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Mar. 30th, 2011

used to you

(no subject)

Still alive.
Still neglecting LJ. I drank the kool aid over at Tumblr.
Nothing much is new, much to my annoyance.

Feb. 11th, 2011

used to you

(no subject)

I'm still neglecting my LJ.

But, this week on Tumblr, I posted a picture of my butt, and that got pretty good reviews.

Jun. 10th, 2010

used to you

(no subject)

He rings the bell, rather than just let himself in. We walk up the stairs in uncomfortable silence. His things are just inside the front door to my apartment. I hand over the box, and he balances it against the banister as he pulls my keys out of his pocket. I put my palm out blindly, unable to look up from the floor.

Rather than the cold metal of the keys, his fingertips brush against me. His fingers curl around mine, and squeeze gently, tugging me toward him. I sway for just a moment, but stay in place. His voice is barely a whisper. “I love you.”

I raise my eyes to his. “I love you, too.”

He sighs softly. “I fucked this up.”

I nod. I can’t speak around the knot of fear, rage, dread, and hope in my throat.

He looks down at the dartboard propped against his hip. He sighs again, and looks at me a last time.

The keys are pressed against my palm. He picks up the box, and walks away.

I retreat into my apartment, unable to stand the sound of his footsteps. I sit in the pink chair, my knees pulled up to my chest, and stare out the window opposite me.

And wait.

Jun. 9th, 2010

used to you

(no subject)

I want to make him bleed.

I want to call his wife, and tell her exactly where her husband has spent his nights.

I want to hurt him. I want to hurt her. I want to tear things apart with my bare hands until I get what I want.

My misery is vicious, so I do not give it the reins.


Instead, I continue to pack his things. The clothing, cologne, shaving kit, books, cell charger, the darts. All neatly folded, and carefully placed in the box. The dartboard placed on top, as there is no more room in the box. The dartboard. The dartboard. The fucking dartboard.

"I saw you across a room, shooting darts, and laughing. I couldn’t hear you, over the noise, but the way you toss your head back, the way your shoulders rise and fall - I had to hear that laugh. I walked across a crowded bar, and introduced myself, because I wanted to hear your laugh. And I did, and I wanted to hear more of it."

My heart seems to break into smaller pieces every time I look at it.


No dramatics, no screaming, no breaking things. There's no point anymore.


The dramatics had all happened earlier. I lay in bed, dimly aware of his breath on my collarbone, when his cellphone began chirping from the table next to me. I groped for it, intent on silencing it. Tilting the screen towards me, wanting to see what ungodly time he'd needed to be awake at...and time stopped. It wasn't an alarm that had woken me up. It was a reminder he had to attend a session with his marriage counselor. He'd mistakenly noted 'am', not 'pm' in the reminder. So, at 4am, a good portion of my world came crashing down around my ears. I scroll through his calendar, and realize he'd been seeing the counselor for at least three months, once a week. Only a small break, when he'd been hospitalized.

I sat bolt upright in bed, shaking. Cooper roused beside me.

"Babe?" he muttered sleepily, one arm snaking around my waist.

I held the phone out to him. He blinked owlishly at the screen, then buried his head against my hip. "Shit."

And I went nuclear. I howled. I screamed. I completely lost my temper, and planted my feet against his back, shoving him from my bed. I snatched his clothing from the floor, and tossed them at him, ordering him out. I stalked to the livingroom, and hurled his keys at him, as he tried to get dressed in the darkness of my front hallway. I screamed and railed. And he was silent the whole time.

He closed the door. I flipped the lock, and crawled back into bed. I stared at the clock, watching as the hours oozed by, until it was time to get up, get dressed, and go to school. Over breakfast, I burst into tears, and stupidly break a plate, unable to see the sink through my sobs. That afternoon, I went to work. First day at the new job, and I'm walking around feeling like I've taken a bayonet to the sternum. And I go home to my empty apartment, my empty bed, my empty life, and stare mutely at the ceiling. There is no sleep.


This morning, I sit and wait for him to come get his things. To give me back my keys. I won't hope for an apology, or an explanation. Things will end the way the started - two strangers, looking at each other over a dartboard.

Oct. 13th, 2009

used to you

(no subject)

I had something really awesome to be thankful for this year:




This is Liam. My cousin had her first baby this weekend. I'm already waaaaay too excited to meet him.

Sep. 28th, 2009

(no subject)

Happy Birthday mahaloluinoa! Let's get cupcakes and make fun of stuff on Deadspin later, okay?

Sep. 22nd, 2009

cavalli

(no subject)



Oh yeah. I have a bed now. Like a big kid, and everything.

Sep. 15th, 2009

Don'tfuckitup

(no subject)

So, I'm busy getting jerked around for my student loans, hours at the place that offered to hire me, and repairs on my apartment. I'm hating virtually everything, perpetually jacked up on Diet Coke, and stuck with a sinking feeling that I made a really, really bad decision in moving to Sarnia. In Windsor, I had a support system, close friends, and virtually instant access to my therapist. Here, I have none of that. Here, I am the support system, as my grandmother is navigating the fucking labyrinth of government bureaucracy to get my grandfather into a proper assisted care facility. Here, I don't have a job, or any money coming in, and rent is due in two weeks. I am fucking freaking out.

What are you all up to?

Aug. 12th, 2009

bang-a-rang

*cries*

Dear pilarcruz and scotty2naughty and sun_myst,

Because I love you all so very fucking much, I have a present for you. You'll have to share, but there's plenty to go around.

MILLIONAIRES


Hugs and kisses!
me

Aug. 5th, 2009

Don'tfuckitup

Colin and I debate foreign policy

HE: Seriously? How can anyone say the Obama administration handled this badly? They got the journos back, they may have started to repair the diplomatic relationship with North Korea, and no one got hurt. Where’s the problem?

ME: Oh, it’s a ‘propaganda victory’ for Kim Jong-Il.

HE: Ummm, isn’t it all propaganda in NK? Like, state controlled media and all?

ME: Yes, but this is way worse. NOW THEY HAVE PICTURES OF BILL CLINTON. Looking all dashing and heroic and brilliant…God, he’s so hot. I’m sorry, where were we? Oh yes. See, peaceful resolution of the problem was wrong. You know your foreign policy is lacking, if it doesn’t involve fighter jets, aircraft carriers, and body counts.

HE: Yeah. Obs, they just should have invaded. Diplomacy is for pussies.

ME: Pffft, for some chicks? WTF were those girls doing out of the kitchen? 12 years hard labour is letting them off easy. Maybe they’d have time to work on their apple pie recipes.

HE: Oh goddamn. You win.

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