Warm

Regards.

… … …

 

No matter what happens, I seem to come back around to sitting in living rooms watching The I.T Crowd. Laughing loudly, sometimes with a bit of alcohol, most times with just myself. Usually, Urijah sleeps soundly in another room. This happens year after year, this same situation rounding me and keeping me from snapping in two.

Things have been interesting. Not good, not bad, but interesting. I had to let go of a couple more people – some I was fond of – and I feel a bit more narrow. It’s starting to look at bit like permanent isolation, me thinks.

I was moving back to ATL. Had everything planned, even let my rental office know I wouldn’t be renewing the lease on this lovely house. I packed my things, even. And then I got rejected for a house. And then another in the same day, for the same reason. Apparently, back when I was broke and had to fake my pay stubs, I was more attractive to home owners. With my successful business and my steady clients and all this honest good work, ┬ánope. I have ‘unstable income’. I’ve been told that it’s because people don’t know whether or not to trust someone who is self-employed. Which means that this move is going to be an uphill battle.

Okay.

 

It’s just fodder for nights like this. It’s just a reason for me to keep my large cash flow and steady growing savings to myself. It’s just an excuse to say fuck it and stay where I am. I’ll sit here and watch I.T Crowd. I’ll drink tea and watch Ouran, High School Host Club. I’ll daydream and drink coffee and sift into the night until I feel better.

I appreciate the sinking feeling. Falling back to Earth is a blessing.

 

I’ll live. But I’ll think twice about the whole honesty thing.

Vapor

This one time, I was in love.

But he drank until his mind turned into a vapor and his thoughts stained everything, vicious and putrid, until he was wondering one thing after the next out loud and inside and all I had to talk to were the memories of his feelings soaked into the walls.

 

But he smiled so big his face hardly held his lips, his teeth, his laugh. He sang songs to me, sometimes with those very vapors and sometimes drenched in THC and secrets and all the world constantly watching him, to him. He lived in his head and every now and then he placated me with a word or a sound or a caricature of affection that was so diluted I had to wonder if he learned it from a show.

 

But he kept wandering in his mind and with his feet and with his attitude and with his intentions and nothing was ever the same as it was the day before. And I always felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff that would smash me into thin ice if I fell. And I always felt like some type of backup or a default just in case he never found anyone else to deal with all that vapor, just in case he was as odd as he thought.

 

This one time, I was in love and it felt like slipping constantly behind mirror after mirror after mirror and hearing him talk and laugh and scream to himself but losing sight of him more and more. By the end I was the only one left and I was the only one I could see and I still can’t really see around myself. Not really.

 

But I don’t leak vapor and I don’t find myself sinking into the floor and sometimes I’m okay with being the only one I can love as much as I love my sons. Sometimes I look down and I’m okay with my feet being bolted to the ground, with my heart staying intact in one place and not knowing how to dislodge it, how to give it, how to share it.

 

This one time, I was in love and I decided it was okay to let that die and let me live.

Atlanta pt. 0

So. We’re moving back to Atlanta.

 

I gave it some deep thought. I want the people who make my life miserable, consistently, to stay out of my life. But I can do that with less isolation.

 

It’s too early. My farmhouse in the woods on top of a mountain will be waiting for me someday. For now, I’ll exist. And I’ll find new people to talk to that don’t make my stomach churn. I’ll reconnect with friends I adored and permanently get rid of anyone else.

 

I’ve learned to keep people I once blocked on my block list. To not give boring men an audience. I may have lost some of my greater social skills but I’ve gained the motivation to write again, the ability to see where my problems are, and clarity. I gained a bit of peace here.

 

Alabama has done well for me. And now we make the plans to go back to the hell that is Atlanta. But maybe this time it won’t be a hell.

 

Maybe this time I will pay more attention to being well than I do to fitting into some puzzle I can’t figure out.

 

 

Small

I have a very small audience. Super small. Miniscule, even.

Part of me wants to grow this audience to benefit my future writing career. A bigger part of me, though, wants to just write what I feel and ignore the growth potential. This is a huge part of my life that seems to cover every area.

Wanting to just keep everything to myself.

I have a very small group of friends/people that I talk to, and that group gets smaller every day.

Part of me wants to grow it, to branch out, to talk to people. But a bigger part of me wants to stick to myself and these two Booger Butts and call it a day. I’ve been dealing with my want for social broadening lately and decided, eh, let’s try it? What a mistake.

… … …

This will jump around a bit but I’m only ever talking to myself, so who cares?

I had a daydream that I saved Urijah from someone trying to kill him and ended up in jail. In solitary confinement. Stuck to myself all day and night and only ever having communication when it comes to getting my food, if even then. And for some reason this was such a great daydream. I felt a calm about it. Sitting in some dirty room with nothing and no one until I just petered out of existence. With nothing but my brain and maybe, if I was lucky at all, paper and pen. Even if I wasn’t that lucky, the thought of being alone forever seemed grand.

The fact that this excites me is a problem, I think, but I wonder if I’m fighting the wrong way. Maybe I should just embrace that. Not let myself get pulled back in by artificial nice guys and lesbians who are already in love with someone else. Maybe I should keep moving forward and stop looking back, and maybe forward leads me and the young sir somewhere lonesome. Somewhere that is just us, except when it’s just us and The Boy Chin Wonder.

… … …

I won’t delete my social accounts again, even though I wanted to. I came close today. But I’ll try my best to stay off of them and in my own world. I’ll fight for my family, for us. I’m so sick of everyone – liberals and conservatives and everyone else. Adults and teens and anti-this and religion and just everything that exists outside of my home. I am sick of arguing and hearing arguments.

To be perfectly honest, I’d rather get a shotgun and a secluded house and argue with gunshots at this point. I’m tired of no one getting ANYTHING. And I think I’ll live in the philosophy that you don’t have to get anything. I can definitely GIVE you these hands/these bullets/this pain, though.

We can share.

Before I die I will figure out how to distance myself and still survive. I can’t imagine keeping in touch with people anymore. I’m done with it.

 

Let us depart.

 

Public.

I haven’t blogged for public consumption in quite some time.

And, even when I did, I didn’t put much effort into promotion. I didn’t really expect strangers to read what I wrote and engage with me. I’ve never felt like much of a public persona, a personality, or even just someone with a valuable opinion. I’m somewhat nihilistic, highly depressive, outrageously reserved and in a sort of solitude that I created for myself.

Want some cheese with that whine type of deal, all the time.

Lately, though, I’ve been wondering if I should build on these things. Watching the world go by is okay. I wonder if it would want to watch me. Us. Dude Ranch and The Boy Chin Wonder and Mashu.

There’s something to give in every situation. I might put myself back in the world again, slowly and surely, and with more thought than before. I might see how this thing goes.

Nothing

Love is nothing without tragedy.

It’s a boring lump of bookends. The beginning and the end. It’s a bit of highlights.

Without tragedy, love doesn’t translate. It’s nothing.

 

It’s absolutely nothing.

Stories…

I’m out here sleeping and working on stories and nothing else.

Which isn’t really too bad. I’ve needed to get back into my own stories for quite some time, right? But I have to work or I don’t get paid and we die in here. WE DIE.

So I’m still trying to find a balance. But I like working on my stories – it’s what I was made to do. What I trained myself to do as a young scrappy dark baby thing WHATEVER.

And I really needed the sleep – it just seems like it all piles up at once and I end up sleeping for weeks instead of just sleeping at night. After that I’m just up. Really up.

But Astrid is living healthy. And Chaunce. And Kelsey. And Paloma. And Noah. And all o’dem, gyal. So that’s a start.

 

Getting somewhere slow, slow, slow.

More

Okay.

This little break, this move in general, is definitely serving a purpose. I felt like bags of rocks were sinking me the past few days. No work, no games, no nothing. Just Astrid and various people existing in my head. And I thought this was something bad.

But now I have a plan and a better understanding of what I want. What I need to do. Where I left off.

I’m not on the good side of young anymore. Not for long, at least. I’m somewhere hanging on the edge, a bit toward that part where you have to fight a little harder for people to notice and acknowledge you. But being 28 is not a bad thing. Being a hermit isn’t either. But working this business I hate and enjoying everyone else’s existence but my own is not exactly great.

So I’m moving forward.

When I sit and think about it, I want to do creative things more often than not. I will probably end up either back in Atlanta or in Seattle or in Cali somewhere. I’ve been thinking about these things. I want to brand myself with my own personality for once, and to actually keep it up.

Lose weight. Gain skills. Buy things I like. Find a place to BE for me and Urijah. Stop daydreaming about real people and leave it to characters.

Evolve.

Friends

I don’t like people.

It’s a thing that grows more and more every day. Even when I have a good, natural time with someone, I understand that it won’t happen again. In the back of my head, laughter squinching my eyes, I understand that I’d rather be at home and I will be at home. This doesn’t go away. It’s hovering in every interaction – shit, even in online interactions.

Some part of me understands that I am very typical, but in a way that’s abnormal. Don’t ask me to explain that. And, no, it’s not in a ‘I’m a bit better than people’ type of way. I’m just a normal bitch that’s fucking odd. An odd woman in a sea of normality. Standing outside of the glass all the time, trying slightly to figure out where the door is.

I don’t dress well. I’m not conventionally pretty but I find myself to be gorgeous. I’m a huge talker but I get very bored listening these days. I am bi-sexual, I am agnostic, I am a lot of in-betweens.

Ambiguous, as a worthless ex put it.

There are ways to define me and my relationships with others but I don’t know how to fix my mouth to say them. It’s borderline Autism, but I expect I only think that because I have an autistic son. It’s amazing how someone else’s condition can paint your experiences. Everything looks like autism now.

I was told by a lovely group of women who provided me an escape I haven’t had in over ten years that I need friends. I need a tribe. I need to know other women who have autistic children. Who write. Who read. Who compliment me and my dry sarcasm. That’s such a specific subset that the very thought is depressing.

Part of me wishes I could turn all my long ass day dreams into reality. That I could make my own West World and disappear into it and never invite anyone else in. Fuck, could you IMAGINE the chaos that world would be? The vicious detail and all that fucking hair?

I don’t know about friends. I don’t know about relationships. I don’t know about casual interaction or even keeping up with old friends and making new ones.

I know I like it here, inside my house. I know I love it when it’s me and Urijah here, laughing and running around. I know I love lazing about in bed thinking up stories, taking Astrid on this adventure or that one.

 

I know it’s kinda better being alone.