I always come to writing full of ideas, but in the act of thrusting those thoughts through to my fingertips, I tangle up and lose everything.
I wanted to write about the alarmingly fleeting nature of modern relationships… this ‘toss-away-if-broke-and-get-a-new-one’ mentality…
‘Mr. Cables Wasn’t stable, Even tho he said he Was..’
I’m not going to blame anyone for not giving a fuck about someone else…what I don’t dig is the lead-on, or the taking advantage of a partner, or allowing the assumption that there is a partnership going on when there isn’t.
I should know that for myself I can’t settle for just mediocre living… my brain needs stimulation, craves culture, wants art, exotic foods, clean sheets, and….
…my own place.
I’m completely desperate over this housing situation.
I am so used to being transient.
I have never gotten an apartment for myself in my life, I’ve very simply just had roommates or couch-surfed or what-have-you.
Thirty goddamn years old, Woman, and I don’t even know whom to call for electric!
I had a desperate hope ((and still do honestly)) that I could afford to just live out of hotels for a few years instead of renting an apartment.
I adore the idea of clean sheets and swimming and breakfast and coffee in the morning and people-watching at night, working in the afternoons, lazing & rolling about on the bed, beautiful and perfectly pampered…
I wish life was easy and beautiful all the time.
I have been handed so many beautiful fruits in this life…I have seen so much good, deliciously ripe, juicy things bursting with potential & vibrant energies… and yet it all expires & melts away into the next plane eventually.
It’s a potent lesson in finality.
And each and every thing is ultimately alone… sure, indeed… but that’s exactly why I enjoy my relationships… I choose them knowing the finality of things, the ease of losing things and people and memory…I cherish each second with a grace & dedication unmatched, packing each moment away like precious gems and yet each time, each loss again breaks new wounds fresh upon the soul’s skin & disturbs the most primal of beings living within woman’s hearts.
There is a mourning that happens quite similar in feeling to going insane.
It viscerally pulls you into the ground by your knees & sets fire to your every nerve. You’re a prisoner, captured alive by your very own existence, and it doesn’t stop burning & retching water & wrenching screams from guts you didn’t know you owned.
One is lucky if they can afford to dull the experience with cheap booze, but care should be made to stick within the layout of the kitchen or bathroom floor and not venture outdoors. You can’t see anything anyway… how far do you really plan on crawling, huh..?
This mourning period can last eons, or what seems like it… years, months, countless hours of days passing…
Luckily for me, I’m dissociative.
Because of this, I have the funky ability to allow other ‘personalities’ handle certain life events that other parts of my psyche might not be able to deal well with.
So I’ve simply thrust myself into work and carry life on.
Tally-ho until next time!