Coming apart.

[icebluenothing]

Spent today sick and strange and estranged, conversation with wendolen not working, kissing her goodbye and getting out of her car and taking a bus home when I needed to go home and rest and there was no time, her errands needing to take her away and get things done. Felt way too strange and final to go separate ways like that. Don't know, right now, if she'll ever want to talk to me again. Maybe that's an overreaction and maybe it isn't. I know I can live without her and I don't want to find out.

Home, then, on a bus I don't ride any more and have grown to hate. Home and staring at the screen and doing nothing and she calls, asks if she can come over when she's done with her errands and I tell her No. I don't feel like being company to her or anyone. I'm afraid as I say it that telling her no this once will be the end of all of it, card house tumbling down. But I don't have any room to compromise any more and I compromise myself too much anyway all the time, give away too much of my time and energy and light.

I go to bed. It's about 6:30 in the evening. Set my alarm for 9:30 so there will still be some day left, so I can get up and write.

Wake up in disorientdarkness, groggy and looking around at the room I can't see. Feel like I've slept for hours, like maybe it's morning, early in the morning before the sun and the day is gone and why didn't the alarm go off? God, how did I waste another day? and I manage to sit up, swimming up through all the fog and night sweat heat and look at the clock at it's 9:24, something inside me has kept track of the time and slapped me awake.

Up.

Stare at the computer and do more nothing.

Grab myself a bottle from the refrigerator that I think is ginger ale and sit back down with it at the computer. First swallow is acid and wrong, something rotted -- I look at the bottle and I've grabbed the wrong thing, this is hard apple cider. It's the wrong thing for me to drink and I drink it all the same, not wanting it to go to waste.

Finally do a little writing. A little. I'm tired and sick and the cider has affected me more than I thought, I keep hitting the wrong keys. I watch the letters appear on the screen, staring in disbelief at their ragged order, this mutiny, among these twenty-six soldiers I thought were mine by right of blood. Not being able to type feels like not being able to breathe.

I send wendolen mail, literally begging her to call me. She hasn't. Either I've missed her and she's gone to bed, or -- I don't want to think about Or.

I write something else. This goes a little better, my soldiers straggling into a reluctant line for my review. Maybe when I get back to The Work it will go a little better, flow a little more smoothly. Maybe.

I feel so desperately alone right now. I'm slowly alienating wendolen and treebyleaf is still so unthinkably far away. I want to go out to the club but there's no way I'd make it there and back alive. I want a cigarette, I want coffee, I want -- something. I just Want. Some kind of icecream sex communion Hollywood sangreal I can just take inside me and finally finally finally fill myself up.

I'm alone right now. But I'm not. Because it isn't now, as I'm writing this, and you know that -- because it's now, as you're reading it, and these words, this telepathy, it can get me outside of my head right now and into yours and I don't have the slightest idea who you are and I never know who you are when I do this like making love in the dark and I don't care, I never care when I reach out and do this, because you're always here, my reader, my reason, I have to believe in you like some men have to believe in God and as these last few words touch you like kisses at your neck I want you to know (I love you I have always always loved you)

Comments

[wendolen.livejournal.com]

You picked up on one thing just right -- I wasn't going to contact you again without you initiating it. I never get to be anything but pursuer, initiator, catalyst, and I'm FUCKING SICK of it with everybody. I wish I was worth chasing once in a while; but the fear that I'm not keeps me from being able to stop this activity that enrages me. Usually.

You are a twisted broken beautiful star and I'm on my way to you now.