Saturday, July 26, 2014

the serenade in the soliloquy

i have to talk about floyd.

we made it through to the meat.

marci's been talking about how all the weird shit people pulled

just got to me. she's finally starting to agree that i clearly reached a stage in my life when none of it got to me; i'm all: lalala, yep, but what nobody really knows is how much i love floyd. and i won't let myself touch it. i can't think, work, function; i'm trying to be me without allowing myself to be me. my most authentic self was while we were pals. he didn't treat the blonde pink-tufted fauxhawk like i was being fake. or like i'm not pretty enough to pull it off. what i did for myself like losing a little weight, eating more healthily again...that was well-received. actually, actually wearing makeup--he was all, that's for me? sorry, girl, i ain't into you like that.

which was what i needed. wanted. he's the left half of the rorschach. none of the mr. rights line up exactly, but they have lined up in one way. with him and the others. greg is so cute i could have fallen for him but i'm ugly right now! anyway, greg, the monster. i was petrified for months.

then jenny was sage. floyd was sweet.

and greg was awesome. i thought he seemed stable. not prone to violence. after. after everything. it's like a poem. he peels away. he's beautiful when it shines.

the diamond.

so floyd was amazing but everyone who raped me about the autobiography said they were doing it to save floyd from the autobiography.

so if i die he's fine. if not, she hates me, she ruined my life, is what they say they need to rape me to teach me--to save him. to teach me that men will stop women from ruining other men.

and they don't even rate the book. hah.

one of them was really mean afterward about how fat i was, which i laughed off because we had met several times over the weekend, and he was the one who was cool about it until he could text how fat i was. they always say they can't believe how incredible the sex was or how i was fuming the whole time and that me spitting hateful attacks to try to get out of having sex didn't make it fun at all. kind of the point. ruin my night, yours is just as ruined. so it is always guys who really like the sex and the conversation but hate that i won't do everything they demand. they kick me out and wait until i'm too far away to text me that i'm fat and a pity fuck. i had a pretty great body when i saw greg but his number got blown away and i was too drunk with my camera in my hands at 3:30 in the morning.

and the kid was all, no, don't, leave it! don't you like me? he was taller and lithe, and could have grabbed the paper.

instead, the kid, only 23, someone I was fine sleeping in my jammies with talking up a storm with at 32, got ultra-jealous, and i was like, it would be gross so no, and greg was cute and normal. he had been kind of angry when we 'd first met. my burning quest wasn't for a kiddie set of loins. over it!

it was to ask "what's changed in your life to make you so happy?"

and that's when I start fluttering. his eyes are--

--but the fucking kid. and after 15 minutes of elbowing him in the ribs and not wanting to kick out some stupid nerd at 4:30a...

it's all ruined again.

fucking blind tiger! every time i have a nice encounter there some jerk fucking rapes me. 

i do not need 23-year-olds who know nothing about life. Insecurity isn't good for sex. i wanted to give greg the magic 8 ball book.

it's about him being my magic 8 ball.

and the outcome rocked.

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