Why does any one person need or have so many blogs and journals? I don’t know, don’t even ask me.
I’m cold tonight. It’s like all my ghosts are standing behind me blowing, soft chilling breaths down the bacl of my neck. They are there, ghosts I mean. Not spooky, white sheets. All the ghosts. The people who came into my life, were reflected on my mirror and then sank back into the shadows. Never seen again, but thought of once in awhile.
Karen Pownell, where are you? Lately it’s you I’ve been thinking of. Do you remember the nose picking song? Probably not. You had so many friends and I wasn’t even one of them. If I had just been less worried about what everyone thought of me we would have been great friends. I still think of you but lately I’ve been thinking of you more often. Whatever did you do with the rest of your life? If anyone is about my age (39) and lived in The Rouge (Port Union in general) in the east end of Scarborough send me a note. It would be great to hear from other old people. 🙂 Who knew you really could get so damn old! I was a year back, everyone in my class was one year older than me. They’re all 40 now! I still have about 8 months to be in my 30’s. Just barely, but still there.
I am ldr (long distance dating) with Eric. I don’t like it. I like him I just don’t like being with him virtually. It’s not enough. I decided to try again it seems only fair that I get that chance. I think I’m going to crack up on this long distance part. It’s no one’s fault, not even mine. Dating again is hard. I’ve been dumped every time or found out something that just proved I have no dating sense what so ever. You think you’re smart until you do something really stupid. So many things spinning through my brain like lightening on the water. In the end I just come to the same conclusion, keep trying. Give it a chance. Not every guy or every situation or every decision I make has to be a bad one. Just because my track record with these things is pretty ugly… I want it to work. Yes, there are pretty huge details to figure out. Kind of overwhelming when I dare to stop and think. He once said he doesn’t want to get married again. I don’t want to be the ever ender girlfriend though. Do I want to be some kid’s evil step girlfriend? I don’t want to be disliked just cause I exist. Then, do I really want to be married again, go through that again, take that chance again? Eric isn’t messy or dirty. It won’t be like that again, but it still scares me. I never want to be there again, trapped and no one even really believing me. They thought I should have just tried harder. But I was trying my hardest. Trying hard doesn’t matter. Some days were so bad and everything was my fault cause I wasn’t doing enough, trying enough, being enough. Never enough. Just not enough of me. So empty. So nothing.
I still remember the road kill. It was like a symbol for everything. Road kill, the fresh kind, splattered and bloody and chunky. Or, road kill, the kind that has become plastered to the road, dried up by rubber burning over top of it. Little flakes fly up as the cars drive over. Even the maggots have left it to harden and crust on the road.
I’ve never looked at road kill the same. I never will. If I had just listened on the way down to meet him the first time. When he was still just a man on paper. All the way driving down there, over 15 hours, road kill was amassed everywhere along the way. At the time I thought it was strange to see so much road kill. More than usual I thought. But, I made my own fate. I didn’t listen to the signs though I acknowledged them at the time. Later, there was always road kill. Even talk of road kill, eating road kill deer. Road kill was everywhere, like a theme. When I left I was road kill myself.
But I lived. Crawled away. Peeling myself off the tar. I’m not road kill any more. I don’t know what changed exactly, how I fixed myself. I thought I was unfixable for a long time. I’m not sure now if I gave up or not. It was a muddled time. Pure satire that I learned to drive then and became someone capable of making road kill myself. I did hit a chipmunk at some point. There is irony in life.
Anyway, that’s far more blab than I intended to get into. Actually, I was only going to post this quote:
“In every corner of my soul there is an altar to a different god.” – Fernando Pessoa