what is this.

It must be love because otherwise I wouldn't miss him so much.
It must be love because otherwise my heart wouldn't twist when he enters my memory.
It must be love because otherwise I wouldn't want so badly to hear from him.
It must be love, love, love.

Wasted love.

If it isn't love, then why did finding him online almost give me a panic attack?
If it isn't love, then why do I still look for him?
If it isn't love, why do I miss his body?
If it isn't love, why do I miss his voice?
If it isn't love, why do I was to cry right now?

I don't know what to do. This is why I came to Florida. To escape him. But I just push myself back in the water. I just jump right in again.

"Welcome back to Facebook." I doubt I'll be there for long. I'm already just looking at him.

a simple list for you to follow

Here is where I am:
Homestead, FL
hungry
heart-sick
love-sick
not home-sick
dried hands
dirty nails
damp socks
smelly
smiling
content with this decision
curious about what will happen next
wondering if my letter made it to Prov
wondering if I'll ever know
missing Pants
missing Nist, apprehensively
glad that I am here
grateful I am here
in disbelief that I am here
relieved to be away.

don't forget. let's never forget.

I need a new nickname for a person I met. For people I have met.
This farm.
Let's call him Nist.
Nist is wwoofing on another farm in FL. His boss comes to our farm a lot, so Nist has been to our farm a lot. So I started inviting him along to things I was doing. This is what I have found out: He is--
-a leo
-left-handed
-vegetarian
-rides bicycles
-non-smoker
-hilarious
-adventurous

Yesterday he came over to the farm just as I was getting ready to leave to find a beach. So we hung out for a bit, then gathered our bikes for an adventure. His bike had problems so he borrowed one of the farm ones. Its brakes were messed up and I messed them up more trying to fix them (but now I know what needs to be done so I think I could fix them for real!). We went to his farm and had a huge lunch/dinner thing with his boss and some of his friends. It was great. Later, Nist told me that I "handle him a lot better than I do." Which was pretty cool, I think.
We went to a park neither of us had visited, jumped some fences and made it onto a beach. We went swimming. We went places we weren't supposed to go. We psyched each other out like we were going to get caught. We made fun of each other. We talked.
I told him about Dru and ex-otter, because he asked why this past year had been so bad. When do I get to stop bringing them up? 2010, maybe?
We went back to his farm and ate corn on the cob and sorbet. His boss's friend set off a lot of fireworks which we watched and tried to capture via photography. We both tried to play digiridoo, which did not go well. Then I rode home in the dark which is a thing that is not done in Homestead FL.
When I got home, I called him to say I was not dead. He laughed.

It was the best Christmas I've had in a very long time.
But here's the thing: as much as it sounds like we have fun, he doesn't seem interested in me. I got horribly jealous on Christmas eve because a girl from another farm kept getting in between Nist and I. Physically and intentionally. I tried to explain things to him, but he feigned ignorance. Are boys really that stupid? Are they really that unobservant? I recall Pants. He wasn't. I know he wasn't. In fact, I'm pretty sure he noticed everything. Maybe more than was good for him.
I have a lot of fun with Nist and that's worth it. I started wondering if I'm really attracted to anyone right now anyway. He is attractive and he fits my little cookie cutter. I've lost my passionate adoration for people, though. I remember feeling unable to keep myself from someone. I guess the last time I felt that was with ex-otter. Maybe with Saw. That started long before we ever met, though. Three years.
So have I moved from feeling to logic in the people I want to love? Am I pretending to feel things that have no roots in my heart? I suspect that there is still very little that can penetrate to my center. Maybe that's why it's been so hard to let go of Pants. I let him in enough to feel when he went away.

love isn't love if it's actually pain

A cool day today, for Florida. Maybe it was 70. I have no concept of temperature. Maybe it was 65. Nice in the sun, a little cool in the shade.
Wearing socks and shoes feels strange after a few days of only flip-flops. Went on a longish bike ride today with two of the interns. It was wonderful. It was what I needed.
I thought of Pants today when I was weeding. I think about him a lot; more than I'd like to admit. A song came on my ipod that seemed right: "conditional" by the Burden Brothers. "You know I love you even when you try to run away. But I don't want to chase you anymore. So if you have to go away then I won't make you stay. Just lie awake and listen for the door."
Ha, who could make Pants do anything? I couldn't even make him talk to me.
I realized that I would have done anything for him. All he ever had to do was ask me. He dominated me without even trying and I would gladly put myself under his thumb again. Is this an abusive relationship? I make excuses for his behavior and would willingly run back.
He is so strong on the outside. That's what makes his inner sensitivity even more attractive. I love him. What do I do?
Go to Florida. Work on the farm. Take a month away from things. I bet he doesn't even know I'm gone.
So what now?
I feel so different now than I did a year ago. The contrast is amazing to me. I know I'm stronger now but I would be dead if I hadn't become so.
I can have my life ripped away from me and still stagger around until the wound scabs and heals. I am all scar now. I am keloid. I am a caterpillar under your skin.

I realized some things today. Some things I've now forgotten. Hopefully they will come back to me. Hopefully they stayed somewhere inside.

it's an update, but not much of one

I had such dreams last night, as the rain pounded on the barn roof. I dreamt of Pants, and ex-husband, and Viva. Pants and ex-husband were kind to me. Viva was not. She told me exactly what she thought of me, so I replied with the same.
I can't remember much of what happened.
I want to stop thinking about Pants, you know? I'm sure I've mentioned that already. I wrote him a letter, addressed it, stamped it, and then purposefully left it in the pouch on the back of the seat in front of me on the plane. I want to see what happens.
I'm so tired right now. I'll try to nap, but I don't think it will do any good.
It's been raining all day but it's ok because all the work we've had to do today has been indoors.
I love this farm. It has a completely different feeling this year than before.

so tired; soon sleeping

Two automobiles, two trains, one bus, one plane (not in that order) and 8 hours later ... and I'm at Bee Heaven Farm. That counts the time I left my house until the time that I arrived.
Immediate comfort.
On the plane from RI to FL, I started writing letters to a new person that I've named "Pomme." This person does not exist yet. I made them up so that I would have someone to pine over instead of continuing to fret over Pants. I think this is ok, even if it sounds a little twisted. I don't want to talk about Pants anymore. I don't want to think about him anymore. If this is over, I want it to be over.
Do you know how many months we were playing these games? Something like 4. Maybe 5. I'm not sure.
I need to be strong for myself and not want him. I need to be strong and give up on him. I need to put a steel cage around my heart and let no one inside until they've earned the right. Until they've shown they can be trusted.
I trusted Pants before I loved him. Why?
I miss him. I hate it. I don't want to mention it again.

it's just apples for me now

Leaving tomorrow. I need to be awake in four hours. More like a nap than a night's slumber.
Should make things interesting.
Started crying as I packed. What am I running away from this time? What am I trying to forget?
I don't know, I don't know, someone tell me.
I'm so tired and lost and hungry.
Let tomorrow go smoothly.
Let all my love come back to its senses.
Let all my lovers see what they are missing.

say it 'til you believe it

kept you around like an addict's last hit. just there in case I need it. like my girlfriend and her last cigarette hidden on top of the refrigerator.
deleted your number, your name, your address. tried to clean you out of my pores. luckily you gave me nothing solid; just one comic; hidden among a series of others.
wrote a letter I'm not sending. holding true to my word. can't do things anymore just because I want to. see, I'm learning. see, I can change.
see, I'm not who I was anymore.
baby.
call me baby again.
just like in my dreams.
call me baby like you used to.

my truth

I wanted to say, "I'm not sorry for anything. I was only ever myself."
I want to be angry but instead I am sad.
My heart aches. Surprise.
I never learn.
I love.

I can't believe I don't even know what love is anymore

"that's as single as it gets." Yeah. No sex, no dating. Not seeing anyone. At all.
I'm so tired of fucking just to feel close to someone. It feels good but afterwards I am empty. At the time it's wonderful and for a while after I may glow, but when I look back on it it's all empty. Except for when I think about Pants.
I love him. I must. If I didn't, I don't think I'd think about him the way that I do. I wouldn't miss him like this. Hell, I would not have needed to get rid of his phone number and leave facebook because I would not have cared enough. When Steel and I split, I didn't need to do any of that. I don't think I loved him much. Not like this. Not with this passion. Pants is different. And he's gone.
Soon I will be gone too.
I wrote him today. Four lines:

Thanks for the apology.
I deleted your number again.
Gonna respect your wishes.
take care.

Now every time I get a new email I think it could be from him. What's at the heart of things here? Does it matter? I don't know.
"I've been so despondent. This past year has been hell."
I bet ex-otter thinks I'm doing fine. I hate him for this hurt I still feel. I hate myself for feeling it. And I hate layering emotion on top of emotion; person on person; love on love. It's never simple. It's never just one person. I'm never ok with being alone.
I'm so tired today.
At night I hold my heating pad and think of Pants' bed.
At night I rub my head into the pillows and think of Pants' back to me.
I don't cry anymore, though. Not to sleep. Not in bed.
But I dream about him.
I don't know how the fuck this happened. I don't know who I am. I don't know where I belong. I never have. Now it's just harder because I'm alone.

Please come back.
Please come to me, and be with me, and be there.

Wishful thinking.
I am so scared to hope for anything.

don't forget the roses in neuroses

feels like I'm missing something.
feels like I've not left the house or done anything fun for more than an hour in the past two weeks.
feels like I'm letting people down.
feels like I'm missing someone.

Today I felt afraid of death. I kept my head above water. Today I finished a sculpture that would nicely complement the paintings I used to make (me ripping out my own heart, etc). Today I realized that I've trashed the entire apartment in one way or another. Today I realized I have my work cut out for me. I canceled a date I wasn't excited about anyway. I thought about Pants. I cried. I wanted to cry more but couldn't figure out how to start.
Steel drove me to an art store today. He's so fucking hard-headed. He won't listen to anything anyone tells him; especially me. I want to fuck him. I want him to shut the hell up. Neither of these things are going to happen.
Today I realized I'm not sure how long it's been since I had sex or who the last person was. I'm glad. It's about time.
I still want him, you know. Pants. I still get the urge to send him pictures of the things I make. He never responded to them. I think I just want someone to share in my accomplishments. Someone of whom I can be proud. Someone to share my life; to let me share their's. That wasn't Pants. Don't think it could ever be him.

I
can't
wait
to leave.

I can't wait to be away. Absence. Goodbye.

round and round and FINALS

If he asked me to leave him alone, why couldn't he have left me alone?
Since his apology yesterday, I've been steadily weakening.
I'm so glad I got rid of his number immediately.
I'm so glad I'm going away.

analysis 14% complete .... processing ... please wait. abort, retry, fail?

These hours after the fact and I wonder: which ways that he treated me?
What if he meant that he was sorry for being nice to me; for helping me to feel loved? What if he regretted the sweet things he said to me? What about his songs, and his massages, and his stories?
I don't think that's what he meant. I think he's sorry for being mean to me because he was so nice.
And here I said I wasn't going to analyze his reasoning.
Old habits.
Yeah, some things don't change.

you are corrosive and I am eroding and soon there will be nothing left.

"I'm sorry for the ways I sometimes treated you."
First I said, "who is this?" because I had deleted your number. But I knew who it was. I knew immediately. No one else would word a sentence so carefully.
Then I texted back your name. With a period at the end of it. Like this. I started a load of laundry, I talked to my roommate, and then I decided that it wasn't enough.

And that's when I cleansed my phone of you.

I deleted your apology from my phone. Then I deleted my response. Then I deleted the number from my message log. You leave no trace.
I don't feel like analyzing why you would choose now to say this. I can come up with a half dozen reasons so quickly, and if I thought longer I'm sure I could make it to a dozen. I don't want to think about why, why now, what you hope to accomplish, or anything along those lines. It amazes me how fucking smart you can be but how dumb you keep yourself.
Dumb. Words. Dumb. Actions. Dumb.
I love you and I let you take advantage of it.
No.
My first instinct was to reply to the text with that. Just "no."
I am going away on Thursday. I will be gone for just over one month. I was looking forward to not hearing from you, to eradicating you from my mind and emotions. You have some kind of sixth sense that allows you to pick the time when I am starting to feel strong enough to put you aside. That's when you pop back up again. You are asking me to chase you.
No.
You hurt me.
I let you.
I can't let it happen again.

run run run

bloody hands. my fingers smell like cunt. bled in my dreams last night right onto my sheets. I've been thinking of Florida every moment I'm awake. I've been thinking of escape.
last year I ran from a different pain. this one still aches but not deadly. last year it was run or die. this year I just need to get away.
away from drama
away from Pants
away from substances
away from providence.
yeah, away from expectations and obligations and everything that binds. blinds.
away, away, away, from who I've been.
I can't wait to fly away.

still don't know, and what if I never do?

I've always had a problem with guilt. Feeling it, ascribing it, using it, having it used on me. It's always been important to me to figure out who is at fault for something. Or who is to be recognized for having done something. These are the foundations of the way I have lived my life.
It's bullshit.
When it comes down to it, it doesn't matter who did what, or when, or why. It's been done. All that's left is to catch up. All that's left is damage control.
It doesn't matter why my old friends won't talk to me. It doesn't matter why the people I love go away. It doesn't matter that I have been a tugboat to most of my ex-partners. It doesn't matter. It's done. It's over.
These are the things people keep trying to help me learn. Do you know how difficult it is to turn your entire life inside out? I am tired of saying violent things and acting in violent ways. I don't want to threaten anyone anymore. I didn't want to do it in the first place; I didn't even know I was..
I'm about to leave for a month. Did you know that every single thing I've done in the past year has been a struggle? Did you know that everything I've done has been to turn myself around?
I remember Pants saying that people don't change. It made me angry. I have changed. I have changed so much. Yeah, there are things that don't go away. But the me a year ago wouldn't recognize the me now.
I have trouble recognizing the me a year ago. I don't like to remember it. I don't want to remember the pain. The three months straight of crying myself to sleep. I don't want to remember any of it, but if I forget it then I'm bound to repeat it.
Tired of cycles.
Tired of blame, and guilt, and desired explanations.
Tired of wanting and needing apologies.
I really want to let go.
I just don't know how. I'm not even sure what it is I'm holding onto.

just missing more people that don't exist

Fairy tales were made for the same reason religions were: to explain away the shit that no one understands. They give false hope and describe some supreme ideal that is entirely unattainable. There is no heaven. There is no happily ever after.
Tell me stories about love that lasts. Tell me about implicit trust. Tell me about someone who doesn't leave. Someone that will fight for you.
I don't think these things exist. I used to. I feel like I have to keep destroying the strands of hope that appear because if I let them cling to one another then they'll only get bigger and stronger and tie me down to an imaginary future that I can never achieve.
I have been looking for magic. For instant sparks. I've been looking for answers. There aren't any. That implies there's a question. What's my question?
I'm not sick of Providence. I'm sick of myself. I'm sick of being lonely. I don't even mean that I should date someone (not that I can find anyone anyway). I just don't understand why I am so lonely. I don't understand why other people's actions, or inaction, hurt me so much. How can I matter to anyone when they don't matter to me?
This has been a year of painful revelations. This has been one of the worst years of my life, and some of my years have really fucking sucked. I know I'll look back on it as a period of growth but I can't imagine that it will ever not hurt.
Growing pains, right? Fuck that.
When I came back from North Carolina this summer, it felt so good to be back in Providence. I was happy to do things by myself and to be alone. That sensation has disappeared. I don't know when it left. Perhaps it gradually drained away. Loneliness has a way of creeping up like that.
I am so embarrassed by my actions and reactions.
I never get used to it.
I will never proudly be crazy.

I'm the cause of my pain

My hands are numb. I am rethinking everything.
Let's string unrelated sentences together. Let's see who notices.
Two people texted me this morning saying, "WHERE ARE YOU?!" I missed class again. I stayed home to do art. I felt motivated. I went to my therapy appointment.
"Pants asked me to leave him alone." And then my therapist and I started yelling at each other.
This has never happened before, in the four years that I've been seeing her.
After a while it came out that she was trying to get me to see the patterns in my interactions with the people with whom I am romantically involved. I threaten them. I threatened Pants because he wasn't responding to me. "He didn't reply to your other emails. Wasn't that enough for you to realize he wanted you to leave him alone?" NO IT WAS NOT YOU DO NOT KNOW HIM
But when she pointed out my pattern, I began to cry at the truth of it. When she told me that I'd been withdrawing for the past six months, the tears dripped off my chin. When she said that I was distancing myself, I nodded. And when she mentioned my loneliness and the intensity it lays upon my interactions. When I came home and talked to my roommate in between sobs, she agreed. "Now that you mention it, I have noticed how uncomfortable you've been around crowds." Ok, it's not just the anxiety. It's the rejection.
And this is so hard to accept. This is all I ask for in my life; for people to be open and honest with me. This is what I need. This is what I love. But what do I do with the knowledge that I am so lonely that I've begun to cut myself off from the people around me? My loneliness keeps me lonely.
I'm leaving for a month soon. I'm escaping. What will happen?
How do I break patterns?
How do I fill myself, now that I know how empty I am?

Some days I'm amazed I manage to make it through to night. Some mornings I'm amazed I wake up at all.
Apparently I project a confidence that fools people into thinking I'm fun. Apparently I don't believe this about myself any more.

Where the fuck do I go from here?
I have nothing to hold onto. No lovers, no partners, no best friends. Most of my oldest, closest friends are gone from me now.
I want to be content. Content without content; how original.

clarity

He's so polite. "Please leave me alone."
That's all I needed to know.

Why did it take so long to say it?

you don't know what fair is. unfortunately, neither do I.

Watching heterosexual porn, thinking about Pants as I watch a girl on top reach orgasm. I remember when I used to do that, riding him in his old apartment. That's when things were less complicated; when he would text me and ask what I was doing. Usually late late at night. And I would inevitably go riding to him.
Sometimes I'd get dressed up for him. He liked it. He ripped my fishnet shirt to pieces. He fumbled with my corset. Sometimes I'd straddle his face and make him ask for my pussy. Sometimes I'd tie him down. Sometimes I'd beat him.
Things change.
He went through a rough patch, and I made myself available. I saw him break down and it made me love him. My friend told me that I'm "kind but difficult" and that is true. Pants became something more to me than a fuck, and he let me under his skin a little. He let me inside. He asked me to stay. When I said I wouldn't be able to see him as much in the winter and he'd need to let me drive, he said, "ok."
But now it's winter and he's gone. He didn't let me take the wheel. I don't know what happened and he won't tell me.
Once I sobbed because he mocked my statement, "everyone goes away." But now he's done it too. I said, "I'm just waiting for you to leave," but I was hoping he wouldn't. What was that? Self-fulfilling prophecy?
I haven't cried in a few days. I guess I had this coming.
I wrote to him three days ago. If I don't hear from him by Wednesday, I'm writing him off.
Which part of "reply" did he not understand?

I don't know who you are.

I have replaced my facebook updates with a website. I think it works out better for me. After all, the only person I wrote my statuses for was Pants. Nobody reads the other website; so really it's perfect. There are correlations, but mostly it's just single sentences sent from my phone; things that I feel the need to express. It's creepy. I would be completely freaked out by it if I knew it was referring to me. Maybe I'm a creep. I prefer the term "romantic." I love being in love, and having someone upon which to heap my adoration. I like feeling inspired to write, and draw, and paint, and sing, and dance.
Unfortunately, when that is unrequited, I just come off as a big ole creep.

My friend had this to say about me: "I feel like you still think that there is some right way to go about forming a relationship and that if one approach doesn't work then you shouldn't try it again, when forming relationships is dynamic from person to person."
And it's true.
We are not static people.
We can change.
I believe in compromise.
I have changed so much over the past year --

One year ago today I died. I have had to build myself back up from the ground level. I've rearranged the pieces so they fit together differently now. There are holes in new areas but where there once were gaps there is now solidity.
I feel alright about this anniversary. This may be the only time I think of it. I hope so.
Certain things still hurt me. Today in one of my social work classes, we were talking about termination (as in ceasing to see a client). We discussed the different ways of terminating relationships whether it's a romantic one, a friendship, or professional. We talked about people who just cease communication. Like Pants. People who run away. Like ex-otter.
Look. I don't want to judge the way people do things, but it's hard for me not to when I'm the one who gets hurt by the action. Or inaction.

I can't make anyone do anything. I don't want to make anyone do anything just because I want it. My desires still shine through, though. I can't hide them.
I am supposed to trust that people will do what is best for themselves. I think it's more that people will do what will best serve themselves.

so what if I still miss you? someday it'll be you missing me.

I've got this

strange feeling

today.

It's a winter feeling, balled up and blossoming in my chest. I haven't been sleeping well (takes a long time to fall asleep, toss and turn, 5am wake up, sleep again for a few more hours). I've been trying to eat but sometimes it's hard to remember.
It's a lightness in my chest, like rising anxiety but the wrong emotion. I am making a genogram for a social work class. I am looking at connections. I am adding exes' new lovers. I am giving us broken lines to show the disconnect.
"So you were married?"
"Yeah."
"Me too. Married then divorced. Married then divorced. Married."
"So you're still married now?"
"Yeah, but it's heading the same way as the others."
Don't let that be me. I walked in the cold to get soup for a classmate. While I was out there I realized how much I've adored riding my bike these past two days. I love being bundled up and breathing out steam. My body functions better. My muscles aren't as tired. Why is this? I heave and heave and I thought I'd fall over from lack of oxygen but instead I pushed a little harder and made it to the top. I coasted down. I loved it.

So I missed some school last week. Today my professor responded to an email I sent: "As for "slipping through the cracks," I want to be sure you don't, so...stop it."
Stop it.
Don't you see, that's what I'm trying to do?
Writing down names of people I've never known; uncles and an aunt I've never met; entire families that I don't talk to anymore ... this is the feeling that wells up in my chest. Entire branches of my life have been broken off. Can they grow back?
My family unit now consists of me, one roommate, and our cat. I am content with that arrangement.

I don't think I need anyone else.

Lupe eats the miles

"Today was great weather for biking!" I enthusiastically told my roommate as I peeled off my layers. Her response was an incredulous, "Really?"
"Well, yeah, for cold weather biking. I got to wear layers and didn't overheat."
"Oh, I was walking and it was so cold! I guess biking would be different."
"Yeah, with the right gear it's awesome. I went so fast!"

Flying down Atwells from Mt. Pleasant, heading towards the intersection of River. I keep glancing behind me to make sure no cars are following, but I think doing that is more dangerous than not at that speed. My light shows me glimpses of potholes and crags in the road. I dodge them like exes at a punk rock show. Sometimes we connect, but mostly ... it's hit or miss. I tend to miss.
I can't believe how fast I feel. It's past 10pm on a Sunday. I just finished an 8 hour shift at the library, plus an hour and a half of paper-writing. I was short by a page. I needed perfection.
As I speed past the intersection at Atwells and Cutler, I wonder, "What if that car were to turn in front of me because they think I'm going slower than I actually am?" I can imagine the impact. I do this every ride, at least once. I see twisted metal and broken bones. Rubber and skin. Oil and blood. And the car doesn't turn, I barely slow down, and the road rattles between my thighs.
I have them clenched around the frame, acting as shock absorbers. I'm in a slight crouch so I don't rattle my brain. Providence has terrible roads. Providence likes to be a hard city. You don't live here if you want easy living. This is where every interaction is a struggle. Every bike ride could be your last. I've never been hit but I can feel the impact in my gut and through my head. I've never been hit but man, can I empathize.
Turning from River, making that stupid U-turn onto Westminster. One of the metal bike-part flowerpots is smashed on the road. I am angry and sad simultaneously. Why do people destroy art? I know the person that made them. If someone demolished something beautiful, something public that I had labored over, I would be devastated. It seems unfair. I ride by and up the hill.
Under the overpass. My light is the only way to see the patchwork road. A spiteful car passes close, too close, to me. I don't retaliate. I just ride. That's what I do now. I ride.

I wish I had a microphone so I could dictate my journey. It's only 20 minutes, but it's my time. It's when I get to be alone. The cars are obstacles, not people. Tonight I was reminded of SCUBA diving. With my hood up, all I could hear was the sound of my own breathing as the air rushed past my covered ears. It was peaceful. Underwater, the only sound is that of your regulator. In. Out. Harsh yet smooth. My breathing is labored whenever I ride and I wonder, "How can I be out of shape? I've made this ride almost every day for 16 months. Am I sick?" It feels good to make the turn onto Messer. It feels good to escape the obstacles of Westminster.

Poetry runs through my head as I ride. It jumbles. I never get it right later when I finally have the chance to write. I say, "I am cleansing my emotional palate. Something sharp and stinging still lays on top, but beneath it is bitter." I want to put the pickled ginger in my brain. I want to erase the past few years.
I am cleansing my emotional palate. I can still taste you, and underneath you the old flavors of past lovers. Bitter. I have tasted barely anything other than bitter for the past year. It feels like a good time to start over.
I am cleansing my emotional palate. Too long I've been scared to eat anything else for fear of forgetting these flavors. I don't need to hang on. Letting go frightens me, but I hear that's what I need. That and patience.

Wasabi on the tip of my tongue. I am empty now. There is nothing left to taste. Rice wine and vinegar.

I gobble the miles and shit them out, memories for someone else to hold.
Memories to dispose.

Then I remember another thought: "I want to open you up and crawl inside you like a pre-pubescent japanese boy would do to a gigantic mecha-warrior. I want to caress your dials and buttons, pull your levers, find out what makes you work. I want to see through your eyes and I want others to tremble at our union. I want us to be powerful, and beautiful, and terrible, and silent.
I want you to rust all around me.
I want to save the world with you and never let anyone know it was us.
I want to open you up and crawl inside and take comfort in your presence.
Our death would level city blocks."

I bet my love could do that now.

relearning what we taught ourselves; relearning what we'll soon forget

"so how do you feel about things now?"
"I just don't care."
"What do you mean?"
"There's nothing I can do to change the situation, so I just don't care. I stop caring."

Oh Anu, how easily you explain the way so many would like to be. How do you stop caring? I've never grasped that. I can't let go of anything, anyone, anytime. People suggest it as a course of action as though it were something I did on purpose.
I don't actually like being sad. I don't like aching. I don't like feeling guilty, or wrong, or mean, or angry. I don't really want to hurt people, it's just so hard not to when they have hurt me.
But I'm getting better. I'm not the person that I used to be. I can halt.
I pause.
That is an interesting buddhist concept. My favorites have been to imagine that, because of reincarnation, there is the possibility that you could have been anyone's mother or they could have been your's. Do you know how easily that diffuses things? Of course, it does depend on your mother ...
This other idea is that of pausing. When you are feeling a strong emotion, just pause. Reflect. Just a moment. But breaking the flow helps so much. Pause. Breathe. Regroup.
For some of us the stream is redirected for just a moment before the blockage sinks. I imagine a gutter over run by rain water. A stick becomes jammed in a drain and the water parts as it passes around it. The flow is redirected,but then the stick sinks down again, and the water goes where it wants. It is the space it's given. Water will fill anything. Water will go anywhere.

This is me, interrupting my process.
Pause.
I miss-
Pause.
-you.

Sometimes it's just enough to keep from going crazy.
Sometimes it's enough to keep the tears at bay.
Today I woke up and did not regret it. Today I woke up and felt that I had slept.

the clock just says what the rest of us are thinking

I wanted to kill myself today. I've missed my morning classes for the past three days. I wake up and fall asleep and when I reawaken, class has already started. At first I thought it was from smoking pot, but I haven't smoked in a couple days and I still couldn't wake up this morning.
I ran out of one of my medications. I went to get it refilled yesterday and found out that I'd maxed out my insurance. Again. So my $15 med jumped to $300. I cried.
A guy that has been jerking me around finally said he's seeing someone else and does that make him terrible? "You're an asshole," I replied. "Don't contact me again."
I miss Pants. I went to take his wheel back to him today. Initially I was planning on taking it into his work. I went to the tea place across from his work and sipped on peppermint yerba mate. I was there for an hour before I could decide what to do. I tied the wheel to his bike. I walked past the entrance to his work and couldn't bring myself to enter. So I left and visited a friend instead, which is where I've been now for over four hours. So I hope Pants isn't mad that I tied a wheel to his bike frame. I don't know how I feel right now. I want to die.

I've berated friends lately, and lost people that I cared about, and haven't been able to sleep but then I sleep too much. I've cried every day. I know this isn't just one thing. I know it's the stress of pre-finals, and working longer, and more papers, and feeling fucking useless, and feeling like there's something wrong with me, and getting tired of the way people look at me, of being scared, of being tired, of everything and everything and who the fuck do I talk to about it?
I wanted that person to be Pants. I can't stop myself from wanting. I can't make the logic stick.
Is this over? Are things over? Pants, are we over?
Someone in Providence has been reading this site and I don't know who it is.
Speak up.
You never know how much time you have left. That's what I keep trying to explain to people. Why don't they ever believe me?

don't come back to me, just come back

I had dreams last night about people I could have done without remembering. People like Saw and Buttercup and Pants. People I have loved that do not talk to me now. People that make me wonder, "what happened?" Regrets.
What do they regret about me? I know there must be things. I know I know I know. How could there not be? How could it rip me up inside and not effect them? I don't think that's how it works. We are not separate people. Those that I have loved and love still feel me. I still feel them too.
Why do I so happily give people second chances? Why do I give those chances to people who do not return the favor?
Who am I now?
Who are they?

How can I possibly go the rest of my life never hearing from them again?
I know.
It's not my choice anymore.