Misanthrope?

Somewhere, people are talking for hours. Somewhere, people are interesting. Somewhere I’m not.

Blaming others in this feels petty. It’s too easy. Others are none of my doing or responsibility. To talk, no— to converse, is to be alive. So, I suppose, I am guilty of a daily suicide. Carpe diem? If only someone would write a book about it…again. I should probably go talk to someone. That is the first step to conversing, after all. But these steps sound exhausting. I’ll just blame others. 

I am Blue and Unwell

I am blue and unwell                   -J. Newsom

....now it’s done. A boy. Don’t meet them at bars. I have to accept the fact that I’m cursed. I should stop trying. Three dates, sex once. Dinner, cocktails and the realization that he’s ‘just not that into me’.

I am not upset that we won’t be moving forward—he’s a frat boy who spit all the time and interrupted me constantly. I’m upset that I fucked it up by my aggressive behavior. He says my bossiness was the deal breaker. Is it time to change now? I really don’t want to. I genuinely like myself. But let’s face facts. Something needs to happen because whatever I’m doing isn’t working; perhaps tweaking some dating behavior wouldn’t be so bad…actually…No.  Now that I’ve come to think of it, I’ve had plenty of men in my life who loved my personality. He’s just an over-sensitive wuss. 

The Purge

Right now I am drunk and about to throw up the pizza that the delivery man just brought me. I would like to believe that this will one day end. That I won’t be haunted by alcohol or food. That I can get a glass of wine at dinner with friend and be free from neurotic behavior.

But today I am eating alone. And drinking alone. And purging alone. It wasn’t so bad sober. So why did I go back? One reason, one answer: it’s easier. It’s not my style, but I took the easy way. Even though I have learned the hard way, that what comes easy, comes wrong. 

Vampira

I celebrate myself. I found joy—at least for one night. I celebrate myself because I’m not searching for the destroyer of beauty. I cease to lurk in dark corners of my mind for things left unsaid and undone—or even worst—for those things actually spoken and acted on. If this feeling of complete acceptance be for only one night, so be it. I do not claim perfection, nor do I savor consistency. I am imperfect and progressive. I celebrate the night. This night. But reaching further than this, I celebrate myself for allowing the night to permeate through me. 

The Gashlycrumb Tinies-Ed Gorey

A is for awesome, all over my heart.