If I repeated myself enough, would something give?

June 7, 2016

I enjoyed a concert last night, the 5 piece band better than choral and orchestra. The pianist looked from my last row like a leaner tony stark, and his concentration at his instrument was attractive. There’s something about mastery and intensity I find a siren song.

Yesterday was two years to the day Pearce began. that seemed important, so I did some counting and listing. Turns out I’ve been on crazy/melt since december 2013. and. no matter where I am, people ask me how marriage is for me
It’s always a fumbled reply

likewise, it’s always painful to name the ‘we were supposed to’s, so i won’t. it just, I’m a little tired from the same disappointments happening for the same reasons, valid though they may be.

I think leadership is attractive. Standing on what leon called lava sand- so hot that we needed socks to play- listening to the handler giving positions, confident and wholly focused; there’s just something about a sport’s man’s eyes when he’s intent on his job, eyes that look downwards at the sand in his mind running through the various positions, possible variations, viable options. I guess I find concentration sexy. More findings. I’ve been looking at my tanlines and they’re fascinating. Red against white, and splotchy pale against a sea of brown. I wonder how it works.


clearly, some things remain. i would also very much like to merge both old sites with this.

But nothing is joining very well tonight, so disorganised it shall be.

I would like to write the heaviness away, but there’s nothing that hasn’t already been said in as many forms I have thought up and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I am lost for words.

I’m tired I wish the disappointments would stop I have trust issues. They say children bring out the worst in one and I can’t imagine continuing in circumstances worse than this. I don’t know how my mom didn’t give up on us and life.

I know I don’t have much burnt scrapings at the bottom of my pot to justify the ache but little bits adding up are a kind of sadness too, aren’t they?

I’m tired of nights staring at a silent phone and bracing myself for more to come. I’m tired of my awkward laughter when people ask me what it’s like to be married the way I am. I’m tired of trying to be good and failing. I’ve been sad for so long.

It’s okay to be sad, it’s okay to be lonely, it’s okay to cry on nights alone. I’m fine with not being okay. I just want to be brave. Sitting in the darkness wetness finding their way down my face. Writing this in the bedroom controlling myself because there are people around and someone might come in. Hoping for the day I am found better than I have been.

My night thoughts are awful but if I don’t write them here where can I go? This is a safe place. I’m not looking for things to change if it’s not time but I would like to say on record that, Father, I hurt.

There is no resolution but I seem to have written myself quiet. I’m going to take a shower and see what happens, if anything.


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