Okay, self. Let’s try something new for a change. I mean, the old, swirling darkness of hopelessness and despair was fun but it’s a bit…played out. You’re boring, self. So, in the interest of self-improvement, let’s think of the positive things that are happenening in your life:
Your boys – Ah, those maddeningly delightful, mischevious and sometimes hard to handle boys. You love them. You are proud of the men they are becoming. You try and do your best by them, sometimes you need to try harder, but all in all they are happy and healthy young men.
Okay, I will try and finish this now. Optimism, come back.
The new job is working out so far.
My boyfriend hasn’t left me yet.
His daughter hugged me and said she loves me.
I don’t have anything else.
I wish I was dead.
On the mother’s condition: “she is breathing, but she is dying…”
Seven months ago you died. Maybe Josh is right but I think I should keep my thoughts of you private. I think about you all the time. So much of me was buried with you, the good parts. The parts I wanted to give to you.
I hope there’s something nice for you out there.
Got engaged last night. On purpose. Not pregnant.
J: I have the strangest erection right now.
K: (confused stare)
K: what’s wrong with your rectum?
J: ( Jaw drops) Nooo I said “erection”.
[Seconds earlier I told him that I wanted to fuck him in the ass, so naturally I was concerned that he had some health issues]
Still your soul
Still your mind
Still, the fire of love is true
And I am breathless without you
It bears repeating:
I wanna like, go hunt something with you and kill it with our bare hands, skin it, eat it, fuck you and then draw a fucking mural on the wall of all that.
I like the middle.
You are so amazing. I know it’s only been a short time but you make me feel so safe. You talk to me, even when you’re mad at me. You don’t let anything fester. You are so fucking kind I just stare at you sometimes and wonder what the hell you are doing with me. I want to be better. I’m trying, baby.
You read. You love music as much as I do. You hung up my clothes, who does that?? (Thank you, I won’t expect it but that was so fucking nice).
My family is crazy about you. I’m so fucked up over you.
I hope this treatment works, if I get it, that is. You deserve to be so happy and I want to be a part of that. Or at least, I don’t want to make you miserable and then hate me, and then stop caring. I love you. Finally I can say that and mean it wholeheartedly.
I feel like a child that just got everything she ever wanted for Christmas and can’t wait to go to school and brag to her friends about it, how crazy is that?