All I Have For Now
A note from long ago that still has relevance but much less so:
Fuck John Bolton...I just can't believe we are living in a world where people are buying books from shitheads that refused to turn on the president when it mattered. They don't deserve attention. They don't deserve money. They should be in jail, if only I didn't believe that we already jailed too many people. Maybe we should fine them. That seems fair. Fuck John Bolton and fuck anyone who buys his book because we already know what's in it- Donald Trump is a fucking cunt and literally the worst. We. All. Already. Know. And. You. Prevented. Change.
Notes from a few nights ago- a sleepless time:
Sometimes I laugh to myself when I lay topless in bed like I have gotten away with something. As though God would censor me but I have evaded them through my poor scheming. I don't think God would be part of a gender binary, but I do think they would prudishly admonish me for not getting dressed 60% of the time.
I finally figured out how to use my boyfriend's pen. This is not a bad euphemism, I am just dumb and the pen is a little damaged. I realize that statement does little to dissuade one from believing I'm being metaphorical, but I don't think I could provide any more details that couldn't be twisted. And I wanted to document this because it vexed me for at least a week. For some reason it only works for me if I manipulate just the tip. I'm sure there is a way to describe how I found myself bumbling with it that doesn't make it seem like I'm definitely talking about my boyfriend's penis- but that's just not where my vernacular drives me. You'll just have to trust me. I feel we're at the point where we can acknowledge I'd openly talk about my boyfriend's penis anyway. And then write several long posts about our subsequent break-up.
Setting my boyfriend's pen(is) aside- I find myself up very late looking at the wreckage I have left around his rental. I found this pen on the floor to start with, and he certainly didn't put it there. It's actually a somewhat nice looking pen, despite it being difficult to deal with. I have lost the one I entered this relationship with. Probably somewhere in the clutter I've caused at the desk.
I've been taking Ambien every night for a few weeks and with the long weekend I'm trying again to see if I can manage to fall asleep naturally. It is a failing experiment. As many of mine are. It is 4 AM. As many of mine are.
I am sleepy.
But I can't sleep.
I have You Spin Me Round (Like a Record) stuck in my head. It's better at least than the garbage anthem of a real housewife that was in before- although I think in recognizing this I have summoned Tardy for the Party back into my listless corpse brain. I have been watching too much reality TV. I can't imagine it is properly nourishing either my mind or soul, and I was never good at feeding either of those things before.
I have waking nightmares. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I were to start screaming in the middle of the night because all I can do is envision myself being attacked by shadows. There's a thin wall between impulse and action. Sometimes I regret being on the more pragmatic side of it. I bet screaming would be satisfying for me for at least the time in which I was able to maintain the sound. I'm sure it would be horrifying to Collin. Then I wonder- if the shadows were really to attack, would screaming benefit either me or Collin?
When I was living alone I would often have this impulse as well. I would lie awake waiting for the shadows to come and consider what I might do to evade destruction. More importantly, I would plan for how to save The Kitten. If someone were to break in, how fast could I find her and carry her out to the car? I couldn't leave her. If I woke up to being stabbed could I protect her? She usually slept near me. Now I wonder if I started being attacked would Collin be able to get away and would he be able to get away with The Kitten. Is it fair to ask him to protect her? I suppose I wouldn't want him to die protecting her...but I do not want her to be left behind.
This thought has also come up more recently with the idea of fleeing the country. I can't imagine leaving her. As much as I tease her she's been the most consistent source of comfort in my life for at least four years, and I don't want to do anything to put her at risk.
Fuck John Bolton...I just can't believe we are living in a world where people are buying books from shitheads that refused to turn on the president when it mattered. They don't deserve attention. They don't deserve money. They should be in jail, if only I didn't believe that we already jailed too many people. Maybe we should fine them. That seems fair. Fuck John Bolton and fuck anyone who buys his book because we already know what's in it- Donald Trump is a fucking cunt and literally the worst. We. All. Already. Know. And. You. Prevented. Change.
Notes from a few nights ago- a sleepless time:
Sometimes I laugh to myself when I lay topless in bed like I have gotten away with something. As though God would censor me but I have evaded them through my poor scheming. I don't think God would be part of a gender binary, but I do think they would prudishly admonish me for not getting dressed 60% of the time.
I finally figured out how to use my boyfriend's pen. This is not a bad euphemism, I am just dumb and the pen is a little damaged. I realize that statement does little to dissuade one from believing I'm being metaphorical, but I don't think I could provide any more details that couldn't be twisted. And I wanted to document this because it vexed me for at least a week. For some reason it only works for me if I manipulate just the tip. I'm sure there is a way to describe how I found myself bumbling with it that doesn't make it seem like I'm definitely talking about my boyfriend's penis- but that's just not where my vernacular drives me. You'll just have to trust me. I feel we're at the point where we can acknowledge I'd openly talk about my boyfriend's penis anyway. And then write several long posts about our subsequent break-up.
Setting my boyfriend's pen(is) aside- I find myself up very late looking at the wreckage I have left around his rental. I found this pen on the floor to start with, and he certainly didn't put it there. It's actually a somewhat nice looking pen, despite it being difficult to deal with. I have lost the one I entered this relationship with. Probably somewhere in the clutter I've caused at the desk.
I've been taking Ambien every night for a few weeks and with the long weekend I'm trying again to see if I can manage to fall asleep naturally. It is a failing experiment. As many of mine are. It is 4 AM. As many of mine are.
I am sleepy.
But I can't sleep.
I have You Spin Me Round (Like a Record) stuck in my head. It's better at least than the garbage anthem of a real housewife that was in before- although I think in recognizing this I have summoned Tardy for the Party back into my listless corpse brain. I have been watching too much reality TV. I can't imagine it is properly nourishing either my mind or soul, and I was never good at feeding either of those things before.
I have waking nightmares. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I were to start screaming in the middle of the night because all I can do is envision myself being attacked by shadows. There's a thin wall between impulse and action. Sometimes I regret being on the more pragmatic side of it. I bet screaming would be satisfying for me for at least the time in which I was able to maintain the sound. I'm sure it would be horrifying to Collin. Then I wonder- if the shadows were really to attack, would screaming benefit either me or Collin?
When I was living alone I would often have this impulse as well. I would lie awake waiting for the shadows to come and consider what I might do to evade destruction. More importantly, I would plan for how to save The Kitten. If someone were to break in, how fast could I find her and carry her out to the car? I couldn't leave her. If I woke up to being stabbed could I protect her? She usually slept near me. Now I wonder if I started being attacked would Collin be able to get away and would he be able to get away with The Kitten. Is it fair to ask him to protect her? I suppose I wouldn't want him to die protecting her...but I do not want her to be left behind.
This thought has also come up more recently with the idea of fleeing the country. I can't imagine leaving her. As much as I tease her she's been the most consistent source of comfort in my life for at least four years, and I don't want to do anything to put her at risk.
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