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another night of the same

November 16, 2013

Really, I oughtn’t bother saying any more about my pursuit of relationships. But of course, I’ll keep beating this dead horse until I kick right through its rotting rib cage. And what an epic moment that will be, right?

Post work, TLTL and I went thrift shopping. 45 minutes later, I emerged with one pair of jeans and the most massive macrame plant holder I’ve ever encountered. I’m not sure I have ceilings high enough to hang it. Really.

After shopping, we’re not hungry, so we decide to head to a favorite dive, but not before I stop home to make sure the herd hasn’t torn down a door or flipped the dining room table. I perfunctorily (yeah, that’s a word now) warn TLTL about Jumping Dog. He mutters something unenthusiastic, and I’m reminded that earlier today, he texted me something about not knowing how I handle all of them. It’s no big thing, I tell him, but I know that’s not true. And that TLTL and I will never, ever make it work. And that’s okay, because as far as I’m concerned, we’re not on a date. We’re just hanging out.

Also, the shit ton of alcohol he managed to pour into himself at the bar while chatting with old friends and complete strangers (I texted MTIA and read some Lovecraft in the meantime) should have been a reminder, too. I guess I was supposed to feel thrilled that he thought enough of me to occasionally introduce me to someone instead of spending the night blowing lines with a big shot friend of his. Uh huh. Right.

And yet, I end up back at his house in an effort to pour him out of my car,  watching Nick Cave videos.

Let me just get this out: Fuck. Nick. Cave.

I love Nick Cave, I do, but when there is nick cave playing and TLTL is in the same room (or, in the interest of full disclosure, same car), nothing good can come of it.

I let TLTL rest his head in my lap on his couch. I stroked his hair. I could have fallen asleep, but I made the decision to go before he could drunkenly slur a request for me to stay the night. I kissed him on the cheek, and left. I’m just a minute down the road when he sexts me. Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ.

TLTL, honey, no. Just…no. You have screwed up way too many times now for me to want to come crawling back to that. You are funny. You are adorable. But you are selfish, and you drink too much.

Maybe I demand too much of a partner, but I think not. A little sobriety and sweetness isn’t a lot to ask, no?

Compare to MTIA, who also drinks too much, but at least has the sense to say sweet things when possible. I missed a show of his last night, and when I expressed my wish that I had been there, he informed me a friend filmed it. “I’m excited to share it with you,” he said. See? That’s sweet. Maybe it’s the linguist in me, but the subtle pragmatic difference between “show it to” and “share it with” delight me.

Both guys are still stuck (understandably) on the death of their respective best friends. This is bad timing, not that there is ever good timing to lose a loved one, because I’m starting to realize how stuck I still am on losing my sister. I have a bunch of her stuff now, and I’ve taken to wearing some of her old eyeshadow. I see a bus drive past me anywhere in the city, and I miss when we’d ride the bus into town ass early to work together so many years ago. I drive down one of my favorite roads in the city, and I miss her voice, mostly because the hospital where she spent a lot of her last months in is on the road. I can look up at it and remember which rooms she stayed in just by counting the  windows while I sit in traffic. She is just… gone. I can’t even tell her how much I miss her.

So I know what MTIA and TLTL are feeling. It feels like coming apart at the seams. Somehow, I have roots that keep me mostly (mostly) sane. Maybe they don’t have roots to protect them like I do. I’m not perfect. Right now, for example, I’d prefer that no one see me naked. Two cuts, now healed, were easy to pass off as a yardwork mishap.

Four larger ones on my arms, stomach, and thigh, however, leave me grasping for a plausible lie. Somehow, “it was research for my novel”  just isn’t going to cut it. No pun intended. I swear.

I need to get healthy. I should be stronger for MTIA, if not for my immediate family. I’m supposed to have my shit together.

The fact that I know I don’t have it together makes me want to  cut a beautiful, single long line down my forearm, which makes me think again about just how not together I am.

Also, massive pain in my joints recently has left me feeling annoyingly helpless. Or hopeless. I’m not helpless at this point, but I always know it can quickly turn into that. That’s the hopelessness.

I want to tell MTIA that he needs to stay the hell away from me lest I sully his innocence. I won’t, though. He is, after all, My Tragedy in Action.

Ah. Fiction.

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From → fiction, rants

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