Piehole
August 30, 2000
Baby did a bad bad thing.
This morning, while weaving my path through the metal plates and pot holes that make up Juniper Street, there was a young man wadding up newspaper and dodging traffic to put it in the street. Whenever some of it made it back to the curb, he would methodically ball it back up and place it back in the middle of the street. So, was he just a tard? Or was there a reason to it? Maybe there was a grill cheese sandwich in there, and if you're anything like me you like your grilled cheese sandwiches smooshed. Maybe there was a letter he couldn't quite get the seal to close on. Maybe it was a kitten. Maybe it was just paper. Maybe he wasn't there at all and I'm really losing it. Pick your answer.
I'm tired and cranky. I feel like a fidgety four year old and all I want is someone to wrap me up in a huge fluffy down comforter, brush my hair out of my face and tell me they love me. Tell me that no matter what I do that I'm good. Unfortunately even if this happened it wouldn't help. I'm weeping and female. This is unchangeable... I just have to ride it out.
This morning I woke up a few hours before the alarm, the sun barely rising and my husband sweating on me. I squeezed my eyes shut and shoved him off of me, giggling while remembering my dream. I was sitting on top of a huge concrete playscape and beneath me on the sand was a man in full Shakespearean dress, silver and black, trying to coax me from my steel playground contraption by speaking in iambic pentameter, however that's spelled. But not just speaking gibberish, oh no, it was Taming of the Shrew ...the moon, and not the sun, sweet husband. I woke up in love with this man. I think I still am now.
Well, it's a day later. I tried like hell to finish the entry you've read thus far yesterday, but had to stop because all I was doing was feeding myself more of my own misery. Learn to walk away from situations like that.
Here I sit, paycheck in hand, road open in front of me. Do any of you feel this way after payday? Responsibilities seem trivial, jobs seem unimportant, relationships transparent, opportunities endless. A thousand dollars couldn't really do me much good once I got where I was going, but it could get me there. Where? That's unimportant as well. Just to go, to know that I could if the mood ever struck me harder than it has right now.
Goodness, maybe I should provide a bit of mundane here, after all this is a journal, let's see. Adam is still a homemaker, though he bitches that he has to do the homemaking. Or rather he bitches that I don't clean up after myself like I used to. He's right, I don't. I get home and strip off my work clothes while walking up the steps. By the time I get into the bathroom I'm nude with a trail, and if you thought snail admit it, behind me. I have curlers in the sink and thongs on the towel rail. I have my sketches laid out on my side of the bed and sixteen pairs of shoes that aren't in their Container Store places. There are dishes in the sink and cat shit right outside of the litter box, which I still don't understand. There's been no vacuuming in weeks, and laundry, well, that's just a dirty word. He decided to tell me about this yesterday morning, which erupted into another entirely different argument, which resulted in flowers being delivered to my office midday. It cushioned the blow, but didn't erase it. I defensive about this subject because when I worked for my last company I would get home and clean for an hour everyday. I just don't have time now and that won't change anytime soon. He, on the other hand, has all the time in the world right now. Bastard.
31 Orgasms
No. 16
You can separate the heart from the pussy, but when the two join forces, chaos ensues.
Money shot. If you have to know just ask.
Rain.
Taste;
Fellini's pizza.
Please do.
Smell;
Patch oil.