Saturday, May 16, 2009


Has anyone ever read 'Alexander and The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day'? You know some days are even like that in Australia? It was a favorite book of mine when I was a kid. Everything that could go wrong for a kid does. Breakfast sucks because his brothers eat all the good cereal, he has to carpool to school in an overcrowded station wagon, after school when his mother takes all the kids to get new shoes they have nothing cool in his size, and then his dad is an ass to him when they visit him at work later on. Of course it's not quite on par with wondering if you will have any breakfast at all, or wondering what it's like to ever own a new pair of shoes; but it's just as bad as all that for Alexander because that's his reality.

Well, today I feel like Alexander. And although my problems pale in comparison to the problems of the universe, they are still my problems and they suck for me. And so why then would I be so bold as to expect anyone else to care about them? Well, care or not people, it does not really matter that much because what it comes down to is that there seems to be something therapeutic about verbally purging your frustrations.

I only have Internet access at work, so far all my posts have been written from my work computer while I'm on the clock. That is great for me because I get paid to dick around on the computer; the downside is that my posts take on a certain tone because I'm at work. They lack a certain sense of vitality and depth because I'm in work mode. I was at home the other night and it was late and I was alone sitting in the kitchen with just the stove light on wishing I could write a post at that moment surrounded by such a melancholy atmosphere (I know I could have written it on a Word program and saved it to post later. But it's just not the same). When I'm at work I don't feel as if I am fully myself. I feel sterile and protective of the best parts of myself in this linoleum swathed shack. I'm also wary of simulating the typical sob story blog, I don't want to be the whiny victim of my own bad choices. I don't want to repeat the same story of how I shot myself in the foot and then cried as it bled, metaphorically speaking of course. But at the same time I feel like it's just as bad to be too cautious which can translate into boring. I've been avoiding revealing too much about family members, co-workers and work situations, and the less acceptable of the daily activities in which I partake (i.e. everything to do with buds) because I don't want to start conflict or get myself in trouble. But I'm not sure anyone in my family reads my blog, nor do I believe the government cares too much about me; work is a little bit more sensitive because I can't get fired unless I'll qualify for unemployment. But my point, I suppose, is that I am going to make an effort to expand my repertoire. I think a good way to start is by writing posts from different locations, attempting to add richness to my posts by infusing them with the vibe of aspects of my life previously withheld.
One thing I've noticed is that I hardly ever write about my relationship with Mike. I mention him often in passing a few times. It's easiest to just pretend that it's fine. We get along really well on a day to day basis. We have a lot of things in common, we share the most basic of values and beliefs about life. Not a day goes by without him talking about us buying a house, opening a store, having kids, marriage. We are best friends for sure, and that makes it that much more painful to admit that we are just not physically and sexually compatible. It's so bad, I just can't ignore it any longer. I totally love Mike as much as you can love another who is not your child. But I'm terrified of of the possibility of living the rest of my life without experiencing the physical intensity that I know can exist between two people. It's not like Mike's my first love, or even my first fuck. I've loved others just as much, and I've definitely had a better sex life in the past. And it's time to acknowledge that it may just be one of those things that is what it is. We just may not be meant for each other in this capacity. But, HA!, Try to discuss this with Mike and it's as if I'm asking him if he wants to go out and deliberately infect ourselves with HIV. He flips! He's like, "If you break up with me I don't ever want to speak to you again. So get out then. Leave right now!!! AAAHHHH!!" It's impossible to discuss it with him. It doesn't matter when I bring it up, morning, noon, or night, it's a bad time. It's always, "Why do you have to bring this up, NOW!". I'm beginning to think it's pointless to try to part amicably. But that sucks because we are so broke that we are, neither one of us, in the position to support ourselves right now. We'd be so much better off, both of us, if we could be logical and help each other leave safely. After planning and saving, I mean, we have eight dogs. Who gets who? But to get him to plan to break up does not seem like an option. I think I'm going to have to start hiding money away so I can get my own place. I just can't live like this anymore.
In my mind, if I'm this frustrated and unhappy then he must be too. How could he be content? It just doesn't seem possible to be existing in the same reality and yet be so polarized in regards to our perceptions. Does he truly want to live out the rest of his life with a woman he finds physically unapealling just becayse she's otherwise a good friend? I may be funny and easy-going, I may be a mellow pot head who is up for most anything, but is that a worthy trade off for never having decent sex ever again??? Not for me!!
There is this perception out there that men think about sex all the time, way more than women. Maybe I'm not your average woman or something, but I think about sex all the time too. I don't think once, ever, in our relationship have I turned him down for anything he's requested in the sexual realm, but he's like Mr. No. I know I'm not ugly, and even if I were, fuck that, ugly people still need to get busy. I admit I gained a bunch of weight when I got clean. But I was not even a hundred pounds when I stopped using and now I'm about 140. Which, for my height, is not the most alluring, but it's not Miss Piggy either. According to I should weigh about 117, so I'm only about 23lbs overweight. It could be way worse. And I'm totally aware of it and trying to learn how to get back to normal. I've never been overweight before in my whole life so I'm not used to having to watch what I eat and exercise religiously. But in the meantime, I take care of my hygiene, I wash my hair, shave my legs, tan (not too much), wear nice clothes when I'm not at work. You'd think I was Ugly Betty, oh wait, she gets more play than I do.
And the thing is, Mike is no Josh Hartnett. He doesn't take care of his dreads, his teeth are all fucked up, he is missing his left chest plate so he's all lopsided, he has no muscle tone and a pot belly. But I see past all that, I don't care, nobody is perfect. But if you asked him, he's a hunky hunk. He loves to harp about how he runs around lifting boxes all night at work and I just sit around and do nothing. I would automatically assume it was all because of my weight. Except it really wasn't much better before. But then it didn't matter to me so much because I was too high to care. And I was physically satiated by the dope. Sadly, that is no longer and I am forced to rely on more socially acceptable methods of obtaining a surge of endorphins.
Needless to say, my patience is wearing thin. The resentment building inside me is going to consume me and I don't want to give myself cancer over a bitterness I could have avoided. I've thought about just simply pursuing extracurricular bedroom type activities, but I'm afraid the guilt would overwhelm me. Plus eventually I would want to leave him once I found someone who could fulfill all my needs, and I'm not sure that's fair. I wish all the time that he would just meet someone else so that I could feel guilt free about blasting. But for real, how many chances do you give a person to change, to try, to care? It doesn't make much sense to avoid hurting another at the expense of myself. I mostly do not want to one day look back and regret not taking a chance for my own happiness.

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