I still hate your ex-fling
although hate is probably too strong a word
and it's probably my hormones talking
I still don't like it when you refer to her affectionately
although it's been years
and I probably would had done it worse
No sleep over was your original rule, but you eventually let me stay every once in a while. I brought along the copy of Joyce's Ulysses, taken from R's bookshelf months ago, the copy I had brought everywhere in hope that reading it will make me understand R better. You know this. I still had not managed to go far reading it. Page fifteen. Page fifteen after more than eight months. You never let me read the book in your bed. It was as if you were jealous.
"Have you gained your sovereignty?" You suddenly asked. Oh that. The original plan that went with your original rule. I still kept it and brought it around and about. Secured within my mind. A bit just like the Ulysses copy. It didn't go far either. Just like my progress with Joyce.
"Tell me what you did during the weekend," was actually my reply.
"I had to run some errands, the weekend stuffs."
Yes, your weekend stuffs. Which basically, generally, splitting your energy into more than five things going on at once. I thought of this with pity instead of admiringly. These five lives you're living in, almost dropped the "v" out of it I did. "V" just like I said to you once, "for vaginas. Plural." And you told me it was unfair and made you almost hate me that instance.
You fall under the category of BS in my book. But I never told you this. I was reading Ulysses in your bed. The map to the stars. The key to the heart of R. And you knew what it was. And you immediately took action to it as you usually were. A coup d'etat.
I guessed you as I, had already known the answers, deep, deep inside. I will never be one of your multiple lives. You will never be included in my navigational purposes. Yes, I have gained it, the sovereignty. In the oddest way and at the oddest place. As you shifted your focus unto pleasure, started yet another of your game of hunt the hidden treasure, I turned the light off. We never needed maps in this terrain.
The Drugs Don't Work, I Want to See Your Face Again
I wonder what all these new drugs do. I guess to have no more fears. --- Rufus Wainwright
Chemicals stopped me from despairing. When I was weak, it gave me the illusion that everything is amendable. I could just leisurely glided on like nothing happened. A short cut for the dreaded dark long tunnel.
But, chemicals stopped me from feeling. It took me nearly half a year to regain what I lost; a speck of warm sunlight in a cold cloudy day. Something so taken for granted, so minuscule for other perhaps, but to me it's more than I could afford.
Now. Now I am plainly scared shitless. It's not only the dreaded long dark tunnel, but also the junctions within it. An endless maze to God knows where. You know how bad my eyes get in the dark.
Can I please hold your hand this time, so as not to get lost?
It failed to rain despite of the dark hanging in the East sky. Naturally it was hard hot, humid, and disappointing. A wisp of rain did come later in the afternoon, but it went after a minute, and we were already tangled in the awkward parts of the bed to even notice or even wanting to celebrate. The moment we stirred to catch a droplet of the rain, it had subdued and left us, again hot, humid, disappointed and exhausted.
Deciding to sit at the back porch, there was a silent agreement not to complain about the stalled rain and our wasted effort. Our bare skin rubbed next to each other in the minimal comfort of the old cheese-holed couch. There was wind. It forced sleep as it caressed the eyelids. The dogs resorted to the same old spot they always laid on. My head was very light.
Everything in the house is relatively old. The kitchen is relatively new but the appliances set about and in it were old. The garden is relatively new, but the grass already grew tired, dying. The dogs had grown a habit of digging the earth in the flowerbed without apparent reasons. The earth is never new, the digging is also ancient.
I’m relatively new. I hadn’t spent enough time in the house to make me no longer new.
We were new. This is undisputable.
We had the silent equivalent of a loud row at dawn because he failed to show up at the required time, and when he did show up he was drunk, although not drunk enough to laugh about it. He blamed me not calling. I blamed him for not listening. We made up before the sun came up.
“Do you ever get jealous? When it comes to me, I mean.”
“Jealousy wastes my time. I have enough to think about right now, I don’t need to add it up with jealousy.” He didn’t even stop to contemplate. I didn’t pause to analyze this. But…
Suddenly I felt really old. His moves were old. I felt we really are old enough, old enough for almost anything. Of course, I didn’t say what’s in my mind. He didn’t say anything either.
We got up and left the house under the watch of the dogs for our dose of air-conditioned room with decent coffee. Along the way I stared jealously at our hands not holding. In my head I can hear myself saying, “Do you think it’s because I’m not young enough for you?”
Freya Griffin: i never ever learn Freya Griffin: its like serving my head on a silver platter Freya Griffin: my still beating heart for desert Freya Griffin: a delicacy if you please Freya Griffin: a blind sacrifice I made Freya Griffin: coz I never ever learn Poetic Lunatic: even if it tastes the same, but still you want more! Freya Griffin: taste? its mere bitterness that disilussioned me of sweetness Freya Griffin: i surrender to yet another emptiness Freya Griffin: am I not worthy of it? this illusion, this enchantment called love? Poetic Lunatic: hahaha Poetic Lunatic: that's the addictive part, hunny Freya Griffin: am i really that massochistic? Poetic Lunatic: i guess
===
Hear, hear You with the bewitching smile, bewitching pair of green eyes I have fallen Should I be more loud and obvious?
It's been decided that I'm in love. I told Lily about the weekly rendezvous with him. About the endless sighing the day after our night in. A night in with a million of his mates. It could be my morning coffee. It could be my hormones. It could be him.
"Oh, you're just in love." "Really? I am?" "Just admit it. Denying it would make it worse." "I guess it does, But I'm not entirely sure that I am." And Lily just cheekily smiled.
Hmmh...
"Ok, I guess I'm in love."
And Lily just cheekily smiled.
Suddenly I want to see his face again today. Telling him about a certain editor who yelled in my ear for 75 minutes for lunch. Really made my crappy day.
Kevin was showing off the Boyfriend. We don’t know what was going on in his head but she was definitely all mushy about him. Sarah, all the while, was pretty bored. It was nearing midnight and she’d done her second cigarette pack. She blamed us for pecking on them like hungry albatross, but we all knew she inhaled all those cigs without our help. Like there’s going to be no tomorrow.
The Boyfriend brought booze. A token of friendship and peace for Kevin’s friends—us. Max was a bit snappy to the Boyfriend. A bottle of booze was definitely not going to settle any peace with Max. I expected Sarah to be as fierce, but she was pretty docile.
I didn’t touch the booze. I was okay with the Boyfriend, although throughout this peace meeting I hardly picked up any conversation in which he was involved. Half an hour before midnight Kevin and the Boyfriend excused themselves and left. I told the girls I thought we were being a bit mean.
‘Ah, and you think Kevin would care? She’s getting laid regularly now.” Max persisted on not touching the bottle. A determination worth to be admired. I wonder how she would react if I ever told her about HIM.
‘There’s no jazz around here, darling. You have to organize your own party.” And Sarah ran out of cigs.
I reminded her against a 3rd pack. So she left. Home. We know she’d probably going to once she’s home. Sitting in her bathroom, inhaling and blowing, just another one before bed. Max had her gym session early tomorrow, so she had to go too. The bottle sits alone on the table. Only two sips less from full. I’m not touching it. Don’t feel like it. The peace and friendship token from the Boyfriend.
It was a thunderstorm outside when he came to my door. “Hello! A nice day for copulation!” with a big grin in his face.
He is absolutely the only person who could get away with such obscene remarks and manages to smitten me in the process.
We cuddled up and had ourselves hot drinks. I asked him to say something good about me. Something that attracts him.
“You’re simple” Ha! I told him how it sounded like I’m easy. He laughed and apologized.
“You’re too poetic.” I don’t know what he meant, but to me it sounded more like I’m pathetic. A good shag and he can’t think of anything nice to say about me?
“A cutie-sweet?” Venturing the wrong area there. It’s like letting a blind to do an anal probe.
“You’re my nymph.” The ego of a male! I settled with that and let him be in peace with an impression that I was satisfied.
Baby it’s cold outside and I won’t let you go home tonight!
For the last couple of weeks I had been drowned in an odd mood. I kept thinking that something was growing inside me. I even caught myself quietly planned a series of actions and possibilities several times.
Last weekend, when preparing myself to go out and party, I had my period.
I sat on the closet for three minutes, quite taken aback. Not that it wasn't expected. I knew I had been having PMS for the last three days. Took me another 30 seconds to realise what I was doing.
I'm not really sure why it made me sad when I should be grateful. I'm in no financial condition to have a new extension. I'm not sure of how he would react, but I don't really care. And aside of that, the possibilities were actually pretty low.
Last night after dinner I called Nat and told her about this. I had to. I had to tell someone. She had a fit of laughter, was not surprised and was mildly amused.
I didn't tell him, although the idea to make him panic was really tempting.
