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He asks

wanna cuddle

Of course I do. Of course. The only problem is the STDs floating around, the serial killers lurking about, my (in)sanity, and the facts being what they are. Fact: I have never heard the sound of his voice. Fact: I asked if he had a good weekend and his reply was “not bad.” Fact: I told him I couldn’t cuddle because I was a good girl. Fact: I think I lied.

 

No can do

I said

Good girl here

I am not a whore. I was a virgin until I was 29, and I do not kid. I just never wanted to make love or fuck. But then the switch was flipped. And now it’s Two. One that didn’t matter. One that shouldn’t have mattered but did.  He could’ve been Three.

 

He laughed it off

haha…I tried

Of course he did. Why shouldn’t he? I was mainly amused, but now I’m not. I think it’s because I lied. I can’t cuddle because I’m cold. I can’t cuddle because I’m a sad girl. I can’t cuddle because he doesn’t really want to cuddle. I can’t cuddle because cuddle is code for fuck and I’m tired of being fucked.

No shit. This is the whole of my love life.

 

Nerdy military guy (NMG): Wink

ML: wink

ML: where you be?

NMG: I been reading. My life is GREAT!

ML: Oh

(long, long pause as ML contemplates the greatness of NMG’s life)

ML: Whatche reading?

NMG: Reading bout ‘Nam

ML: Sweet. I like death.

NMG: Call me if you get bored.

ML: Okay, I’ll call you soon. BTW, you know my given name isn’t my screen name, “sassyso-and-so,” right? Are you interested in my real name?

NMG: Okay.

Update: NMG sends me the most intimate text I’ve ever gotten…”hi” Like, we’re so close that we don’t need punctuation or more than one-syllable words anymore. LOVE is Good!

Have I told you* lately how much I like excuses? Especially ones involving elderly parents and work? Have I told you how classy it is for you to invite me to hit you up if I get bored at ***-***-**** without your knowing or asking for my name? I suppose I could call myself “you know, that girl.”

 

If I haven’t told you, it’s because I love you. I love your excuses, your elderly parent, hitting you up at ***-***-****, and your not knowing my name. I love that you are interested in my being an astronaut, but missing the humor in my saying that. You sound sincere. You like history, though, and you read war stories (although for the life of me I do not know what FAC means in reference to Vietnam}. You might be eternally interesting or boring.

 

Would you leave me to go live in another country without telling me? Would you tell me you have no affection for me? Or would you come up with something truly original, something that causes me pause and grand crying spells that make people uncomfortable (and that Bryan will gracefully explain away: “MedicatedLady crazy” or “She forgot her medicine” or “ML is in her dark place right now”)?

 

These questions will have to wait as I feel fat. I don’t want to lose you, but I feel that meeting up is eminent or imminent and of course, that is not an option when one is fat. Or maybe I’ll convince myself it is an option as I enjoy self-injurious behavior and your judgment would be no less than what I deserve.

 

Love always, so long as you make it hurt**,

ML

 

*You as in the composite of a couple menfolk. You as in plural menfolk. Understand?

**”Make it hurt” is a Bryan-patented phrase that I use daily because it’s a great line. Understand? This post is password-protected but I still encourage you go to poeticgrin.com for your own enjoyment.

I am consistent.

I at least have that going for me.

I have a thing for buying high heels that are too tall for me.

I have a thing for inappropriateness.

I tell myself that I will wear them in my house to break them in, learn how to walk in them, and firm my ass.

I buy them in unreasonable colors.

I do not have grape anywhere in my wardrobe.

I still felt compelled to buy the beige and grape high heels yesterday.

I noticed too late the right shoe was a size 6.5 and the left was a 6.

I figured this figured.

I wonder if you suffer, too

writer’s guilt and all of that.

To see gray-blue as a feeling

never a hue.

Listen

I’m tired of her

I’m tired of hearing her

I’m tired of seeing her

 

Since she’s on her way to good health

or on her way to not-so-bad health

 

Her complaining and her refusals

are symptoms of a petulant child

I have no patience for

 

Since she’s going anyway

I wish her gone already

It doesn’t have to hurt

for me to like the feel

of shallow skin torn from deeper depths.

 

Not all cuticles run so deep

but removal

makes the edges of my being warm.

 

I might go to professionals

who tinker and snip

but I don’t wish for nails that are better kept.

 

I wish for jagged, uneven splits

to be savored and fantasized about

to be at climax torn.

This day is going better than yesterday because

 

  • I do not have to go to the dentist.
  • I have not locked myself out of my car (yet).
  • I am planning to eat all day so as not to get so hungry and stay within my point range for Weight Watchers.
  • Although my gums are swollen and sore from dental work yesterday, it does not appear as though I’m dipping a golf ball size of chew.
  • It’s super cloudy out.
  • I haven’t fallen asleep for hours when I supposed to be at work.
  • My TB skin test hasn’t turned a horrible purple from the nurse poking too deep. Instead it’s slightly red and basically not noticeable.
  • The woman who scheduled my root canal for tomorrow morning was pleasant. When I called back to be sure that laughing gas was available, she said that it was and not to worry so much.
  • I was not late for work today.
  • I have four oranges that I can eat today at work.
  • My toast was tasty. Actually, it was tasty yesterday, too.
  • I don’t feel as though I want to give up and say fuck it and go to bed at 7 p.m.

 

Pros and Cons Anticipated for Thursday:

 

          Pros                               

          Tooth taken care of.                

  Getting hair did.                        

          TB test results.              

          It’s toward the end of    

                   the week.

          It’s supposed to rain.    

 

          Cons

          A fucking root canal.

          Fucking paying to get hair did.

          Finding out I have fucking TB.

          It’s not Friday.

          There are no cons to rain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…and really

it’s about wanting to know what I can’t

even still

do you remember has replaced why

at least sometimes

you won’t know the significance of this day

you never knew the significance of me

but I hope

you reflect for a brief moment on the last year of your life

think of me

and feel a tiny flutter somewhere deep inside

this is not a poem

exactly

just thoughts broken by lines

and no punctuation

for good measure

 

this is not a coherent whole

poem and prose

welded and molded

fused together

in harmony

 

………

 

Let me tell you. Thursday marks our one-year anniversary. We met at Julie’s, after my class (it was Theories of Technical Communication). I was so nervous, literally shaking in my brown boots, and when I saw him, I thought he was gorgeous. I thought he would surely not be interested in me.

 

We were together 5.5 months. We’ve been apart now for longer. 6.5 months. And Thursday marks our one-year anniversary.

 

Consequently, it is also trash day.

SOB with me

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