forgive me, all my lazy imperfections, my flawed face, my nervous bragging, my sorry eyesight, my absurd longings, all the dangerous drunken bike rides, dancing with people who aren’t mine, nights that I have forgotten, the tiny psychic scars I’ve left on all I love, my hypocrisy, my stubbornness, my awkward, needy drivenness for comfort and acceptance. I forgive myself these sins, and I will play them out again every night and write this again every morning, a letter to myself, asking redemption of my stone-cold ego.
“Just remember - you’re working right now.” -Daniel.
(Sorry Summer, May 30, 2007)