Archive for March, 2016

Meaningless Update

I’m pretty much out of hope for reconciliation. Hope was what was keeping me able to (sort of) be happy. I just kept telling myself to be patient.  It kinda worked.

But I guess she just doesn’t like me. She won’t say that, but it has to be true. We have so many attachments to each other that it just makes sense for us to work things out and stay together….except all that goes out the window if she just plain doesn’t like me.

I’m always going to feel rejected, because that’s what happened whether she wants to face it or not.  I got kicked out, rehabilitated myself utterly, and found out it was too late to make any difference. I’m still clean, still fighting depression, only now I figure “what’s the fucking point?”

So we’ll see how long that lasts with precisely no external motivation whatsoever. There’s not much incentive to stay healthy when you don’t love yourself, and don’t trust those you love most. I  love our kids, but they remind me of her, and all this tragedy in my life really has me wondering if, in the end, I’m not just fucking things up with them too. I’m really pondering that one.

It’s a barren and pale satisfaction, knowing that my love outlasted hers. I always figured I would be the one to fuck that up. But I do still love her, and always will.

I’d better try to look forward to this lifetime of awkwardness and unrequite.

Another Song

Listen to this.

Pep Talk

Goddang it self, have some pride! Cheer up!

Oy.

An Old Song

I ran into this old song while trying to restore some old backup drives, I had forgotten about it totally!, and don’t know if I ever played it for her. Anyway give it a listen, it’s about her first day of work at the Plant. Happy times.

Lyrics:

First day of work (Halelujah)
Learned some things to do (woo)
Hope it was good for you (I really do)
I think you did good as hell (Well well)
Now we’re halfway out of of this roach motel (Alright)
Yeah you really gave it hell
Now we’re on the way to someplace else

This is my Johnny Cash voice
And this is the part where I speak
Because I’ve run out of lyrics
And singing is so 90’s anyway
But honey I just wanted to say
I’m glad for what you do
And I’m proud to be your man

Haha!, Reconciliation Fantasy #9

Just once in my life, I’d like to be the one who gets called to, as I turn to leave. You know the trope:

Jason stares blank, dejected, then turns to walk away.

Narrator: “He just knows he has to let her go her own way.” (Some crap about birds flying free.)

Ingenue, probably played by Ione Skye: “Jason, wait. Don’t go.”

A tentative smile. A knowing glance. A rush to a warm embrace as it rains, though the sun breaks through in a montage of ther mutual happiness.

Cue Music: Tears for Fears

All I know is, I’ve been calling all my life, but I’ve never yet been called. Shitty.

Broken Home

It’s what’s for dinner.

The Past

I’ve learned to appreciate the past, finally. Before I know it, it will be all that’s left. It’s not some maudlin, morbid pronouncement, it’s a simple fact of life. This song, linked here, used to make me cry, and now I know why: the island that is the past …

(because now one can know for sure, can’t one?, that man is an island after all!, because of those things that cannot be undone on either side of two people, the total lack of understanding, the real Hell that people can inflict unknowingly, their islands being simply too far away…)

… the past is prologue, always!, and part of me must have known, sensed that a disaster was on the way.

Now I’m alone, and maybe it’s only just…no, f#ck that. It’s a disgrace that I’m alone. I don’t really believe my own hype anymore, regarding what I deserve out of life. I only ever tried to be as good as I knew how, in conditions that were themselves disgraceful, grueling, unenviable.

So I have a hard time with that conclusion but it doesn’t change a damn thing, and the pursuit of pride is a mad one with no noble end. I’ll accept it. And pretend like I had a choice in the matter.

But: I love my past: it can’t be taken away. And neither those who share it with me. Cannot be stolen or destroyed or sold off. Abandoned, denied, cheapened. Hurt or abused or merely tolerated into obscure and meaningless obeisance. The past and all in it are my menagerie of beautiful and unshakable things, more present and alive than this mocking golden band, more valuable than mineral or animal or vegetable, and I imagine it will only become more so with time. It is all I own and it is precious, beyond my feebleness, to describe it.


March 2016
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Currently Reading:

Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame - Charles Bukowski

Currently Listening:

Mr. Bungle - California

Why, yes, I am cool as a cucumber in a bowl of hot sauce.

You lika de juice????