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I may have remembered what I said a couple of weeks ago. It went something like, I am not an old soul. Old souls make wiser decisions with their hearts.
If anything, that sentiment has followed me my entire life, starting in 7th grade when I had my first real crush on Joshua Blackman. I never have been able to figure out why boys didn't like me until I was in my twenties. It may have had something to do with trying to blend in with the walls. And then I found lipstick and hooker boots, and it has been a roller coaster ever since.
I am glad I took my makeup off before I read my mom's advanced health care directive. I realize that I should have written about my grandma dying, but I still think I am not processing it. It will hit me in a few years, like a sucker punch to the gut. I don't want to think about my mom eventually dying or that I will be responsible for her care before. That's probably something you should know - my mom may be living with me in her old age. I block these things out. They hurt too much to think about. I just hope I can do the right thing for her when the time comes.
I fucking hate Thomas the train. I mostly want to punch his insipid face in. I was much happier watching Pooh, and the most happy watching Sesame Street. Thomas is just dumb.
I want to write something shocking. I want to knock the breath out of you, and make you gasp, so you feel the catch of breath like I do. I want to toss a rock into your gears, make the mechanism stop. I want to be the song you can't stop listening to. I want you to think out loud, in type, for me to see. I want to see you angry, but only at me. I want you to take stock of my flaws and not make excuses for them. I want your brutal honesty, at whatever cost. I want to kiss it and make it better. I want a blow by blow accounting of your thoughts tomorrow morning. I want to continuously undersell myself so you can tell me that I did. I want you to like me, and approve me. I want to know all of the things you are afraid of and afraid to do. I want you to keep talking to me. I want to understand how this works, how nothing sexual can pass between us and still haunt me - I want to know that I am not alone in this, even if you think it risks devaluing it. This is the road we didn't take before, and I want to see. I love the picture I have in my head, but I want painful details of 30 seconds that I can replay at inconvenient times to make myself squirm.
I want to wear my little black heart on a chain so you can take it off, and keep it in your pocket.

6:52 p.m. - 2013-01-08


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