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Wrong Number

4 Nov

File this under “things that have happened to me that people don’t believe and then they say, this shit only happens to you and i’m all, I KNOW.”

 

On Sleeping Well

19 Oct

When I was in high school, I wrote a pretty insufferable short story (shocking, I know) about a man who becomes the muse for this wealthy and emotionally bankrupt female artist. In the first part of the story, I described the man by saying, “He slept well, as the unloved generally do.”

Ten years later, after giving my heart away in a small white church and all the awful and lovely things that came after that day, I know I was right about that. Life is much easier when you don’t care about anyone. You get to float through the days, and well – if you get sick or you don’t show up, oh well. Your heart isn’t tied to anyone, so it can’t sink. Nor does it sing.

I haven’t been sleeping super well lately, and I can’t help but be fucking terrified. I always told my ex-husband that one of two things would happen to us: we would get divorced, or we would die. And either way, it was going to hurt. A lot. Everything comes to an end, and eventually all that you love will be carried away. And for the last couple of years, I have used that as an excuse to stay locked in my apartment and in my mind. It’s been good enough, you know. Bills get paid and the cats get fed. I don’t know that I want more, or even deserve it. I have never dreamed for a moment that I would go the rest of my life without being hurt. I expect to be hurt. I also expect the pain to be worth it. So far, the loves of my pathetic life have been worth the trouble. I would take every blow again. I don’t know that I’m ready for more, but…I think it’s time to try.

Things You Should Know About Me

5 Oct

I once spent $300 on dead sea skincare products at a kiosk in Las Vegas because a) I was drunk and b) the kiosk man told me I looked old.

Also: I’m kind of obsessed with skincare and the little sister could always get me to drive her places / not tell on her if she told me I looked like Rose McGowan. Worked every single time. Well played, little sister.

Oh Really?

30 Sep

I’ve been trying to tell this story for a while – turns out all it took was a low grade fever and a few beers.

Memory

21 Sep

My sweet older sister hated me when I was born. She covered my face in lipstick, when she had the chance, and referred to me as “it.” As in, it’s crying. Make it stop.

When I was 3 and she was 7, she told me I had ruined her life. Before I was born, she got pancakes for breakfast every day and had a puppy. We were eating cold cereal. We did not have a puppy.

But still, I fucking adored her. She was my mirror and I was heartbroken when I realized I didn’t look exactly like her. I protected her from our mean neighbor Sena and la la loved her up to the moon.

And at her wedding, I wept like a widow. I cried because my own heart is broken, and because her heart is complete now, and that brings me great joy. She didn’t trust me to give a speech (she also doesn’t trust me to use soap when I wash dishes and or to wear underwear, ever) and who could blame her? If I had been given a microphone, though, I would have said this: I love you, and I could not have dreamed you better. And yes, I do use soap, you treacherous bitch.

Memory

13 Sep

When I was a little girl, we grew a lot of our own food. We were poor and my parents were hippies.

One late spring when I was five years old, we spent the afternoon planting. My father had already cultivated the dirt and fertilized it. He showed us how to use a string to make straight rows. I liked planting corn best, because the growing vitamins turned it pink. Corn and potatoes went at the top of the garden and the viney things were at the bottom. It was balmy and calmy—no one was fighting or crying or doing anything wrong. The sun was just setting was we trudged back up to the horrible farmhouse we lived in. And all of a sudden, the bottom just fell out. It was raining something fierce when just a moment ago there was orange light sifting through the weird trees that grew in the sideyard. And my sister and I ran for the door, shrieking with laughter and singing, “It’s raining, it’s pouring…” Our dusty little feet took us home. I don’t remember what happened after that.

If I could live one day over again, I suppose it’d be that one.

Things You Should Know About Me

7 Sep

My freshman year of college, I dressed up as an anti-social virgin for Halloween, by way of a t-shirt that said “anti-social virgin.” That’ll teach you to get snitty with me, roommate. I wish I still had that t-shirt.