& also just being 23

I CAME BACK FOR YOU
TIDFSI@gmail.com

Eat Me Raw.

Dreams For Days

In virtue of the slew of emails asking 1) If I am dead or 2) If I am near death, I’m all about jumping back on the bandwagon that is Toughnight and telling you all about my pretty feeble attempts at being an adult. Every day. Hopefully.
I went on a lot of dates and they didn’t amount to anything. I was never very good at following through.

I watched Fight Club again recently and Edward Norton reminds me so much of a mix between two boys that I once dated (not at the same time), that the film was ruined for me. Every scene was me reminded of their contracted, climatic faces. Reel it in, I think I would say to myself if I was sixteen looking at twenty-three. What’s that saying? Nobody wants to buy the icecream truck if you’re giving away the popsicles for free. Except that’s all I have, popsicles. Popsicles are a summertime novelty, something to eat on the street for everybody to see. It’s been raining for the past week, I’m inside of a overbearing Autumn with all of these goddamn popsicles.
I’m allergic to dairy, also.

I had a revelation regarding loneliness recently, I hope some of you have already gotten this, or not. I hope nobody else is lonely. It’s not the lack of human bodies in my life, of these I have plenty, sometimes it is awe-inspiring to think of all these lives going on around mine, intersecting each other like highway streets. Mine is perpetually undergoing road-works, maybe, but even the guys in the high-visibility vests aren’t saying it’s for the best, they have no idea what they’re doing. Regardless, I have these streets, so many streets I could go down if I felt the need but it is so rare for me to find someone I connect with.
The word ‘connect’ doesn’t convey exactly the meaning I am trying to. Of these few people I ‘connect’ with, one is a family member. Two are high functioning, only one shares my constant irregularity. And that’s it, at the end of the day (I’ve lost track of time though, so, when is that, really?). When I’m lying in bed at 1am with my hands thrumming against themselves and my body reeling with the shock of another wasted day, I have four people and only one of them isn’t likely to be sleeping.

Lonely – Sad because without friends or company.

Well, that’s not the word I am looking for, then, is it?

"My favourite tree was the Weeping Scholar Tree. I thought it must come from Japan. They understood things of the spirit in Japan.
They disemboweled themselves when anything went wrong."

Sylvia Plath - The Bell Jar

I Shouldn’t Say This

I want matte everything.
Matte lipstick, matte face, matte clothing, matte skin, so matte that the sun has no choice but to go around me and all these bitches hitting on my exes can look straight at me while I raise both unpainted middle fingers.

Nobody owns anybody else but I still want you to fuck me as if you do.

The Week In Admonishments

  • I have spent a lot of time with my heart in my mouth and I’m starting to think this is why I can’t form sentences that might convey the landscape I am trying to explain.
  • Kissing that boy on the street at 2am was not an act of passion, rather the opposite. Please, somebody else’s gums and teeth light something inside of me. The pit where the fire went out is dismal, the vultures circle overheard and cry about leagues and standards and taking what you can get.
  • My mother asked if I was going to put makeup on because my skin has lost its brilliance. I wake up sometimes and raise my middle finger to the ceiling with the sunlight gaping through the gaps of my curtains. That song by The Kills called Fuck The People, my best friend and I crying in my bedroom because the world might as well be small for all the people that allow us to be ourselves. 
  • At the SPCA there are fifty or so cats vying for attention I am so willing to give if everybody else would leave and I could talk to them in ways I don’t ever talk to myself. You are beautiful. You are so lovely. I want to take you home with me.
  • I am so sick of people calling me an extrovert.
  • My Father turned fifty-five and has not yet begun reflecting on his life, safe in reflection on mine, he tells me to help other people. I can’t imagine a world where there would be enough people I would want to help.