cluttering the net since 2001

more than a minute

Thursday, Jun. 06, 2002
"When I was a little boy, they called me a liar, but now that I am grown up, they call me a writer."
—Isaac Bashevis Singer

Sometimes I wonder why I put so much of myself into the relationships in my life. I wonder why I don’t just travel slowly through them like everyone else seems to do. I don’t know. And then I think about BraN, who hands out beautiful advice like the perfect windex to cause clear views to the solution. I take a lot for granted. The fact that I will wake up…taken for granted daily. The fact that I can walk….yup taken for granted. My friends that throw themselves head first into the ship called Friends….I love those kinds of people. Head first..never looking back. I think of Tim last night telling me that I’m never alone because we found a oneness in the experiences that few ever share. What a beautiful moment. How do you take those things for granted?? I never have.

Tonight I listened to the morbid story of how “he” had to leave her because she never de-velcro’ed herself from her ex-husband. I told him that perhaps he never destroyed her enough to make her want to detach and so she’s happy where she is mentally. He told her that it had to be over. She cried. Now he’s wondering if it has to be over. Because just like I always suspected…tears are a wonderful torture device against him. Tears…..simple little nothing things that cause so much shattering like actual gunfire. Boy leaves girl, girl crys, boy goes back. Doh!

This girl cried a lot and all the while sobbing with meaning. Yeah that’s what “he” said. “Kristy, it was “SOBBING WITH MEANING”. You don’t understand Kristy…..

I didn’t know there was a different kind of sobbing. Is there a “SOBBING FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT?” could it be??? geez. I just did it in silent closets and didn’t broadcast my pain down wires causing guilt trips long enough to make a man request a longer vacation leave from reality. That girl…while I felt badly for her in one instance…in the next I hated her for being far more conniving than myself. He’s right…I turn everything into being about me. Selfish self serving girl that I am…..*sigh*.

But this isn’t the first time he’s come to me. I know he does this because of one of two things.

1. He knows I’m a good friend. A good ear that he can fill up with his pain. I put aside everything bad between us and forget myself long enough to be a true friend and hear him out without spewing my own pain and thoughts based upon me.

2. I’m stupid and do the above.

Yeah, it’s one or the other. Take your pick. I personally like that feeling when someone comes to you. I really like when someones super upset and they choose me. I know how meticulously I choose for myself who I want to reach out to. I love being needed by someone….even if they might be using me for their own means. Yeah that’s sick. I need to rethink that. Maybe I just like that “he” does it. It makes me feel for a brief moment that I am bigger than him because he’s crawling to me with his woes instead of the other way around that I did for years. Maybe I like to see him sniveling and whining and weak. Maybe I like to see him be human for a few minutes. Maybe it’s a combination of everything. I really like it when he says something and then says “what about it? What do you think Kristy?” He’s seeking my acceptance, my approval….my opinion. That makes me mentally wet. It was the opposite for so long that I never got all the groveling out of my palms. I still pick out pebbles from past conversations. It’s nice to see his bloody palms reaching to me.

The one thing that he eerily keeps saying to me… “you’ve gotten so strong…since we met….you’re so happy somehow…” Its eerie because he doesn’t know what’s changed. I can’t bring myself to tell him because I told him so many times that if I got to leave I’d stay gone. I ran back. I just can’t assume that grovel position of the past and explain myself with weak ramblings. I can’t do it.

My weak ramblings that I could hit “PLAY” and repeat with ease. I can’t do it. I like standing and seeing him crawl. I like being the only one that knows why I’m better. Why I’m stronger. Why… I like being the one that has the answer to why and watching him saying “Why Kristy..but why is this happening to me?” Tonight I almost said “because you did this to someone else…it’s Karma…..” But then I lose my strength when it hits me that I am lying to myself when I try to be bigger than him. I am far worse than him because I have yet to catch his lies in butterfly nets and he’s got a jar full of my wicked liEghtening bugs.

I don’t know where and how this relationship became a part of me. I am velcro’d because something deep inside was welded to a part of him. I can’t get it back no matter what…it’s gone. He has it. And the bitch of it all is I gave it to him with a giant red bow and said “take it” before I knew what I was doing.

The odd part is I sat in parking lots listening to his pain and feeling all powerful. I came home and rambled my deepest momentary thoughts to husband and felt all the Velcro ripping away. He was laying naked on the bed from my bad memories ….I’m releasing the biggest parts of me and he’s falling asleep around my words. I’m frustration wanting to throw vicious words at his closing eyes. Instead I walk down the hall and here I am…..right here…..where I’m tired of being. Where he pushed me before….

I never knew him because of my happy house. Happy houses don’t fold up like card houses because of an outside wind. It’s more of an inside tornado. I never wrote with chalk on sidewalks waiting for the rain to wash me all away when I talked to him. I’m watching rainbow colors fleeting. Everything I said to husband….gone….he’s snoring. He won’t remember.

And I push all those thoughts out of my head. I see little cherub blue eyes looking up to me….and I push it all back down. I am one giant juxtaposition to what I feel and what I pretend. It’s easy to make all nice nice pretty lets play house…. It’s so much harder to know the truth.

I write my words in the air. He’s too shaded to know.

I write my words on wires…and he hears every single lie with good intentions.

I have it all so backwards and every time I get it all straight…it all falls back down like dominoes in a row.

To the back of my mind …I push it all. Like heads on pillows I push my face deeper away. I push thoughts of packages from England, new CD’s, bills to pay….other things. Let “him” go….let it go….and the more I want to the more I think about it and I’m counterproductive. And if husband would just fucking listen to me more than once a week when he’s all awake saying “what’s goin on with you hon?” I don’t always have my song all cued up when he says that. Why can’t he want to listen to my melody when it’s playing all by spontaneity?

What would happen if I just stopped talking to everyone? Including me. I am my worst fucking enemy. I just want to know love….for more than a minute at a time.

1:34 a.m. ::
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