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Manic, sleepless twig goes to dinner

Addendum to title:
Manic, sleepless twig is unable to type a post coherently about a really significant evening.

Okay, I feel like I must be making really poor life choices, as a friend of mine always talks about in Facebook posts from work (in retail).

Over the past three days, I’ve managed to get – and this is being generous – four hours of sleep. It’s probably more like two, and not consistently. On top of that, I keep forgetting to eat, and when I do eat, it’s not much.  I can afford, when it comes to my weight, to not eat for several weeks, but I realize that with regard to my health, I have to be eating more than I have been, and also eating healthy. When 600 of 1500 calories in 2 days comes from coffee, there’s a problem. I’ve compounded that problem by working out each day, burning more calories in a day than I have consumed. And while yes, I really needed to decrease my caloric intake from the unmentionably high number it was, this decrease is far too much to be healthy. I’m not trying to do that. I’m not trying to starve myself. I’m not trying to deny myself sleep. Last weekend, I took multiple sleeping pills… and was up until 4am.

I really need sleep. At this point, I might be considered to be clinically insane due to lack of sleep. I’m not sure how one determines that, but actually, if it’s with a test, I could probably still pass.

Isn’t that what drunks says when they think they should still be driving, though?

Oh my god, I feel like I’m losing my mind in slow motion. I can’t even write this insanity in any order. I just keep jumping around from section to section as I type. Like there are threads of coherence: Syntactically and rhetorically, yeah, I can type. But I can’t focus. I know this sounds insane. Do I hope it sounds insane?

I had hoped that exercise would help me tone things down on a dinner date tonight, but oh god, hell no.

I’m really very sorry. That’s an apology for so many things to so many people that I will not otherwise apologize for or to.

The previous sentence would look and sound awful if rewritten to avoid ending the sentence with a preposition. For fun, I don’t think you should be allowed to end a sentence with the word “preposition.”

Shit Fuck Hell. I’m so wired that I can’t even write this. Please, please, god, let me sleep soon. I really need to be okay, and I’m starting to think that I am not at all okay. I’m so freaking tired.

I really want to be able to communicate how dinner went and why it matters, and I just… can’t. But it mattered. And I was awful, and I’m sad about that. Please, please, god, let me sleep.

I think I’ve been spending too much time in my head (that is to say, editing) with the characters of SIATSIA and bloodflowers.

Fucking empaths. I can’t even work on my own fiction now without getting sucked in.

I really need to calm down.

And I can’t talk to FastCar right now because rational twig knows I will flip the fuck out on him for no entirely irrational reasons, and if there’s ANY hope of us getting back together at some point, I need to not flip out on him.

I’m really sorry.

Tonight mattered to me more than it should have.

I really think I might be insane. At least right now. Maybe not always. Not dangerous. Just insane.

WWRTD?

Rational twig would tell me to go to sleep. Quit fucking around and sleep. Skip the coffee tomorrow, do some yoga, skip workout boosters and cardio, eat something nutritionally and calorically balanced. But right now, fucking SLEEP. Maybe stay away from editing for a few days. Work on the artwork due for a charity auction instead, and make it a very zen piece. Include tans and mauves because… they’re like sunset in the desert, and that’s peaceful.

I remember that there is no extra ‘s’ in desert because everything starves there. There is no dessert in the desert.

Go to sleep, Twig, you’re insomnia drunk.(Woah! I capitalized my name!)

I’m really fucking sorry, and I embarrass myself. I’m never going on a date again. I should never go out in public with anyone again, actually. I hope I feel better once I sleep. I will. I know I will. So I’m going to try to listen to rational Twig because while the mania has been a lot of fun, I know I’m in for one hell of a crash, and it’s already starting to look really ugly. Sort of like my fucking obnoxious personality. Oh my god. I was so stupid at dinner. No one will ever love you again, Twig. You’re a complete idiot.

 

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On Being Put Together All Wrong

It’s been what, 10 days?

It’s been a strange 10 days.

I went out with FastCar and smacked him in the ass with a plastic fish. Then I got confused when we said goodbye. I hugged him in his car, and when I leaned in to do so, he kissed me on the cheek. When we pulled away from the hug, I thought he was going to kiss me For Real, so I planted one on his lips. He pecked back. It was incredibly awkward. Then he kissed my forehead. And then, because I thought I had misread things, I scrambled away in a hurry.

Then I went on that date later that night (because I’m being weird and going on multiple dates in a single day) with the couple. There was Nutella involved. I need not say more.

I’ve talked to a few other people on the dating site, some more interesting than others, but honestly, no one has utterly fascinated me. I had dinner plans that got canceled, but have potentially been rescheduled, so we’ll see how that goes. Honestly, I’m not really interested.

And I’m still trying to work through things with FastCar. I’ve flipped out on him twice in the past week since the awkward goodbye… mostly as a result of the awkward goodbye. But, he tells me, that he thinks things are going well, that he needs to figure things out, but I still don’t know what exactly that means. I still need to figure ME out, and why I’m fighting so hard for FastCar in the first place.

Where the hell has badass Twig gone? At some point, I turned 30. And then 30 again. And again. And again. And again. And each time, I lost a little more of myself instead of building on what I had already become in my 20s when I finally shed my shy exterior and learned to tell shitty people to Kindly Get Fucked.

I quit reading. I quit listening to music. I quit working out. I quit writing poetry and fiction. I quit performing. I quit writing music. I quit painting. I quit returning phone calls, emails, text messages. I became consumed by loss and by physical pain. At some point earlier this year, I was taking 15 (prescribed) pills a day. I have spent over a month of the past nine in doctors’ offices, not including therapy sessions.

What have you done to yourself, Twig? What have you let yourself become? Because this THING you’ve become that doesn’t go out, doesn’t throw his hands in the air and dance like a freak at a show isn’t the Twig you worked your ass off in your twenties in NYC to become.

This all occurred to me today during a conversation about a photo shoot I did several years back when I was filming for a tv show aiming for syndication. Yeah. (Maybe the tv show is when it started, when I saw picture after picture of myself, footage of myself looking like a jackass, but it’s been such a slippery slope, it’s hard to tell.) In the shoot, I’m talking to the stranger next to me, and he’s a good looking guy, a friend of the show’s producer, and it turned out he was in some famous band I didn’t know. It sort of made my day to not have a clue who the hell he was, and he seemed pretty pleased not to be shown any kind of deference for being whoever the hell he was.

Now I can barely talk to my own family.

And I certainly don’t tell the shitty people to Kindly Get Fucked.

What have I become so afraid of in myself? Even on this stupid dating site where I’ve got nothing to lose, I’m not myself. At a coffee shop earlier today, a tattoo artist was commenting on my sleeve, saying incredibly nice things; it’s another artist’s rendition of a painting of mine (because REAL Twig is shallow enough to have my own work tattooed on me), and all I could manage to say were horribly self-deprecating things. This absolutely beautiful artist is complimenting MY work, and I became a fucking self-loathing idiot. And I’m doing it now, too.

It has to stop.

I am a badass.
I am not afraid of the world.
I am not afraid to release new music.
I am not afraid of getting back on stage.
I am not afraid of creating and making a goddamn profit from new work.

I am so incredibly lucky, dare I say incredibly effing BLESSED, to have the talent I do, the intelligence I do, the potential I do, and the support of an alarmingly large number of family and friends despite my ongoing efforts to run them off.

Here in my car… everything bleeds. Thank you, Gary Numan.

 

 

seriously, this night…

Could only get a bit more peculiar if one of my dogs stopped snoring, looked up at me, and said, “Me Tie Doughty Walker.”

Those of you who read the first Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark by Alvin Schwartz know what the hell I’m talking about.

But right now, it’s that kind of night.

And yeah, I’m going to be the first person to admit that some of those stories still scare the bejeezus out of me.

Especially the pictures.

....especially the pictures...

….especially the pictures…

 

Jesus Christ. Now I have to sleep with the lights on.

This wasn’t even the point of my story.

It was supposed to be about how TLTL is back to being drunk texting me he loves me.

I’m ignoring the texts, naturally, but there is now no way in hell i’m going to let him into my house to help do some work for me. Hell no.

And FastCar said earlier, “I should have come over to your place.” You think?? Let me play you some Jeff Buckley “Lover You Should Have Come Over” for you real quick like, you jackass.

So, yeah, there are two things likely never combined: Alvin Schwartz and Jeff Buckley.

Because this is apparently what happens when I’ve had ONE glass of wine. ONE.

Incidentally, “Lover” and “Lilac Wine” were two of my favorite songs a long time ago, and it’s probably been a decade since I’ve actually listened to the former, but MY GOD, FastCar, I wish you could just listen to this and wake the hell up. Or, frankly, any one of my jackass exes who screwed up. Or I ought to listen to it more. I don’t know.

I can’t focus because I’m still freaked the fuck out by the artwork of Stephen Gammell. Damn you, good sir. Slenderman be damned, your work is scary as shit.

I’m still afraid Harold the scarecrow is going to skin me alive.

And yet that’s somehow still preferable to responding to any of TLTL’s drunk texts.

If he says he loves me one more time, I’m going to scream.

And I still haven’t finished my damned glass of wine.

 

 

Hi, My Name is Twig and I’ve Just Been Stood Up

I’m going to hope my “date” wasn’t hit by a bus. God, I just hate when that happens.

But seriously, how does one go from having a perfectly good chat via a dating site where you’re making casual plans for the night and then just… disappear?

However it happens, my response has been to go to the package store, buy a bottle of wine, and start drinking.

Actually, I haven’t started yet. Hang on…

*sips some red*

Ah, there we go.

Maybe I dodged a serial killer or something, I don’t know. But it’s like he just disappeared.

We were in the midst of making arrangements – not a late night, how about we check out this place that has great beer and chat… and mind you, he asked me out. And then… nothing.

He hasn’t seen any of my messages for six hours. Shit, if I had known this was how it was going to play out, I’d have spent an hour longer working out.

I will say, however, that I had a lovely chat with someone last night who I do sincerely hope to hear from again when he returns from a trip. I’m feeling more than a little gullible right now, though, and suspect I’ll never hear from him again.

I’ve also been potentially propositioned to become part of a polyamorous relationship, which, well, could be interesting, if I don’t freak out with jealousy issues. Lord knows I’ve got plenty.

But I do have great respect for relationships with such profound faith and trust, and I do believe they exist. Whether I can exist as part of one is beyond me, but TAC once (or thrice) expounded upon the benefits of polyamory with regard to child rearing, finances, etc. I think it was the first time I had really considered such a unique romantic/family dynamic with any level of seriousness.

I’ve seen successful polyamorous relationships, successful swinger relationships, successful open relationships, but I’ve also seen relationships fail as a result of these romantic encounters. Actually, it might not be fair to say these encounters were the result, but rather the nail in the proverbial coffin. I

But what of FastCar, whom I still love so deeply? Yesterday, he claimed I was pushing him away, which may be fair.
“But how can I not when you don’t love me?”
“But I do love you,” he said.
Confuse me much?

He needs time, he tells me. Time for what? I don’t know, because he won’t effing talk to me about anything, though he assures me he talks to me more than anyone else. That being said, he’s currently hanging out with his jerk of a best friend yet again, so I’m not entirely convinced I can take him at his word.

I have got to get a life.

In my defense, I’m trying now, but got stood up. Still, things don’t seem to be otherwise off to a bad start.

I really hope that poor guy didn’t get hit by a bus.

And that he isn’t a serial killer.

 

I’m magic

I fixed my Mac laptop finally after a year!

I mean, I’m still being electrocuted as I type from my front porch, but until I become an electrician and a contractor, I’m pretty screwed in that regard. Besides, a little extra current running through me probably isn’t bad.

I’m taking a break from my mission today to throw out as much useless crap and start (re-start) refinishing my steps in the house. I’ll be using a contractor for just about everything, honestly. The contractor bit raises a problem because the LAST thing I want to do is take on more jobs, but if I plan on paying for this stuff, well… it costs a lot. Like, a LOT. So much that I haven’t even tried to budget it. There’s probably a lot I can do on my own, but since I don’t know where to begin, I’m feeling incredibly overwhelmed.

On the plus side, it’s an overcast Friday here and people are being quiet. Traffic is light, and there’s no annoying music blasting.

Tonight’s plan is to burn as much wooden crap as I possibly can. For now, though, I should get back to work planting ground cherries and then tackling the floor.

Twig’s Big Day

Two bottles of wine with MTIA  left us curled up in his bed, him biting my neck, me pulling his hair. I left somewhere around 4am having recalled his great wish for me to hurt him in bed… But not if it involved commitment.

Today, he texted something too hurtful to fathom, so I officially called off the friendship and, quite obviously, the art collaboaration.

I then spazzed out onFastCar, screamed at my parents, and rejected TLTL’s offers of dick pics to cheer me up.

I  contemplated suicide again, but signed up for okcupid instead.

An you know what? There area couple decent freaks like me on there that might be worth my time of day.

I told my mother that my father has to get his tools out of my house and that I’m going to hire someone to get the work done instead. I love most of my family but I’ve had enough shit.

I’m an ungrateful bastard, I know. My parents have given me so much, but I can’t keep up a stupid facade about who I really am.

So I’m going to take out another loan, get work done on the house, sell it, and disappear.

I am not okay.

 

return of the idiot

i am the idiot.

apparently MTIA’s ex was so drunk the other night that she didn’t remember asking me out or making out with me.

i’m pretty sure that’s a first for me.

You know what, pretty girl?

Fuck you.

This week I’ve had to chase a family member down to make sure he wasn’t jumping off a building. He wasn’t, but he lied to my face about drugs and alcohol. We have a vacation planned soon, and I’m cancelling it.

Because you know what, family member?

Fuck you.

Tonight I went over to MTIA’s to talk about a collaborative art project. I just had six new pieces comissioned and this project would add ten more. We drank a ridiculous amount of wine on the couch, I dragged him to his bedroom, and…nothing. There’s still no love there. Did i think that agreeing to work for him would change that? I guess I did. I didn’t fuck him. But I’m never going back again. If I’m not worth loving, well….

Well, surprise, MTIA:

Fuck you. 

I’m not doing this project for you or any other great fucking idea you have.

TLTL, OF COURSE, has resurfaced, and guess what? His long term relationship is ending.

Fuck you.

And what of FastCar?

Nothing.

I’m out.

Fuck. It. All.

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