and here in spain i am a spaniard

my wrists are extraordinarily tiny. not as tiny as my mother's mind you, but tiny nonetheless. i've got to get a cherry blossom tattoo for my naked right wrist, so i don't feel left-heavy. i suppose i will feel left-heavy anyway, until i get the serpent by garver on the right, at which point i'll feel right-heavy.

i'm going to see a shrink i think.

i can't get past him. this is not sane. at least i know this is not sane. there is so much i am unsure of, i have never really quite understood how to act normal around people. sometimes i say too much, i'm too open. other times i can't be fucked to open my mouth at all. i only do what feels right for me at all times, but it seems most of the time it's just weird for other people. and there are two types of people i come across. the type who take the time to get to know me in spite of my social deficit and the type who judge me at first experience, which is usually pretty awkward, so they don't hang around. or i see them once every few months or years and it's like starting all over for me. it's kind of a cool thing, though it may sound like i'm complaining. it's cool because i lose, very quickly, the people not worth a shit. and the people worth every single one of my heart beats, are the ones who stick around no matter how awkward i get. they see that in my awkwardness, in my social stunt, there is something extraordinary.

i'm like andy kaufman with boobs and a blog. just fucking weird.

i said to a friend the other day that it fucking infuriates me when people brag about their oddness, their awkwardness, sometimes even try to be "weird" and while i can definitely admit that i've been there myself, when you get to a point in your life when you're one year shy of thirty - very much an adult - and you really don't even know what crazy is, what sanity is, when you can't file your thoughts, ideas, actions, words in the sane column or the not-so-sane column because you simply have no idea which is which, it's terrifying. it's scary. i can't tell you if i'm mentally sound, i just have no fucking idea.

ze frank posted on his blog the other day, a link to this, an ancient record of psych patients. i hope i am just a little delusional. but i'm afraid i might be suffering from furious mania. i know it's not erotomania or imbecility or idiocy. but it could very well be furious mania.

sometimes i am scared of myself. look where i've gotten me so far. miserable over a man in prison who, so obviously wants nothing more to do with me, but i can't let go, and because of this, i am hurting people who actually want to have something to do with me. it's only just begun to hit me now. he doesn't give a shit. did he ever? he said the most beautiful things, so often, he made me feel like nothing ever had. he wrote the most beautiful things and he had the most stunning habit of always getting back to me when it was important. he would disappear and disappear again but when i needed to say something he was suddenly there again. it never mattered when or how he got back to me but he did. he'd call no matter what time it was, he even got into a car to use the carphone when he'd been kicked out of his house once. nothing ever stopped him, when he knew i needed it. some days i didn't even have to tell him i needed it. he'd just call and ask me what was up. it's never, ever crossed my mind that he didn't love me until now. not once. 12 years i was convinced he loved me. now i don't know if any of it was real.

i keep thinking maybe something is wrong and that's why he can't get back to me, but i would rather, so very, very much rather he just doesn't give a shit about me than have something be so terribly wrong that he can't write.

it's all just hitting me now, because a few weeks ago i wrote him a letter. aside from "merry xmas" before i went to thailand, it's the first letter i sent him since he wrote back in september to say he needed a break. those were the last words he wrote to me. i waited as long as i could, trying to respect his wishes. but. i can't do it anymore. i told him i needed to know one way or the other. if he still needs time, he still needs time, just let me know every once in a while. if it's over, it's over, just let me know so i'm not drowning in emotional limbo. it's been more than enough time for him to get back to me. he hasn't. obviously. it's only just begun to hit me now. he may not have ever even given a shit.


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Labels: mike

posted by Courtney at 2:36 a.m.

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