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The. Worst. Post. Ever.

December 18, 2013

I don’t know where to start today. Chronological order doesn’t seem sufficient. Order of importance doesn’t seem to apply. So here’s a bunch of shit from today in no particular order, aka The. Worst. Blog. Post. Ever.

Fats Waller makes it a bit better, though. So here you go:

I threw another shit fit today. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up at 4am. No good can come of such a thing. By 8am, I was sobbing. TLTL texted me, followed shortly thereafter by MTIA.

MTIA: Is everything okay? I noticed you bailed online.
Twig: It took you long enough. No. Things are not good.
Twig: Another fucking death.
Twig: Amongst other things. Like your goddamn used condom on the bathroom floor.
MTIA: I am sorry. I’ll be around tonight if you want/need someone to talk to.
(And this would be where I lost my mind.)
Twig: No.
Twig: I’m tired of talking.
Twig: I’m just done. I’m done with everyone.
Twig: I’m sorry. I just can’t even right now.
MTIA: Poor flower (yes, he calls me flower). I’m around if/when needed.
Twig: See, that’s the thing: You AREN’T. So leave me the hell alone. Get out of my life. Please, please, just forget me. I don’t know what I need. I hurt so much. I’m sorry.
Twig: Nevermind. Everything is fine. Here’s a tip: if you’re fucking multiple people, don’t leave used condoms from a tryst with one for another to stumble upon.
(And then he disappeared.)

Just… go. And stay gone.

I promised TLTL we’d go out tonight. He promised me we wouldn’t stay out late. TLTL strikes again: I got home after midnight. I have to be up in four hours. Now I can’t sleep at all. He promised me big hugs and a shoulder rub. Instead, I got beer. And a drunken “I love you” text when I got home tonight. A few times, our conversations teetered dangerously close to really talking through things, which would have been stupid while he was drinking. Hell, it’s stupid when he ISN’T drinking.

He said, “I love you.” Too little, too late.

He also spent some time trying to quiz me on who it is I’m so mad at and who broke my heart. Now, mind you, we discussed the fact that I hang out with MTIA all the time. Some of MTIA’s  clothes, I realized tonight, are in the backseat of my car. But never did TLTL guess MTIA’s name. He guessed an assortment of other mutual friends, including an adorable trans friend. TLTL was really set on the idea that it was her. It’s sweet in an odd sort of way. And I would probably date her, except that MTIA already did, and that would make things weird in my book. TLTL also confessed his belief that I was getting back together with me ex, which is a fine demonstration of how little he knows me anymore, and also of how little he takes what I tell him at face value. My ex and I are friends, and I will always love him as such, but we never should have been a couple. I’ve said this to TLTL, but he still assumed that I would go back to my ex.

TLTL and I were discussing a couple bars throughout the city. I learned that a bartender I adore is also a coke dealer. Good to know should I ever decide to try it, which I won’t. I learned who has the purportedly best burger in the city; I stand, however, by my favorite veggie burger for best burger in the city. When talk turns to events at a particular bar nestled in a southern part of the city, I correct him.
“No… karaoke is on Wednesdays there. Their acoustic open mic is Thursdays,” I tell him.
He looks at me, wondering for a moment if I’m joking. He knows I tend toward a hermit’s lifestyle: I generally don’t know what’s going on within my own neighborhood in the eastern part of the city, so my knowledge of the goings-on at a small neighborhood bar in another part of the city is nothing short of amazing, no doubt.
“I was there, when was it? Last Wednesday night, yeah. There was definitely karaoke.” I proceed to rattle off a bunch of mutual friends’ names who I had seen there when MTIA and I popped in last week.
TLTL stares at me. “Oh, yeah. You’re right,” he concedes. “You know,” he continues with mock seriousness. “I keep forgetting that you hang out with MTIA all the time now.” His expression and tone continue to be ironic (that’s verbal irony, not situational irony, mind you). “I don’t like the idea of you knowing all this social business without me in it.” Ah, now we’re getting to the heart of things, TLTL. You can smile when you make such a statement all you want, but we both know that deep down,  you aren’t really kidding. It ruffles your feathers to think I can hold my own without you, doesn’t it?

I laugh with him, but lack the finesse to diffuse the obvious tension created by this turn of discussion. I stare off into space for a bit, analyzing the multiple levels of irony (it is also dramatic irony). That fills up another two minutes of boredom.

In the end, here’s what it comes down to: If I want them to forget me, I need to stop responding to any texts. I won’t hear from MTIA again, at least not for a while. He is the one person I need right now, ironically. If I just stay hidden, they’ll go away.

Dear TLTL,
Please remember that you hate everything that comes along with being in a relationship with me. You hate my work. You hate my health. You hate that I’m unfunny. You hate my four-legged babies. You hate everything about me. Don’t kiss me on the cheek and pretend like it will ever be any different. Other than what you hate about me, I am not the same person I was when we met. You don’t know me anymore.

Dear MTIA,
You are a coward. I wish I had never met you – that’s how much loving you hurts.

Eff you both,
Twig Anthony.

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