I used to love your company, now you make me miserable.
You reek of mediocrity and when I’m with you I still feel lonely.
You seem confused or bewildered which only makes me angry.
Can’t you see that I’m not the me I used to be?
I’m the me You made me.
And now you don’t like it…
You don’t touch me, hold me or console me.
But you were eager to mold me
Into Nae Unknown
That’s worse than you giving me your last name
Which I wouldn’t take even if it were wrapped up
In a Tiffany Blue box with a white bow on top.
Love is a funny fleeting thing
One moment you’re in it
Knee deep
You reek of it
And you think
“I’ll never be able to wash this off…”
But then one day it rains
Your vision clears
And you’ve been cleaned
There’s no hint of love now
Not a trace in the humid air
And you are left standing
Alone
In dewy eyed wonder
Sometimes I wonder about my importance in the world and how long it would take for someone to notice I’m missing. For instance: If I leave my home this morning, I could presumably stay out all day and all night and no one would wonder about where I am. It wouldn’t necessarily be strange for no one to hear from me as there are days when I’ve gone nowhere, spoken to no one and all was well with the world. How many days in a row could I leave the house and not speak to anyone before someone wondered about me? Three days? Five days? I’m not sure but I’m alarmed that I’m not sure. What if something did happen to me? What if I were kidnapped? Taken for ransom (fat chance but work with me here)? How many days would my family wait before reporting me missing? I mean I am grown, and taken to staying out with friends or a lover every now and again and I’ve always come back in one piece but still… Perhaps I need to seek out a designated person who knows where I am all the time so in the event that I ever went missing they could have the timeline down. Isn’t that how it works on T.V?
Here I am, laying in bed working myself into misery, helped along by the late, great Otis Redding. I love Otis, but for all of his sorrowful soul I could have picked different music to listen to. I can feel myself spiraling out of control with my rash decisions but now I’m coming down off my high and I’m starting to feel ever so sorry for myself. Anyway with that said I’m not normally in the business of feeling sorry for myself but I indulge in it every once in a blue. If it’s not family, then it’s work and if not work, then it’s love. And this time it’s love or lack thereof. Frankly I would like to give love a swift kick to the groin area for making life so tedious Lol. Ahhhh, alas I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself. I’m gonna go bury my head in my book I mean nook and get myself together.
Signing off,
Woeful me…
Confessions of a Thinkaholic 