Late night, not right, typical kind of sadness, type of sight. Tears drizzle past the lamp light and I fight back concepts of drain rights. He said this, she asked that, my heart broke in twelve pieces this time and they (the great & grand five- who know me best) say “Stop, right there.”
“Don’t let her heart beat deceive you. Don’t let her cunt-cept receive you. But go right ahead and fuck strangers.” What sound, valid pieces of advice I receive from the wisest humans yet to help me parent me.
There is more about being in love, and loving someone truly that I actually, deeply, know and accord as wisdom to my heart, and this lances past these glancing woes.
There is much I also don’t know. Curious, I spent the last night lonely, watching amateur porn, learning about the way people fuck themselves rather than each other, because my Gemini twin informed me that ten years of loving one special person means ten years of sorrow and I gotta say, I think that’s fucked.
Ten years of a relationship, means ten months of not quite being ok, well then, here goes for this thot- if I am not going to be ok for ten months, then I am going to find a way to revel in this mud pit of my emotions. Roll around, get really dirty. Accept my insane anxiety, self doubt and massive separation anxiety.
However, I’m on week one. I have gone to work, I have met a new dog, I have practiced my script and my font, and I have talked to other people about my feelings. We are calling this success.
Hilariously, I deluded myself into making it far enough to get back home. If home is the studio, and the studio lives in the tattoo shop, and my heart is the battery pack to the whole shebang, then yes. I made it back. I rammed my head into wall after wall, after wall and woke up wondering if anything like this would make sense after all of this was finished.
I was actually looking for a lifetime partner. However, now, I will settle for being a dog mom for the next ten months, to a year. Are my delusions caught/captured/conceived the same way our parents patterned our little brains toward Santa Claus? If this is the reason I believed in true love, still believe in it and can’t quite seem to let go, then fuck this concept. I can’t remember the last time I believed in anything except my family, and dogs.
Even art is falling by the wayside. I am making technical pieces. I am learning the craft of tattooing, but where is the art in the mundane details and technicalities. How can I love something for so long and not expect it to love me. The longer I leak viscera out of my heart the more I want to go out and steal something. A dog leash, a million bucks, enough dignity to make it through the next ten months.
All of this is because we feel pain with our brain. Decidedly, the hurt hurts the same if it’s in my arm or my heart, and I want to take it back tonight. I want to lay out against the skin of my own chest and admit, I’m not ready to date again. I am not ready to date again. I am not ready to date again.
When I can’t even rub together $1200 this type of thinking serves me not. Instead, I need to be finding the title to my broken car so I can get it off my mechanic’s lot. He deserves my attention to these minute details such as where I can find a spare hundred bucks from smashing my favorite white van, in order to give the money to my long distance wife.
I need to just fucking admit it’s technically over. It’s over, it’s done. I can’t make that idea go in my head. In my head she’s on one long extended vacation and I am here, looking to get the big dog of my dreams, and once that, and money happens, she can come home to me. I’ll be able to afford her needs then. But that’s not legit, is it? It doesn’t make sense to change, just to circle back to the end.
GodDess, I hope not.
For there have been many, & they aren’t that far between.
There are fucking sexy parts of this too. I have a whole bed to myself. I have the option for a new dog, who I begin the test run and initial board and train with tomorrow. I get to learn about dog training, and the crew at the shop will probably be pretty excited about meeting Bleu, if he’s a good boy and easy to get along with other dogs. I will really have no idea until I am in the middle of the thing. He’s absolutely moonstruck beautiful.
I dived into it. I pulled the moon card. That means things are gonna be crazy. Last time I pulled it, Dominick came into my life and she… she broke into me, and yet again, I almost broke in twenty two pieces trying to hold myself together. It’s almost two years later and I’ve spent most of it stoically attending to things I thought I left undone.
Except, they were never undone. I just didn’t do them. Shit. That is the whole point of being an adult, doing the things that feel necessary. Or is it learning how to build a life i deeply want to inhabit?
(There are sounds. Did I lock the front door? This is why I want a big dog. So when I go to check this shit, I have larger company. Though, Dirt is brave enough for all of us. Apparently, I did.)
Please let everything be ok. I want to be ok. I want to move through this stage with tears and grace, similar to the ways other people daydream their days off, hazy and relaxed, on a beach pretending to do nothing.
When really, everything is everything and everything could be wonderful now, if. Only. I. Kept. Learning. How to let go. Come on girl, you can do this. Make it easy on yourself. Let it all go.