PoeticaL
cluttering the net since 2001

long long long

Thursday, Sept. 11, 2003
I can’t speak for bf when he writes in my guestbook. I will emphatically state once again that all of my friends are of the male persuasion. This has been a fact my entire adult life, it was a fact when I met bf and yet bf…well he has a hard time with it, rightfully so. It aggravates me but then I do try to put myself in his shoes. If he got phone calls from female friends, I’d probably squirm in my seat as well at times. It’s always easy to say you trust someone, but on the emotional level we all have a certain degree of self doubt, low self esteem moments as well as memories from the past where perhaps someone cheated on us that surface when we are feeling threatened by behaviors of our special other one.

I have been cheated on, I don’t much care for feeling that it might happen again. I haven’t ever felt this way where Rick is concerned, I am more fearful that as soon as I have invested all that I am, everything that I have, and what’s left of my shattered heart he will leave and I feel that I would never be able to withstand it. I get very angry with him when he questions my whereabouts, wants to know who is on my cell phone and/or goes so far as to answer my cell phone himself. I was extremely pissed off about it until I realized that I am in the wrong as well. I want to be able to trust him and know that I am investing my time and heart wisely, I want to know that just because he resorts to telling me its over every time he’s hurt and frustrated with things that he truly doesn’t want it to ever be over, but rather says those words just because he’s frustrated.

I try to understand Rick because I love Rick. I try to read him and figure out what he’s thinking and feeling because most of the time I feel rather clueless. I take his Scorpio looks to mean more or less than what they actually mean. I am fearful of losing something that matters to me and I keep my emotions at arms length. It’s easier for me to deny myself the 100% freefall that love is and should be, for the seemingly safer mode of “but he might leave me and how will I deal with that?” These are all my issues and nothing that Rick is doing or not doing. It is me. These are my issues that I cannot overcome easily.

I know that I need more help than I am getting. Help costs money. Money is tight at the moment and adequate funds to get the right sorts of support systems in my life are just not readily available. Regardless of that, I find myself sitting often in the dark lighting hitting the back of my head against the wall trying to find the rhythm again. I try to let everything else go and just concentrate on that thump thump of skull against wall. I try to tune into the nothingness of the meaning of it all to clear my head and try to get grounded again.

Rick has seen me at my very worst. He has seen my inaudible thoughts going silent while I try to grasp at them to verbalize the pain that overcomes me. He has told me to simply stand up and go to bed. Last night I lay on the fool in fetus position and just wanted so badly to die. The lack of Zoloft, the lack of dr. visits, the stress of money factors, the assimilation into a new job, the constant ache of missing my own flesh and blood, it’s all too much too often too hard too tight to breath, too broken, too difficult too painfully real, too much, too little, those are the days that leave me unable to take too many more.

Lately I feel like the circus performer with all of those plates, spinning from my upturned feet, twirling around my weary fingertips. I’m there in front of a crowd spinning twirling smiling, never dropping a plate wanting to scream out loud “get out get out of my tent you have no idea just how difficult this is do you??” But I’m there center ring twirling and dancing and trying to forget just how many faces are upon me, just how tight my outfit is. Just twirl and go on and forget all the thoughts, just do it again and again and one day when I get it right I can pass the plates to the next lost soul and walk out of the tent over dead elephants that forget nothing, past onlookers that pay to see me stumble. Someday I will go on and you will have lost your ticket to my show.

I digress…. Rick has seen the ugliest pieces of my soul, the mean streak that wants to hurt rather than bleed, the lost little girl that wants to cling to someone rather than drown in her own tears. He has seen it all and I’m sure I am driving him insane.

I say I want equality, I say I want him to tell me what his expectations are so I can live up to them. I ask what 5 things he doesn’t like and what 5 he does. I bombard him with questions that only go back to my need for acceptance.

I am lost…..so lost. And then tonight I talked to Bucky and he told me, “I feel better when I am with you, when I am there, those are our things you have, I can watch TV, I can eat where I want, I can be myself like I was before…” And I hang up and sit in a parking lot alone crying…crying for what he wants and I can’t give him. He wants what used to be and I can’t be what’s all used up and gone. I can’t bring back a life that someone else killed. And yet when he said these things to me, it all came full circle and I knew for every moment I felt I didn’t do anything right, somehow my son still felt loved. Still felt important, needed, loved, appreciated…warm. I asked if he wanted to spend all of his weekends with me, from Friday right after school until Monday right before school, and he said, “yes then you would get the best times, the times when I’m not having to do homework, and sleep and boring stuff, you would get the best parts of me, the happy parts, the good stuff.” To which I replied, “I have those parts in my heart, in my thoughts, in my mind, in my soul every single day.” He replied, “I like the way you talk to me Mom, the way you say things to me is nice.”

Sometimes I just wish for a day when I feel no regret, no pain, no want, no loss, no frustration, no misunderstanding, no worry, no fear, no ache.

My new job is interesting, full of meetings, my boss Michael Miller, what a name eh? That is truly his name. Michael Miller. He’s a “there will be a meeting at 2:15 sharp” type of guy. Every morning we do a round circle akin to a girl scout meeting and he rattles off numbers and figures and expectations and people sit and doodle down numbers and I fiddle and my shoes always feel out of place without a desk to shove them under, I sit and watch the sun and tell myself that there’s a reason for my being there that day that mustn’t have much to do with money. I watch the way he smoothes down his moustache and I know he’ll be a character in a book someday. Michael is a nice guy who works far too hard, far too long every day. For him collections is a religion. I had to take a test and pass it regarding government regulations for collections. Basically it goes like this.

1. Thou shall not call you the debtor a motherfucking loser like my ex-husband who never paid his bills.
2. Thou shall be pleasant and offer you a solution to your inability to pay your bills on time.
3. Thou shall pretend that I give a flying fuck about your credit report and the immense damage that your inability to pay your alltell bill will cause.
4. I must never tell your mother, father, sister, brother, dog or neighbor that you are a dead beat but rather that they are great and should have you call me back.
5. If you call me a bad name, I must thank you for your time and hang up.
6. I cannot replace my anger management class for a workday.
7. I cannot threaten to garnish your wages unless I intend to do so.
8. I cannot call you a fat pig with a skinny wallet.
9. I shall not in any instance call you back if you call me a bad name just to say “thanks I totally wanted to be called a scumbag by a scumbag that doesn’t pay their bills nor do they have a checking account!”
10. If you say you’re dead in jail or no longer live there when you do, I cannot tell you to knock it the fuck off, but I CAN tell you “Oh one last thing Joe…Joe are you there?” (this is where JOE invariably says “yeah what???” because even Joe gets curious and forgets he’s a stupid ass debtor with bad lying skills) “Thanks for lying to me Joe, my ex-husband got me rather addicted to it and I just got my fix so thanks, talk to ya in a few days.”

That’s about it. Furthermore, because I have access to debts for all sorts of things all over the country, I can plug in your name and find out just how many bad debts you have. I plugged in ex’s name and voila, there was a bad check account to Publix, and a $49 past due bill to his dentist, and a past due cellular bill. All of which occurred over 3 years ago. Loser. I plugged in my own name, and voila…nothing. Go figure.

I do NOT work for a collections agency. I work for an attorney’s office doing collections for all sorts of clients who have obtained an attorney to pursue matters.

Chloe’s in heat and she’s bleeding on everything. It’s driving me nuts and I hope it passes very soon. Little dots of blood on everything everywhere. It’s totally maddening. What the hell am I supposed to do with her right now? It’s gross. Really gross. My chow chows used to go into heat and I’d send them outside in the fenced backyard. No backyard here, no yard here, no fence here, just apartment and more apartment. Speak of the devil, she wants me to pick her up and cuddle with her…yah right…no thanks…

I’m currently reading “Lithium for Medea – Kate Braverman” I just finished “In a country of Mothers – A.M. Homes” and it had me on the edge of my seat, but I never got an answer to the one big question and that makes me kooky to think about.

Wow I wrote way too long of an entry….g’night.

-PoeticaL
1:12 p.m. ::
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