I drank half a beer, a white rascal which I really like, but they didn’t have any Prost. Which I like more. I’m a fan of Prost’s Hefeweizen and their kolsch. Their purple cans and their blue cans.
My advice to you when you drink half a rascal and take an ambien is that you don’t look in the mirror. Just trust me.
My house is all torn apart right now because my sweet baby pumpkin ginger has been a complete basket case this week. What with our rights being cast into the fires of Mordor, and basically just the entire country sinking deeper into a sewer swamp, and well the fireworks those lousy fireworks plus with the summer storms AND the boys not being here. so she’s extra anxious on top of her normal mega amount of anxiety. In one of her moments, she got into my closet and buried her way deep into an area that wasn’t meant to contain her. She made a real fucking mess I’ll tell you that much. She tore down some clothes and yanked a ridiculous amount of craft supplies out and now everything is out of the closet and into my bedroom and I’ve arranged a cozy little cave at the back for her, partially blocked off, darkened, soft blanket and a favorite ball she likes to carry in her mouth. A place for her to find some relief and calm. It’s maybe working. The bathroom is right next to my closet so I put the bathroom fan on and you can hear it in the closet and there’s a soft light on and playing some relaxing music to help distract her and muffle out the sounds of the scary booms and asshole motherscratchers shooting off their stupid fireworks.
Did you know I got the word motherscratcher from a boy I dated his name was jerrad and jerrad was so great. He rode motorcycles. He took me on his motorcycle. He worked for the fire department. He was a real man. He liked Tom waits, he introduced me to the beauty of Tom waits, and he drank like a man who loves Tom waits would drink. We would play cards and then drink his drink and then get into bed. And this man? Who liked me? This man who had dated some amazing girls In high school, these super cool like not of this world cool, dreamy kind of girls. And here he is in the grocery store looking at me and hugging me and so happy to see me. asking me to come over and hang out with him. Me! He liked me. I can’t explain it either. he liked talking with me and he liked my body and he liked touching my body. He wrote me poems. He gave me things that no one had ever given me. Things that matter, not stupid things like jewelry. and he was so funny and sweet and kind and just an amazing guy. A free spirit. And he liked me! Stupid old me. And the way he kissed me. I was as dumbfounded by it as you. Believe me. And you know, we had a lot of fun together. And then when he started talking serious and he wanted to move to Boston. My Boston. Where I was making myself into Christa. And I said hey hey what and then I decided the only thing I could do then was be a major asshole to him and so I was and I pushed him away. My sweet gentle jerrad. I’m sorry. You deserved so much better than what I gave you. You loved me and I closed down my heart to it and I can still remember how protected and safe I felt with you.
Then I meet my no job no car no money living with his mother not even old enough to drink druggie neighbor and I say “hey let me get with THAT guy! Let me get with him and give him my youth and then have children with him and then let him ruin me.”
And before jerrad there were other good guys. the boy I’ll always hold above all others. Who ruined all men for me. And after jerrad there was others. Boys who were kind and caring and liked me. Actually liked me. Flaws and alls. And I rejected them all so I could be with someone that dragged me down into his depths. I found a way to get out of there before I drowned entirely but I do think I lost some really good pieces of myself in those murky waters. Some of my favorite pieces.
And now I’m here alone with half a beer and an ambien and the words are difficult to see because everything is doubled everything is shadows but maybe what I’m most afraid of is that I’ve lost all the good stuff that made me Christa. and what I have left isn’t enough to attract the one person who can tolerate not just what remains but encourage me to find the lost pieces. My youth is gone but my value is deeper than that. It has to be. Right? Maybe?
Do not let me get up from this bed and go make any ambien purchases. Please. Just let me sleep. I’ve been looking at new mattresses lately. So I’m surely going to wake up one of these days to the news that I have purchased a waterbed circa 1986. And ugh it’s Christmas in July on the shopping channels! I am powerless against it. I don’t need Christmas themed kitchen sponges. Do I? Maybe I do.
Or oversized Christmas bells to hang on doors or display in my guest room (I don’t have a guest room) or my garage (I don’t have a garage). He said I could use these sponges for years and years to come! years! To come! I need them.
I hate this day. please I’m begging you for the love of Mary stop with the fireworks just stop. Just. go. inside.
I like sharing my plant life here. It’s okay that there’s no one to read it. I still like talking about it. Typing about it.
But when I think about sharing my life again for real, with an actual person, well, I just can’t picture it. All I see is the bad.
there has to be good things though, right? That’s why people do it. So… what are the good things about being in a relationship? I’m truly curious. Thinking about those supposedly good things makes my skin crawl, my stomach churn. Cuddling with someone? Gross. Talking about my day? Ugh. Watching a movie together? No thanks. I’ve done all those things and presumably I liked them? But now it sounds horrifying to me.
how did I get here? Have I become this way from being alone for so long? From the pandemic? From an abusive ex? Or have I always been this way? It feels like I’ve always been this way. And maybe it’s just become more pronounced, because of all those things. And now that I’m older, I finally feel comfortable enough to quit pretending I care about things.
I like being by myself. I like my own company and I like being alone and talking to myself and making myself laugh.
Then I wonder if that’s really true. Am I fooling myself? Saying I like to be alone but really I am desperate for a relationship? Cause I definitely get lonely. I miss having regular sex. I get a kick out of making other people laugh.
But every single person I meet is just so boring. Nothing of value to me beyond the physical. And I’m getting to the point where I don’t even care about that anymore.
So I don’t think it’s that I’ve convinced myself I’m better off alone. It’s that I am in fact better off alone. there is no one, not a single person, that thrills me, excites me, makes me want to end my solitude.
Okay okay, I admit that a part of me believes that there is someone right around the corner, someone who can change all this, who can break though, who can make me feel something. It’s a silly useless part of me, but nonetheless.
If that person did exist and I met him tomorrow, could I handle it?
When I consider my past relationships, why have I pushed away good men but let the shit ones in? I grapple with two competing thoughts.
Is it because I feel like I don’t deserve goodness? Do I not value my own worth? Is my self esteem that low? Am I so inadequate that only jerks can love me? That being treated poorly is the best I can hope for?
Is it because I am so full of myself that I pick these low level men just to feel superior? So I don’t have to be challenged or work hard? So I can look down at them from above? So I can remain the angel among demons?
I’m either a total narcissist or an insecure loser. No matter what, it’s not great. So yeah, I think being alone is the right choice. It’s fine though. I like good music, I know how to make myself come, and I am funny. What more can I ask for.