08 March 2006

g this may look familiar...

(cut from a letter to G because it's the most I've written in weeks)

I'm going to start a new TV show called "Worst Year Ever!" and all my friends can be on it and lament our woes. I remember when a shitty year was one where I only got laid 5 times, or only had 2 boyfriends or something. I would almost say that those years with *** getting beat were better, because at least when he was done smacking me around and reminding me how awful a being I am and lucky to have someone like him to love me, he snuggled me, and we had sex, and he could be tender and sweet. What I wouldn't do for someone to come home to at night, or at least to go visit after work. Just someone to hold me through all of this and remind me it'll all be okay. That’s what Robbie (*****, the hockey player) was for me last time. I mean, we've never met, but the month prior to my surgery, all he did was talk to me for hours, tell me how easy surgery and recovery is, describe it in detail, tell me how he felt after, and what the whole thing is like, and tell me how I really have nothing to worry about. Now Robbie’s got a girlfriend, even though she has moved to Australia for 10 months for school, (and what I wouldn't give to trade places with her in a split fucking second because all I really want more than anything is to have Kristene by my side, be it here or there, and I can't even get in touch with her on the phone or through email) but he's so caught up in missing her and whatever, and I’m so lazy about remembering to sign into msn that we rarely catch one another, and all his answers are monosyllabic anyway and I need at LEAST three syllables to make me feel better these days.

I think that's why I’m so obsessed with going home and seeing the babies and missy and such. My family loves me. Missy loves me. She gets excited that I am coming over; the babies cling to me, and rely on me to hold them just right, and feed them, and change them, and snuggle and cuddle them and sing them to sleep. and I love doing it because it's like the only tangible evidence I’ve ever seen that love truly exists, and I adore amber to no end, and she's gotten bigger (she's 16 months now) and can say "Hi Tippy!" and she gives me kissies, and tries to do my hair, and she'll sit behind me when my hair is in a ponytail, and I’ll swing my head side to side and smack her in the face with the ponytail, and she'll start swinging her head side to side and invariably we smack heads 3 or 4 times during this process and I’m not sure how neither of us are concussed yet, but at least she giggles instead of crying when it happens.

Knowing my family loves me is just about the only thing that keeps me going, and keeps me getting out of bed and going on with life, and trying to handle everything, and fight it, and work to make it better even though it'll invariably go to shit again in about 3 months. That seems to be the cycle - 3 months. Just like how I used to see *********** every 3 months, and everything would be better. I’ve started to write out all those stories like you've (and others) said I should. It’s harder now, though, with all this crying I do anyway and frustration that comes from seemingly nowhere, because if you'll remember, all of THAT shit was pretty frustrating, even if it did wind up being one hell of a spectacular first-novel premise. I haven't seen *** since... June 2000. Can you believe that? He had ****** cancer, you may've read about that in my lj, but apparently he got through it just fine and he's living in ***** with his gf, and I guess the band still plays some times, but I still don't go see them. They’re just not the same without the same four guys I knew. I do go see ****’s band sometimes, but sometimes means like once a year, because as awesome as it is, I’m old now, and it doesn't quite hold the same magic that it once did, even when I go with the group of friends I always went with. Instead of hanging out with the band after the show, taking bong hits and drinking ourselves retarded, we instead walk down to a sushi restaurant, and eat raw fish and rolls, and discuss insurance and our jobs, and what types of 401ks we have.

I’m at the highest paying job I’ve ever had, but I feel like I don't get what I’m worth, even though I fuck off online most of the time, but for what I do I should get more, and I can barely afford everything now as it is. The biggest bonus I’ve ever gotten was equal to one paycheck. It goes so fast because you think you can finally take care of everything you've been putting off, when of course, everything you've been putting off is really like $10k worth of shit and you have to decide what's most important and what can wait and for the love of god I MUST BUY THINGS FOR ME. That one of my biggest problems lately, is the shopping addiction. Because everything is going so awry and I feel so awful, I buy things to cheer myself up. Things I absolutely do not need, like the Cheburashka, or getting my nails done, but getting my nails done really makes me happy every time I look at them and in a way it's like, well SOMETHING on my body is in good shape and looks nice. Is this my penance for all that drinking and drugging when I was younger? For smoking? For skipping so much school and disrespecting my parents? I would have thought I’d paid my penance with those years with ***, and then the way ******* treated me when I got knocked up. And let me tell you another thing about that. I don't know where I would be right now if I had had that baby, but with every ounce of my being, every single day, I wish I had. I think about it every single day, and mourn, every single day, and I think that was when I learned to stop listening to other people because my mother has never really had my best interests at heart, only the best interest for herself concerning me. Maybe she has changed now that she's older - she actually said I was gorgeous in some photos I took and sent her, with the new haircut, and that's something she has not once called me. Or maybe she has, I’ve forgotten a majority of my childhood. Everything is a flash of this and a flash of that up until I was about 21.

I can't believe how old ANYONE is getting. ***'s baby sister, who was 8 when we met, is like 22 now, and somewhere in the age range of guys I flirt with and that appalls me. Tyler will be 11 this year and he's so fucking smart, and funny, and gorgeous, and he's all legs and arms and dimples and he's starting to play soccer this summer, which makes me laaaaaaaaaugh because Missy drives a minivan now and I soooooo want to slap a soccer ball sticker on the back of it because she has become the one thing she never wanted to be in life, but that's what happens when karma pays you back. But Tyler is just wonderful, if a little whiny/drama queeny. but I can handle it, I’ve always been able to handle him with ease, and he is totally different with me than he is with his mother, like he totally plays her and shit but he knows way better than to fuck with me, cause I’m not as tired, and I catch on to way more stuff than she does but OMG watching movies with him drives me nuts cause he will ask 38947398478 questions, literally and I answer them all but I haven't seen it either and shush cause I want to watch it too and I JUST DON'T KNOW WATCH THE MOVIE!!!!

I’ve had four coffees from our new drink machine in like 2 hours. Does it show?

So much on my mind and why do I need so much surgery? I drank my motherfucking milk, I ate my veggies, I was an active kid, I played sports, I didn't et into drugs til I was like 17 and almost fully grown so wtf. Was it all lies? They lied to me didn't they? I should've eaten crap and sat on my ass all the time and started smoking pot when I was 12 and maybe having sex then too while we're at it. But either way I don't guess it matters. You can't go back, right?

I’d just like to go to normal. I don't think that's asking too much?

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