Hello (love). I’m getting my life together this month. It’s the month and i fucking have to and I’m doing it. So fucking weak the last couple days tho it’s bullshit. Just want to sleep. Sleep and read and lose myself in silly little fantasies. Sometimes, not very often at all, but once in a rare while, reading will feel the way it felt for me as a kid, as a teen. A real escape, an obsession. It leaks colours and flavours and scents into my life. Cherry and something dark. I understand things about myself, but i also don’t. I simplify myself to myself because it’s easier, or at least i mostly think it is. Yeah. I dunno. I don’t always know how to use my voice, or how to use it for good, or what good is. Every word is the string for a light and the spring for a trap. Name things with caution, say “i love you” often.
I get in spots where it’s so hard to move. It’s so hard to want to and so hard to do. I get into spots. I want that job, or really any of these semi decent jobs. I want naltrexone HCI / bupropion HCl. I want the brave streak to fix my body. I want the slick steel strength i feel in a scene to live inside me always. Party in a party. Keep my build me take me. I love you.
My heart is an old oak chest
(your heart is a muscle the size of your first)
My heart is a mid-swoop falcon
(your heart is a muscle the size of your fist)
Well then maybe, if I go slow and careful, i can put it inside you
I’ve never felt reluctant to leave a job before, or like I’d miss it. It’s weird. Every day that i have to go do a tour, it feels like the last fucking thing in the world i want to do. I dread it, I’m so over it, but there’s still something about it that i love. Something weird and small and magical about it. being a part of this bizarre, dysfunctional group, doing the most random job ever, it’s cool. It’s special. It’s an elite club and i could explain what it’s like all night, but if you haven’t done it you can’t really know. we know. We’re there together, and we know. It’s also an 11 year old girl walking up front with you, asking you questions and telling you in confidence that she thinks her room is haunted. It’s the look of wonder you see in her eyes and you fed that. You stacked the wood and stoked it. The world is still magical for her and you made it that way. I’m ready to be done, I’m ready for a new chapter, but i think i might miss that.
Maybe i am a house filled with mysterious rooms. Maybe I’m the answer to my hopes renewed. Maybe I’m the one the ghosts of the 1977 blackout will talk through. Time is thin line important and my demons shouldn’t make themselves excuses. No. The vase didn’t break itself. I shouldn’t let my demons be excuses. I shouldn’t let myself excuse. Read a boring book. Go to sleep. Don’t have anything but new fresh dreams
Is it really too much to ask for me to find us both perfect work from home jobs? A life where they do tech support, or data entry, or run a help chat for a website or something, and i teach online classes, or write corporate briefings and newsletters, or write fucking romance novels, or something. I don’t want to be a goddamn administrative Assistant and work 40 hours per week in a little office somewhere for people i don’t care about. I don’t want to spend 40 hours a week anywhere but here, truthfully, but i might have to. I’m applying. I’m quitting ghost tours and i need to get something lined up fast as hell, even if i fucking hate it. Even if my soul shrivels up into a raisin. Or i could go for a second master’s, and volunteer at libraries to get the experience so someone will actually fucking hire me when I’m done. Or i could go for an education doctorate, e-learning concentration, and volunteer at the adult learning center so i can get the experience and actually get fucking hired when I’m done. (which i totally should have done while i was getting my master’s, and i dunno why i didn’t fucking think about it until toooo late hot plate) and work part time doing something else while i do one of those paths. Maybe at the animal shelter, or idk… Basically anything part time that isn’t giving tours. Idk. I have a lot of thoughts and i don’t know what to do with them. I have a lot of thoughts and i need to try to sleep for now, so i can have a productive day tomorrow, so i can move myself forward. Peace.
Nightmares and nap-mares all in and over me. Things that break my heart, and myself just screaming until my voice gives out. It carries into the waking day. How can i ever feel… Like I’m enough? How can i make myself feel like I’m whole and complete and enough? Smoke, and the sparkling crackle of not quite dry things burning. Watching rows and rows of stubborn weeds bow and shrink before the flame. Shrink into nothing but ash. Good. Die. Victory in a battle I’ve fought for months. I need real work. I need real money. I don’t t want to lead tours anymore. Time to sleep. Dreams, please, be gentle with me.