Glitter

Maybe, you know, things aren't so bad... and sometimes we need destruction in order to rebuild?

When I think about things you used to say, "I don't do anything I don't want to," I don't want to, either.

There are people in the world that are positive, full of sunshine, genuine, and give love freely. I sincerely hope you find one of those people and get out the sad, sad spiral you've been unfortunate to go down in recent months. I know you are better than what you've been, and I hope you show it. There are people who care, I promise. But first and foremost, you have to show you do, too. You have got to open up to the possibility that, maybe what you've been chasing all this time won't make you happy. Isn't making you happy. I think you've made a lot of positive changes and I can only wish you to go on the same path. You used to tell me we had differences, that isn't entirely true; not how you meant, anyway. Boxing yourself into a certain decree is only going to box you in. Branch out. Laugh. Live. Be happy just for the sake of being happy, not constantly monitoring the negative. We cannot focus on what is missing as someone else's fault, it isn't a fault, only a mere fact. Things fall apart. People move forward and at times, away from you and me.

What can we do?

We've got to keep moving.

I do love you and want the best for you, but I can't live in that place anymore. It is a strange and beautiful world I knew for a while and perhaps didn't belong to. It breaks my heart to see you in it. There is no ill will.

Although you're struggling, you will recover. You are going to make it.

I need you to know this.

Heartbreak

Completely and utterly heartbroken.

"There is a poem in the temple called Loss, but the poet has scratched out the words. You cannot read loss, only feel it."

-Memoirs of a Geisha

There once was a princess who wanted something so bad she could taste it. She threw away everything as horrible just to get it. She didn't reach that goal and only made everyone around her suffer instead for her own failed perceptions. The king and queen could do so little to help their daughter as she fell. All the kingdom loved her. They put her in box and took her to parties. The worst men in the kingdom sent her flowers. They asked her to dress them. She cried because she couldn't see what she was possibly throwing away.

What do you do with a man who doesn't love you?

Waiting for the Break

Watching after you with anticipation. You know I'm standing here, watching the lights of your car move away, further off to the distance. There is something so sad in me, waiting, always waiting for something to happen.

When I was with J, I would stay up and watch the moon outside his window and wish I could feel again. I felt so numb, encased in this protected, muted little world. I used to wish I could get this again, this sad longing for something I couldn't describe.

Maybe it would be best if it just had a blowup, the heat just rising to the surface. Something I could feel in a second, cry my eyes out, complain to anyone I knew and just move forward. You keep me in the wings, its so frigging cruel. I could smile at you for hours. It breaks my heart and aggravates me all at once to watch you waffle around in your own personal misery. I doubt you could understand.

I never did know what to say to you.

I feel it in the air, walking along Crosby Avenue in the morning, the smell of the water I never noticed as a child, the cool summer breeze around my feet. Something big is about to happen.

I hope its you.

Charity Case

You told me over drinks that you follow me religiously online. You tell me I'm your favorite. You like my wit, my cleverness, my face. You think I'm confident. You want me to write a book; you'd take care of me to do it so I wouldn't have to work. I can have whoever I want to dinner at your bars. We can go to exotic locations I've only seen on maps. You tell me all the inside information on the family of a boy who I've been so pained over rejecting me (ever drama!); and how we wouldn't have made a good match anyway, because, you claim I'm smarter. You asked me to a party and offered to buy out all my friends. You refused to accept that I didn't want to go.

"I can't accept these gifts, but you're very generous." My mother nailed that line in my head decades ago; he spends, you always owe.

Bring anyone you want, you said. Make a day for it. Anything you want; buy a new wardrobe, hire a car. Get a hotel suite with the girls. Snapping your finger.

Just like that.

At a price.

"I want to show you off." You smile.

I have to admit, if I'm honest with myself and maybe with you (what have I got to lose?) that your infatuation flatters me. Being taken care of, never having to worry again is something that I think appeals to a lot of people. I could have anything. That doesn't seem terrible, at first glance. Even the office girls said so.

I had fun with you; forever the ugly child in me is yearning for everyone's notice, just part of who I am. You feed that psychological need. We walked into that bar to get this drink and everyone stared. People approached us and you bought their drinks to toast me.

A drunk girl complimented me on how nicely my "husband" looks at me. You smiled and told her we'd been married for five years. I didn't say anything. When you corrected her, telling her we weren't even dating, she refused to believe it.

But you aren't what I want. And I've just gotten my independence; maybe if I heard this weeks ago I would have seen it differently. I admit it scared me.

"He looks at you with like, this tenderness. You're so comfortable with him." I didn't have the nerve to tell this woman it was because I simply don't care to impress you.

You held my left hand and rubbed the ring finger, pouting at me. I asked what is it you wanted, since you had spent the night asking me to no avail. (How could I begin to explain?)

"I want a son," you tell me. "With green eyes."You pat my nose. "I never thought I'd consider getting married again, but I could."

That struck me as absolutely ridiculous. I laughed at how silly you were being, your face changed completely and you told me I was mean with more force than I prefer. You told me I was such an ice queen, claiming that's why I have the "number" of a practical nun. The people at the bar enjoying us moved away. Your face softened and you apologized, admitting you were just hurt. I apologized, not realizing how much this would affect you and slightly afraid.

"I like you, you're real." A huge compliment, but so unfortunate in that it proved you understand you aren't.

I realize I hurt your feelings, but I can't take you seriously. Men like you are so sad; my father's age, practically, and now with women even younger than me. I think it is a pity your wife didn't stay; I think its poetic you never had a son. Forever surrounded in this world of women; your mother, sister, daughters, ex wife, girlfriends, everyone but always alone.

You are the saddest man I ever met.

Some Guys...

They're actually quite bizarre. I'm always fascinated to know what straight men talk about with each other. Only recently have I started paying attention!

G and I are always surrounded by bromance, whether in public or a family party. We try not too be too obvious, just can;t help but listen at restaurants. We've heard it all, we were laughing about it last night. Different women (I love the conversations men have about women. It's always the same. The worst guy always has the most to say. Do men see this situation as women do? Do they recognize that he's bluffing, or is this just expected?), sporting events (we tune out), other guys (applause for anything disgusting or embarrassing), and, my absolute favorite, penises (Thank God never this conversation from our sea of relatives!).

You have to wonder what it must be like to walk around with that thing dangling between your legs all day. Is it painful like if you go to long without a bra? How do men run?! I'd be afraid to lose a... Why were they so against skinny jeans for so long? I would think its an excuse to show off - which explains why European men love them, or it just keeps it all in place. How do they deal with waxing or clipping it? Having been with men of all different, erm, types, you get the feeling they're all kind of looking for women to be impressed somehow, whether or not this is warranted - usually the man least warranted is the most transparent in this. Where do men learn that; this need for penis approval? From a young age, women's magazines always tell you to say something like "It just feel SO big" whether or not you have to lie. Are there women that actually say this?! Don't guys catch on after all these women say the same thing, or is it like "Oh, God, you're sooo skinny!" where you don't even care if it's true?

All of my gay guy friends tell me the conversations straight guys have with them and around them about penises. What is it about gay men that straight ones are so curious about? They look at A, I totally see it. They used to ask about his sex life, they're always amazed by it. Maybe men are curious about each other? They even enjoy a lot of the same 80's music he loves!

What I haven't listened to, however, in a very long time, is when they discuss emotion. I think that society picks women to be inferior, sensitive, needing some sort of protection from the outside world. But it strikes me lately how sensitive the opposite sex really is; especially when the negativity comes from females. Women are stronger, we carry on, we bitch, we moan, we get over it. Women are more resilient; we have networks, friends who'll scowl at the offending party and laugh over it with you for weeks, months. Guys don't have the same opportunity. That must be hard, it really must. I never appreciated that. Fortunate enough to be raised in a home with a father who valued strong women, I've never thought about what it must have been like for S and S to put up with me. They never yelled back. Obsessed with trying to prove myself; prove I could do everything myself. When does it end?

I've been terrible, really.

Enlightening.

Excuse me, Miss are these Yours?

A and I agree, this is ridiculous.

How horrible though is it that that's all there is? Damned Mother Teresa.

I know what I'm seeing here, though, oh, J. You remind me of C; the same. I feel like you meet the same people over and over again in life.

Touching all the lace in my dresser, I worked so hard to buy it; something you've never had to worry about, you wouldn't understand. For a moment, I was embarrassed of my apparent poverty all over your face. I wanted you out. The room was foggy, I felt dizzy.

Then you looked at me, smirked. I read it.

"You want them dependent," you told me in the cab, sizing up my reaction.

I couldn't believe what I had seen, the moment frozen in time. How I got up those stairs I'll never know, falling out of my shoes.

In a way, I'm glad we didn't do anything. It gives this situation a new tension; a world of possibility behind what I know now is nearly inevitable. You and I will meet in the way, and it will just happen.

You disgust me in a way I find irresistable. You excite me with the stories you told, peppered with insults for me to hear of course.

"You know these Irish girls," you told him in the cab. "Fiesty. They like to make a scene."

I certainly was not going to buy into your baiting. I can hit back, I see you didn't expect it, but it gets you, doesn't it?

Did I hurt you or you hurt me? Who knows. Who cares! You and I though, we must do something about this. I want to. Understand, I want to.

And so it Begins.....

Why is it that, when they finally get there, you've already left?

I waited all that time, and then, well of course. Always like that. But I can't even go there mentally. It's too much. So much wasted energy and time with no result. I made myself a promise recently, to never give to who can't give to me. I'd be telling you a bold faced lie if I said I wasn't even the least bit intrigued. Who wouldn't be? Even he knows it! I see that little number come up in my phone and, it was the strangest thing; for a second, I felt angry. I didn't even want to see it. I halfway wished he could take it back, that he would disappear. I immediately saw what was going on; I understood. I didn't want it at that moment; no more, I think.

I hate that I waited all this time and you come out (at last!) with something you need from me. I'm tired of thinking about what it is you want. Being something I don't even like because, in some stupid way, I believed this was what you wanted. I'm exhausted of dealing with you, trying to figure out your nonsense. I'm sorry all the silly girls you chose didn't materialize. I'm sorry it's obvious to you now how little you knew. I'm sorry I never saw in you exactly what everyone else could see.

You belong with those girls, love. You make sense there. And I think you will be lovely.

I simply don't care tonight.

It scares me to think, I've become this selfish. All I want lately is to lie in this apartment, completely alone with my thoughts. I only want to see my female friends. I only want to succeed at work. I'm clinging in a bizarre way to my freedom, something that, until recent weeks I didn't value the same way. Bars and clubs bore me. Parties are only fun if I know everyone. I'd prefer a million times over to have coffee with a friend then go on another date.

I'm finding you eliminate the bullshit in your life as I get back to living like I imagine other people must.    I'm not so different, am I? I'm finding I'm growing bored of all the desperation. I'm excited to just do what I want to do. Nothing big. Walking to work. Eating ice cream for dinner. Watching television. Sitting in the park for hours with a number of friends, just talking. Talking to A on the phone. Eating peanut butter and those cinnamon flavored pita chips I paid $6 a bag for. Lying on my sheets. Feeling the breeze out of my window.

I want to be happy. And for the first time in a very long time, I am. And, there is no real reason for it. I'm very fortunate. I have a million good friends and a wonderful family. I have everything I need. I'm content.

I need now, to focus. I need to master the job ahead of me. I need to sleep better. I want to do well, I really do. I know they see that.

And I'm seeing it in me. It hit me the other day, thinking actually, about you, that we have things in common I never considered. You brag about your education, and, I remembered, I now I have one, too.

Maybe I'll feel differently tomorrow. Maybe I'm just mad at you for taking so long. I see that neither scenario is productive. I can't do anything about either, and, in some bizarre way, I very much look forward to being friends.

I just haven't forgiven you yet. My biggest fear is being held captive, of giving to the point of depletion to someone who can't do the same for me. I'm a terrible caretaker for those I think can help themselves and just choose not to.

You're more scared of me than I ever was of you.

For My Father

"Whenever I have a problem, I go to my dad's house."

The stupidest show on television expresses how I feel. The calm
, no nonsense demeanor my father has always had with me is exactly the remedy I need to escape from my own melodrama. He sent me to school for decades with other girls, something I wanted as a little girl growing up in a house of brothers, worked hours each night to pay for everyone and everything, and never complained. I think it is part of the reason I never got seriously onvolved with anyone who was bad for me. It is the reason I am so picky about who I choose. My father and his father, loyal, honest, and chivalrous.

I look at my brothers, and know, for the most part, they are the same. I feel proud that they are good to their girlfriends, and to me and my mother. We may not always agree, but they are there if I need them. And having a large family is a bigger part of who I am than I ever really understood. A big piece of it is all the honorable men I'm fortunate enough to be related to.

I've had guys my age tell me that my father was a huge influence on them, more so than their own in some cases. I used to feel left out of this part of his life, simply because I couldn't be a Boy Scout. I think its incredible, now, that he was able to inspire pther people's sons. Sons of men who had left, who weren't the type of man to be a father. I'll watch these sad girls on television and even hear about them in my own life, friends who dated dortnags who stole from them, hurt them, used them, and just couldn't even compare and understand hpw rare that really is. The man I share initials with

I've been told I'm too hard, too mean to guys, but, looking around, I'm not sure that is a bad thing.

"Life is too short for that nonsense."

And he is right!

Moving Along..

A and D came over to cook salmon and shoot the shit. I have a bottle of red wine and great memories.

I told him off today. I was honest, I put it to bed. It was awkward, I hated doing it. He was petty, brought up all sorts of nonsense to turn it around on me. Try to pick at the holes in my story, I'm so embarrassed I fell for his nonsense. Self-obsessed little prick. His weird friend is twice what he is. I hate him. I'm mad at myself for taking it, for even answering the phone. Nothing good comes from that kid. I'm mad at myself for giving it all away. At some point, it's just a joke. Don't play with people and expect them not to say anything. Now, at least, I will be left alone. Dirtbag. Calling me to stalk some girl in my office. It's disgusting. It's such a shame when the people you know are nothing like what you imagined; you feel like you're losing them. Reality is, there just never was. It's a hard reality to accept. It hits you, it really does.

"This is the life, how it go."

What can we do?

We wake up and keep it moving.

Why Didn't You Call Me?!

I just don't get it. You stand in the rain, ruining your hideous loafers (praise all that was sensible) and talking some nonsense we both knew was completely bogus. I tried, I considered, I compromised. I practiced! I polled the office girls for advice. I worked up the nerve. I was so afraid, I threw the phone in my desk the minute I asked, for fear I'd somehow combust if nothing happened.

I asked if you wanted to go, you said yes.

So how is it that it was really no?! Did you think it would be less offensive to tell me with what you didn't say?

Stupid boy.

I don't understand this behavior.

I began to visualize this dramatic stop to the world as we knew it if I asked you. Everyone would simultaneously turn around, shocked. All of our friends (and then some) would just halt. Someone would slam a drink down after a few minutes, either applaud or boo me off stage. Here, here! Stomp their foot and give a standing ovation.

"Oh, my God," the doctor would say, lifting my head off the floor, my hair perfected with a curling iron, "This woman actually died of embarrassment!"

(I never considered your reaction.)

(Little did I know I'd never find out!)

I worry about how in the name of all that is pleasant and rejected (been there!) I'm going to face to you. I have ridiculous fantasies about how I'd tell you off, repeating things you said about your loser friends in defense of me, turning them around to apply to you. I avoid your street for fear you'll think I'm hanging around. What am I going to talk about?

I'll tell you, sir: Nothing. 

I'm going to avoid you. I'm going to do all I can to keep from letting it appear this bothers me. I'm not sad, it isn't that, exactly, it's more like, here I was, all these ideas, and then you just walk back and take them away.

Rats.

I mean, seriously, why?!

We Might As Well be Strangers.

And to think you had nerve to question why...

Morbidly depressed. But, it is a feeling.

Everything else is going smoothly. This is just an insignificant bump on this road.

Gucci Mucci Pucci

Painting my own nails as have adjusted lifestyle to accommodate rent.

Feeling hopeful as the week pans out.

Black wide legged pant suit tomorrow with a stacked heel. I got this in the bag. I'm going to walk in there tomorrow with confidence. I'm afraid in the sense that I own not a single item from this vendor, but whatever. What can I do? I will speak I will smile, I will be who I am. Good at my job. Good at trying. Eager to grow and learn and train. MBA educated.

I am what I am. And they asked to meet that.

I had my father nail a full-length mirror into my closet. For years, I avoided looking at my body, my mother's sickness she's lived with forever. I felt fat in everything, but couldn't stop eating or starving.

I look at it lately, boldly. It isn't perfect, but it's all I've got. And the more I see it, the less I care.

The point I'm trying to make is that I'm finding you grow comfortable with things as they are, using what you have as you grow older. Now that I know I don't have unlimited funds, I spend more wisely.  I wear the clothes I have because I can.The stairs are melting my thighs, and the cooking I get better at all the time. I sleep best after yoga. I even asked that man out to a drink, a HUGE step for me, obsessed with avoiding men for fear of the ever-inevitable "he's just not that into you." (He said sure, he'd like to go.)

Maybe we all feel rejection, maybe we all feel fat. Maybe we all get nervous and self-doubtful.

Maybe that's ok.

I'm starting to believe that. I never looked to see what was beyond the doubt. (There is such a thing as possibility.) I think that Catholics are so focused on finality that we forget such a thing as the large picture. I'm beginning to be open to that idea, and the idea that I'm not so different, after all. Both wonderful possibilities.

"You'll see, everything, it falls into place."

We all believe that, me, and A, who I love more than I know. I'm so grateful he is healthy at last. I must clean for him and J, coming over soon. My loves.

I think it's all a continuous road of acceptance. You try. And that is the main thing. Things go better for those who try.

Maybe we don;t all need to want the same things, and everywhere I need to be, I am.

I'm feeling really positive lately. I feel the love I never noticed all around me. It's wonderful, really.

And Here We Go Again...

The thing of it is, I can't seem to let it go. You have this, and the worst thing is, you know it. It's so odd you should think of it now, I mean, just out of the blue.

I go about my business now alone and everyday, just getting through it. I KNEW you would, so much that when I finally saw you there, it didn't surprise me. I didn't even enjoy the moment, just sat there getting angry at the situation I found myself in. (Dirtbag.) You wasted so much of my energy throughout the years, I'll never thank you for it. But then, I look up and you smile, and that all goes out the door...

You give me just enough to keep me going. You saw I was chugging along, feeling good, really good, making big changes without the distraction you became, and there you are. (And there I went.) I can't help it. I look at all your silly failed girls and, well, maybe you should know I was the best choice all along. Stupid boy. (I guess we all have hopes?) But there is some sick satisfaction in me for knowing you got rejected. Is that wrong? You like garbage, a lot of men do, no shame. But I've never been, never will be.

I can be silly, ridiculous, materialistic and shallow faced. But it's a front. I'm testing you. (And admittedly, so nervous, I'm ready to jump out of my hide.) I want to see where we stand. I want to see what you think, what you see, what you care about. I want to see if you fall for it. When you don't, you pass. When I visit Pelham Bay and see all the traces of the girl I can't leave behind, in the park, treading along the water where the fish can't swim, in the large weeds in my cargo shorts, I remember. I'm always going to be her, and if you're kind, and honest, and give me the time of day beyond the stupid banter, I'll show her to you. I dream of taking you to Edgewater Beach in the summer, I want to show you the enormous fields of sunflowers that grow in August in the woods, I want to drink a beer with you on the pier. There's nothing more I'd like then to take off this stupid costume, but it's not always an option. She breaks easily, and I hate to give her away. She's all I got. I've got to trust you.

There is something special about you that keeps me smiling. Maybe you think the same about me? the years I've known you... I knew it. All this time, I knew it.

I knew you.

(Maybe that sounds silly, but its true. Some things just make sense; can't explain it. I've always been like this.)

You come into my life perennially. (I always look forward to Spring.)

And so, here we go again...

Reality

I don't actually know who it was who said that lonliness is the human condition. My new home is wonderful, except in that it is empty.

I miss coming home and wanting to share my day over the phone with someone. I miss having real conversation with a man, not ridiculous meaningless banter I make when I'm nervous. I miss going uinto a room on someone's arm. I miss going out to dinner, getting drunk off cocktails, helpung to pick out a tie. J and I were so close that we had our own language. I miss that bond with someone.

I feel the last two years were big hits to my self- esteem. I felt sad and inadequate for so long that, now that I'm ready to feel differently, I'm not even sure where to start. It hurts to think of all the time and opportunities I've wasted.

I cried the other day because I once had hopes, and is it too late now to think that my life could be anymore than work and career? My job is the one love in my life, but I wonder is that enough? I've kept myself safe for so long that, can I even break it?

I'm scared and hurt and tired on the inside. I'm worn down thinking about all the negative. But is that really it?

Live from the UES...

Broke and fabulous.

I have discovered things about myself:

1. I cannot cook. I tell people (whoever will listen) this and they usually say, oh, well you will learn. Nope.

2. I am a spoiled child.

3. I also WAS a spoiled child.

4. I look good with my natural shade of light brown hair.

5. I do not enjoy being alone.

6. I am obsessed with my day glo turquoise bathroom.

7. I am grateful to work in an office.

8. I don't like restrictions.

Feeling good was good enough for me.

-Janis Joplin

Dear to Me

When I really think it over, I want to take you out. You disgusting, self-obsessed piece of New York trash.

You like to think you're good in bed, we all know you sleep alone. You drink only women's beer and pile them on without a drop for anyone else. Everyone around you makes you feel short because, in reality, you're pathetically small as a person.

You have a mean spirited sneer I once understood as ironically attractive. Everyone thinks you're a joke, it was only me who didn't get the punchline. You wear eye cream at night and a suit that stopped fitting years ago in the day. You match your broken shoes you name the price of every time we ask. You walk with a bounce as if you were so excited by yourself. Perhaps you are? (There is someone for everyone, isn't there?) And bite the nails I know you file daily. I guess it is weird that we don't talk; so close you believe you are to me! (Isn't it all of us who want to be close to you, lovely? We run ourselves into the ground every night chasing after your ether!) Oddly enough, you have only a few friends. I guess we simply can't compare to your company!

You feel upset when people are angry at you. You expect me to understand you when you're being your usual bitter self. You think we should adjust to you, with no efforts on your part to join the rest of us. You expect what you don't give. You see yourself as, we, I suppose, should all see you. (Isn't it a drag when it doesn't go that way?) Everything you've done is fantastic. We all wait to hear from you. Nothing is without your judgement, properly so, as, well, you do know everything.

I'll never know what exactly I paid for in knowing you.

(But I think I'm ready for a new billing cycle.)

You have no idea the price you owe.

I look at you and remind myself why I am, and always was, myself.

And for that alone, I'll smile for you.

Merry Happy

I hate my new home. It is tiny. It is too expensive. I feel miserable and exhausted thinking of how I am going to live there.

That disgusting man asked me to a cigar. Creep. You know someone just wants you for sex when they wait until just the right moment to ask. And since when do I smoke cigars?! He might as well asked me to a football game. Poor man, I'm just exhausted this week. He might not be so bad, at least a good mentor and friend if I need one, and let's face it, I just might.

I worry over everything. It all scares me. I want to be hugged and to be told everything will be alright. I want to lie down on my grandmother's sofa and cry myself to pleasant. It is sad to have grown up without being hugged, something maybe I still wait for. If I ever have a baby, I will be sure to hug them. It is the oddest thing I used to cringe whenever J tried. I miss him for it now. My next boyfriend must give good hugs and let me cry all over his suit jacket of I need to, just not asking questions and letting me be sad. Be frustrated. Be depleted. Be angry. Feel helpless. Feel as of the world is against me. Yes, he must do that, I don't care if he doesn't know what to say. Just allowing me to do that is all I need.

Why is it I am trying at all? My job seems impossible. It's just exhausting. This lousy week! 

So at long last am set to leave the neighborhood and move forward. Not sure how I feel about this as I have been surrounded by relatives and friends my entire existence. I have no idea what it is like not to be, well, me.

Damned narcissist.



I really will miss you, all of you.

Diploma

I used to believe you were jealous of me. I used to believe you envied me for what he gave me.

It's in moments like this that I love you the most. I know, we are so the same and so different. I remind you of her, who, for whatever reason, you believed didn't want you. But I'd like to think we are more similar than you know.

When you gave me the diamond crown years ago, I knew. I knew you wished me well.

I know you don't always understand me. This frustrated you more than it did him, used to living in a world of eccentric women. I think in a lot of ways he was happy I'm just like her, the mother he didn't keep. Perhaps he understands her more through me? You don't throw tantrums. You don't carry on, bitch and moan, and then laugh till it hurts because it isn't in you. You're stable and consistent. Shy and reserved. Unwavering and biased in all opinions. It used to take you sincere effort to come up with schemes to play with me as a little girl, and you usually couldn't carry on the game. It doesn't flow naturally to you as it did to me. In retrospect, this is probably why you never bothered with me, I showed you what you lacked and wasn't smart enough to disguise it.

Your encouragement means the most to me. I know its yours that is sincere. You aren't afraid of me like he is, or doting on me like he always has been. I look just like you but have their personality, something I'm sure you don't forget, as you worry about the implications of this.

But the older I get, we come to a certain peace. I've made amends with the fact that I can never live in your world of perfection, I simply don't have the will. And these things will never mean the same to you as they do to me. You don't thrive of off attention, negative or otherwise.

But knowing you do, in fact, want good for me, means more than you know.

Resolution

Starving for perfection and not giving up the fight. Falling in love with my endless salads. I'm beginning to feel the weight come off. Even if this is only imaginary, it feels pretty good. I keep trying, that's all we can do. But I will treat myself to a turkey sandwhich tomorrow.

Work has been unusually pleasant. I feel like I'm growing. I see it in T, too, and I nearly cry with happiness. She's wonderful, she really is. And D! I love them all. I feel part of something, I really do. I worry as L is going to be the new V. L doesn't strike me as too great but we have got to hope. She enjoys my stories, first blessing. The other girls keep to themselves and I wear my glasses, so things are alright. I need a huge bottle of champy tomorrow for T's housewarming, lovely girls.

At yoga with F I made a promise. I refuse to deal with anymore nonsense. I need a man of action. Do n't need anymore friends. Don't bother me with what you did for dinner. Idon't care to know you got drunk off wine I can't afford. If you want to get to know me, so the bloody work. Remove my number  from your phone if you only use it to ask what I think of your clothes. I don't care about you anymore than you do about me. I find your self-preserving blather irritating. No more suggestions, no more hints, no more clever ploys that are as transparent as glass windows, only differing in that its usually me on the inside, looking out into the nothing you are really offering. Everywhere I look, it seems, someone I love is settling. I don't want to deal with that. I don't want to feel as if I'm consistently on the end of a poorly received message; calling like a telemarketer, always when you're busy. You cannhave that tacky-assed girl in the faux Tory Burch dress and Canal Street Hermes belt, this is what you're worth. I won't chase you. I won't bother to message you back if you've got nothing
To say. I refuse to be your obligation. You are never worth it.

What made you believe otherwise?

When I was cheated on, I believed it was the worst pain I'd ever feel. Years later, I see what a blessing it could have been. Where was I if not under him? Why are so many women killing themselves to land
in situations that are hardly tolerable?! What is it that happens to the girls we were? When did we stop thinking our lives mattered for themselves?

I look at B and see her strength. It happens to so many people, you get like this and it changes. But I want the good change. Not like too many weddings where the guests make bets on the divorce. I don't
know if I could be with anyone. I don't trust.

I see in their faces some element of surprise when I admit it, as if the words linered like so much glass shattered under the rug. I want reality. I want something I can cling to, not swallow down when I'm in my honest moments. I want to live, not wait. Thats a waste. I want to live!

Never Talk About People You May See in the Street...

So, casually strolling through the streets I've walked since I was younger. Rocking those faded Levi's and my coat with the fur collar that falls off when I sit down. On the phone with S, being loud and chugging my ever present cup of coffee.

I look up, and THERE you were.

I couldn't tell if you saw me, so I kept going, halfway wishing I could disappear. You looked good. Red scarf. Talking to two men who could probably be my father. I'm such a creep, I walked by like it was nothing. You didn't see or hear me, and, even if you did, what could you do with those men there?

I guess you must work really hard. You appear to be good at what you do. What I like about you most is, I'd never have known if I didn't ask. It intimidates me, now that I know. Your age as well. I'll admit, seeing you there tonight made it obvious how ridiculous I really am. I stood, in my fur coat with an enormous purse, gabbing to S, and feeling small. I seemed so unimportant. I felt so foolish, so immature. I was grateful to have left in my contact lenses and to have combed my hair. Me and my loud, obnoxious accent! But maybe you appreciate that, like I appreciate your seriousness? When we spoke yesterday, you made an effort to emphasize that you drink as if to suggest, "I'M FUN!" You always punctuate with an emoticon. Am I supposed to understand this as condescending? Maybe. But you must dig me if you can say orange soda and whiskey sounds tasty, even entertaining the conversation was key. Even I know its absolutely disgusting.

Doesn't matter. I'm just hopeful I got away with it, that you didn't hear me.

In other news, C is finally going on vacation, leaving us, her measly team to our own devices for two days.

Completely exhausted and dried out in my skin. I bought another bottle of the lotion that doesn't make me itch and have been working out like a fiend ever since Atlantic City. I ate HALF a laffy taffy (you know how hard this is for me!) and threw out a good third of my dinner. I'm on my way to healthy.

J & A

When you were a little boy, I always thought you'd be a perfect man. I'm so glad I was right. I see in you so much of me. You tell me I was like your nanny, I'm not that much older than you are but I understand what you mean. Rolling in your red Mercedes to the best of the eighties is always where I need to be when things get difficult for me. Nothing you do doesn't make me smile.

I sincerely hope you find someone who treats you right. I feel this year was good for you, finding who you are and falling in love with an unlikely subject. It's been good for you to find a man who you like for themselves, and not for what he offers. When I hear what you went through, we always compare because it's so similar to me. We like the same foods, but you have the willpower to stay away from them. We have the same ideals, the same cravings for the life around us, I really think we could live together if I weren't so messy.

I used to take you downtown to see the museums, you love looking all the beautiful things and reading every inscription. You're such a Virgo this way! I was the first person you and your sister called when your mother passed, I felt so helpless as it was the one time I had no idea what to say.

I have alot of friends, its true, but only two like you and J. And now M! I know you all wish me well, and that means alot, it really does. I have alot of negative qualities and you get them, I get you.

You ask me to the club, we should go sometime. You understood S the first time you saw her. We eat pizza on the weekends and bullshit about the men we know. I love that you like to shop with me. We'd be married if it weren't this way, we like to shop and to eat and to bitch. It would be perfect! You like the smell of my hair and tell me when I look dumpy. Most of the time you are right, more than I like to admit.

You asked me tonight if I was still insecure. I love that you see it.

For my two best of friends and surrogate siblings, much, much love.

What a Drag it is, Getting Old

I miss having something to say. The thing I fear most in becoming older and content is there is nothing left to add. It scares me to think, I'm becoming boring. There are times when I've no desire to go out, no desire to have the fun I used to, times when I'd rather sit in with a good book, absorbing someone else's words instead of having my own. How did I become so non-confident, choking up when speaking out matters most? Where did this problem arise? I worry I'm fading out.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I love J and everyone around me, but sometimes I wonder if this is it. Does that ever stop? Does one ever stop looking for the possibilities? When do the wandering eyes, looking at strangers on the subway and thinking about asking their numbers, when does that stop? Do I miss the exciting parts of dating, forgetting all the BS it really is in NYC, despite any glamorized version Sarah Jessica Parker might tell.

Sometimes I'll look at the rich men who walk down Fifth and fantasize about the lives of some of my married friends, home with children of privilege. I think about the personal trainers, the shopping sprees, the daily tasks these women endure in this never ending quest for absolute perfection. I miss it, and other times, even the thought of going back there, to that mind set, stresses me out. Sometimes I'm envious of my engaged friends, other times, I'm ready to fall on my knees in thanks that all my possibilities aren't gone, that there is no definite in place, that I can keep dreaming with possible purpose, not feeling too foolish.

I feel plain too often lately. Ugly, fat, and useless, as if I were my mother thirty years before my time. Why is it middle aged women always post a photo of their younger years up, like the women in Ker's world, as if to say "I once was beautiful." Why must we live in the past? What is it our lives amount to if nothing beyond our twenties, and my God, when do mine get any more accomplished feeling? I feel old, I'm tired, I'm cranky, and everyday is a nonstop turning merry go round of tasks and responsibilities I've no energy for. I'm too young to be this old.

Atlantic City

A has breen saying it all along, it's all in my head. He knows as J did this to him, left himdangling by a thread. I cannot be bothered with someone so horrible, long nose from years of looking down on everyone.

I think he is very, very sad. And, really, a complete stranger.

We went out to the casinos today and it strikes me how sad this scene really is. The cheap music, filling the air with empty promises and glamour to spare. The cocktail waitress had on clothes that disn't fit and an eye that looked to the side. A gypsy woman came over to me and grabbed my
palm.

"You worry too much." she tells me, completely unannounced.

We are supposed to go out, something, that, in recent weeks has lost its allure. Standing around, everyone being something they aren't, it just bores me to see. I hate the thought of not getting home, and I'm missing Sher.

I dressing up and doing my hair as we are in Jerz. I look pretty, I guess. I feel so full, so huge, so inflated after all the eggplant we ate. I had nothing but sugar all morning. N is flattening her hair. L is glittering away in a dress of sequins.

Knowing that A went through this makes it worth it. He got beyond it. It gets to this, burnt out and unyielding, and then, one day, S came along and changed it all. I don't need a savoir, I need a reason to get off this bed and not wish I were home. I need a new project, a new purpose. I wish, a lot of times as of late, the world would just accept me as is. Everyone wants me to "find a man." is that really all there is? I used to feel stifled. I'm proud of the things I've done. Maybe they should be too. It just feels so desperate, so contrived. You meet a man at the bar and he is supposed to be your eerything. That man is nothing. That man is months of pointless self-introspect. That man is just another reason to feel silly. That mannisn't the golden ticket, just the ride in the broken elevator.

N, I wish I could just let things happen around you. I'm exhausted of running after something I'm not even sure I want.

I see women feeding men, taking their plates to them and cleaning the pots they used to prepare the meal. That scares me.

What's wrong with eating it yourself?

I'm not giving in.

Jersey Strong

It's actually quite bizarre, how familiar and strange this is all to me right now. I used to think Iist have been some exotic bird to you. You never commented on my accent, that is true, and I hear it now in your natal home. You're more normal than ever before.  I get you, I really do.

She fed us and was loud and blunt like all the mothers my own was never quite like. L shows up in (what else?) a white Lexus with tints and the latest dance music. We never change, do we? I'm amazed at how real this all is, I didn't have this. I miss it. It's in places like this that I note the difference, there are no pictures of us.

I think we fall in love with what we want to believe. I'm so good at it, I don't lnow the difference. I look at your dresses and realize we are more similar than you let on. My mother never admitted it, but I know she has it, too. It runs in her side, my dad's mom as well. But we are the same.

Two girls who wanted it, and grabbed.

I also thought more about it, today. She's just like me. Looks like a girl from Pelham Bay. I want to lnow if that's what he wants? But you and me know something like this. We see. I've ralways made friends with us.

You were friends with all the princesses , too. Except I'm blonde like you always tell me you love. I blend in because we look alike, in your mind. You thought I was one, I've had you fooled. But now we are on the fringe. We go to the parties and see the shoes, and, just like me you cried over not getting the same. I've never felt that seperate, refusing to accept this concept of inferiority. I've always thought that was ridiculous. You, though, don't lnow any better. My
Mother was like that, too.

I think this version of you is better than anything I see out.

Power Issue

It just wasn't fair. Sitting there, completely alone whilst surrounded by strange people I didn't care to know. I didn't say hello, I didn't know how to; I couldn't keep it together. You yelled out at me, your new trick; saying my name. I looked at you and didn't even look over what you wore.

I didn't face you. I just crouched down beside you, even speaking directly to you, wishing I were anywhere else. I've been able to do this my entire life, going into autopilot, putting on that grin and walking through it like its good.

I guess, in the end, I can't hold you at blame. You've given me, more or less, what I expected from you. I felt so sad to know it was you did that to me, I didn't understand, and I couldn't ask, you ran away and I went back to acting like you weren't in the room. We continued our normal cadence. 

You have no idea how much that upset me. 

And, the beauty of it all, is that, in the end, you don't care to. 

But the truth is, there is a power in that for me; there really is. Seeing you, seeing through you, understanding, for the first time in a long time, what exactly is going on around and in me, there is a benefit to this. 

I've met you several times. I even find myself seeking you out, in crowds, in jobs, in friends, in relationships. It all began here, all the pictures and the memories of you in a different costume, you who can confirm that all the horrible things I'm so afraid of are real. I've been seeing endless versions of you playing the different roles throughout the 27 years I'm alive. You come to be something not even remotely related to what you are, in reality; just as scared and confused as I worry I am. Listening closely to what you never said, I've pieced it all together. I tell myself, all the things you meant to say. 

I admitted today to D that J was my tormenter in my preteens. That K died when I was 14 and I've never really gotten over the fear of abandonment. (I've even kept the cheap dress I wore to the service, refusing to give it away. My mother helped me pick it out, no idea where it would take me.) No one said a word. I tried to laugh; uncomfortable at the realization that I couldn't erase that moment. 

Does it give me a reason to be as skeptical and as aloof as I try so hard to be? Does it simply explain everything; or genuinely excuse it? 

"We just want what is best for you," she said.

There is a life behind all of this. There is something else, something deeper beyond constantly living in some broken past. I get closer to it everyday, closer to a definition of what it is I really need. I crave a stability I don't understand from other people. I crave a safety, an honesty. I truly want to get away from chasing after you, all versions of you; a race I've run since birth.  

"You have to look at it like, you're bringing this many chips to the table," he said. "You really are."

It occurs to me lately that people admit their emotions. 

I am, in reality, surrounded by copious amounts of love and well wishing. I'm ready to leave you, all of you, behind. Slowly but surely, I'm counting the chips.

J told me he loved me again today. It was the saddest thing. 

I got the Power Issue of Vogue today and nearly cried to see B on the cover. It all makes sense, doesn't it?

Dirtbag.

It was YOU.

Fingers Crossed!

When I was a teenaged nanny, the older women used to tell me that nothing stops a crying child like a new idea. It's true, I realize, years later.

I never gave him my number. I didn't have the nerve to ask who did. It was like, I knew, all day, in some bizarre way, that that was going to happen, and for once, it DID.

It was, admittedly, one of the coolest things a guy had ever done for me.

He's a little mysterious though. I mean, when you think it over rationally, it's like why go through all this trouble if not? But perhaps he was drunk? Perhaps he was bored? Perhaps I really do creep the kid out, "running into" him? Maybe my little game just got tired. Maybe he just wanted to play one of his own. Maybe I was a bit too exaggerated in my pourings over his sportcoat. Maybe I shouldn't talk so much about other girls.

It makes a lot of sense now. His friends insisting he had no one, throwing in a fantasy with him as the main player. The whole thing makes sense. Who knew he had it in him?

But whatever his reasons, it worked. I can't stop thinking about it now, can't wait to tell the office girls, I'm smiling at the gym, (the fucking gym!) and even my mother and aunt - forever gossips!- are intrigued to see how this develops. G, of course, is completely into the details, and N is swearing she's clairvoyant. J and M are already to plan the big meetup, A is making plans to hear about the first romp, and S, as usual, completely disgusted. Everyone is routing for me! Who gave my number? How did he ask? What did he say? What did he want to ascertain? Why did he want the exact address? Has this been going some time? Am I a creep or is he into me? Does he like my humor or my face? Does he think I'm a bro -as his idiot friends apparently do? Was it my friends or his? Which one? Were they there? Was I supposed to come down? Was he testing the waters? He didn't even announce himself in first text. Is this friendly or flirty? I turned over the brief, seemingly meaningless conversation on my phone numerous times.

Who knows.

I don't dare reach out without being contacted again. I'd prefer to enjoy the sensation of literally being tracked down. (Maybe this is how he felt?) I've got a million questions I want to ask him and this is FUN, but the waiting is killing me because who knows if it'll go on again? D's odd little comments, was that intentional? How he just appeared!

Crossing my fingers. This is so fun!

You're So Cold...

How dare you try to act as if you don't know!

That was pure mean. I wonder if you mean it! I heard, I blocked you out like you didn't exist again and I'll do it over and over. You don't know who you're playing with, here. I possess everything you want and can't be. I'm younger, prettier, and have the nerve you maybe wish you did. All the girls you like love me. I'll starve you out for myself. I don't care what you think; you're going to lose. Even you know it!

I smirk at you and you smile back. I see you laughing at my jokes at the corner of my eyes, and know I've got, at the very least, your attention. You told me I annoy you, I tell you to burn in hell. You think I'm ridiculous, I think you're a bore. You told me I can never have enough of everything (little do you know, love, of my appetite!) I said you live like a pauper.

Your idiot friend hugged me longer than I prefer. You were last. You didn't shave. I disgust you; you turned the glass and directed the side to sip that cinnamon flavor from. You irritate me. I roll my eyes at your nonsense. (Think you're such a wonder!) And we can all see by the crotch in your pants -we've got something to prove? (Did you know I looked? I know you did.) Why is it we always talk of brothels? Perhaps I bring that to mind for you! Oh, if only. It can be such a shame, to think you simply don't care. But then, nor do I. I've got your pals, love. I've got you like the Pied Piper, playing my tune. (No matter how silly you say you think it is, you always dance, I've noticed.)

I've got your life. I'll take nearly everything from you, without shame. I see how different you are now, and I know it's me. You'll have nothing. See if I save you!

You could end this; put a stop to the nothing and the everything.

(Something makes me believe you want to continue?)

You're still my favorite. I'm sorry you're so sad. I'm sorry you haven't let yourself free and give in to me. I wish you would, love, I wish you would. Every night, on every star in the sky we surely must share.

I hate you like the scum you must see me as. I'm sure your account is deep, your pockets run dry paying for the love that is free to me. When you go to Canada, you can call me in the heat of the moment, but I'll be to busy being where you want to answer. You asked me to join, indirectly. I'd hurt her like you wouldn't believe. You and me, between the lines. An entire anthology without a word of it being true. There we go, endless double meaning, all sorts of clever banter. Never ending BS.

(All you need do, love, is simply say yes. You don't know how long I'll fight you. You don't stand a chance.)

I think you don't understand. I don't think you can tell, we're the same, love.

(You're who I'd be if I wasn't myself.)

And, really, there is no one but you.

Flipped!

My assistant is me. I see all my mistakes in her, all my fears, all my misgivings, all my frustration. She cried all day today, and I could only remember my own breakdowns at M, with J, all of it. She asked me today, "Why are you always laughing?" I said, "Because I find everything funny." I didn't have the heart to tell her I'd simply given up caring a long time ago. It's just clothes, isn't it?

Whoever thought I'd have an assistant, anyway? Isn't it just yesterday I was another ridiculous college grad with bedazzled jeans? I guess, I've made it.

P is, no more, an object of any affection for me. I used to look at him during all the meetings, getting a bit out of hand with what I'd do. But maybe that was just stupid. What good is there in a man who is that much of a jerk? I get tired of his antics. Today he told off C, as per usual, setting into effect a chain of events to worry over the rest of us as we had to deal with her the rest of the afternoon. He's short, unwilling, and red faced with whatever skin disease he is obviously cursed with. His beady little eyes as he sees me, he knows enough to leave me the hell alone most of the time, I'm a good two inches taller than he is. I say hello and prance by, just as the other girls do, but I think he knows I'm laughing at him. The indignation in his screwed up little raisin of a face...

Other news on the horizon, the week is shaping up to be a good one. N says I need to go out more, I need to get back out there. I'm so exhausted at the thought of being told what to do, it barely matters what she says; however true. Isn't it ok to just live in my own nonsense a bit longer? Men bore me with their paraphenalia. Either too much or too little.

A party thrown by F next week. Not sure if I want to go. I'd love to go to see... but you never know. I enjoy that these people amuse me, and are apparently amused by me. I wonder what made him ask for me? Who knows. Let's just hope it isn't a waste. L is excited and C said she'd go along; it's so tacky he invites these people and then names a strange price. But, I guess, there is my answer. He told me he can't do fashion, I wanted to tell him what a pleasure it would be to take him shopping. Men always underestimate how much I genuinely enjoy that. And, most of the time, they do, too. I think it's a guilty pleasure for them, they smile at the racks and touch all the fabrics as if it were taboo.

Running on the treadmill tonight at the gym I realized I enjoy going. Still fat, though. The scale refuses to cooperate, as per usual. I'm so frustrated with my body I can't even think on it for fear of becoming sullen.

My hair looks good though. I'm excited for tomorrow night's dinner. The food is genuinely terrible but I love sparkling in front of all those people. I think either they think I'm strange or enjoy me, I never can tell. I guess they don't understand me, they work in worlds that imagination is not a necessary as it is for me. No idea what to wear as nearly every piece of fabric in my closet, is, as always, completely unacceptable to be seen in front of... if only you knew? Shucks.

(My assistant taught me that. Love those O. girls)

And sleep, and moisturizer, as a WASP half, a dry skin will give.

Wish me luck, wish me love, and above all, a kiss!

Catskills

Another fine evening in the mountains with J and A. A has new love, D, and M and R came along with him to teach us French and style. Everyone is in love with M, which I guess is a casualty of being a French woman. She possess a beauty I do not. When you look at M, you want to look at her again. I felt ugly, so ugly, next to her. Ridiculous and pathetic. Fat. Above all things, I felt fat.

I went to the gym when I got home, to work on what me and A talked about.

I sat in the quiet room with the skylight amiss a house of couples. It hurt, to know I was alone. It hurts because you think, my God, something is wrong with me. But is it that, really? I've spent so much time being angry, showing every man nothing but evidence of my own distrust, my own failed expectations, my own doubts about them. There is a big part of me, deep down, that really has lost patience in them. They lie, they cheat, they steal, they deceive. The magic is gone. And that thought, in itself, makes me feel irrevocably sad. It depresses me to think, at 27, I don't want to be bothered. To admit to the world that I've all but given up hope of finding anyone. There are no good straight men. I look at dirtbags like S and know it. I'm just so tired of it. Rejection, false pretenses, they run off. They take, take, take. And what do we do? Give. Freely and surely, give. Even when we know it isn't going to work. We give!

We give up, really.

The reality is that I don't want to take care of anyone. I don't want to cook, don't want to clean, don't want anyone to beg me for my opinion, have me run their lives, only act for me. J was like that. I miss him sometimes, but just feel the pull back down, all the pressure of knowing I'd have to constantly hold everything together. When we ended, I felt so free. I felt like I could have peace at last.

He broke me; I've been empty ever since. All I feel is disappointment. I myself, am becoming bitter.

N, I love you, but you make me bitter. You remind me of all the bad things in the world, avarice and desperation. I will never want a man as you do, I will never give to a man what I see you throwing away all the time. There is no need, N. There is no need. You have to let go. You have to go on. You have got to get past this phase and move forward. This means accepting the fact that, there may never be. Simply put, there may never be.

What can we really do? Shall we throw ourselves into the ocean and drown? Shall we jump off the buildings into some dark abyss? Shall we hide from society and forget ourselves?

No. And no. You need something else to occupy your mind. I'm tired of giving emotion and energy to you. I don't want to spend hours on the phone analyzing nothing. I wish to be with my own thoughts. You can't be J and A. Stop chasing me. I refuse to give you anymore time. 

This is about me. 

A says he thinks there is an end to my perceived shortcomings. He thinks there is an end to all this, a salvation for the weak and weary. I love him. I prayed like a Muslim, crying over the jello shots to find it. I'm no longer a Catholic in spirit, but I want to hope there is something out there, even if only an energy. 

I want to man who will pursue me. I want to be taken care of, to find that man that is himself with no apologies. Who is strong, who is kind, who is generous. I want a man who can allow me to be myself, the light of the party, while being comfortable. I want someone who likes me enough to like himself. To want to create a life for himself and invite me into it. To support me emotionally and mentally. To love my body. To love my clothes and give honest opinions about them. I want a man who can take care of himself, not depend on me for every little thing. Who can cook and clean just the same as I can. I'll do the shopping, he'll write the taxes. He will allow me to read, encourage me to do what I love. He will be good with children, respectful of other ladies, no matter their appearance. Who buys me gifts for no reason, who treats me to mint ice cream because I love it. Who kisses my nose and pays for my female friends' drinks. I want to trust that he is smarter than me. I want him to be stronger than me, mentally and emotionally. I want him to want me to take his name, but allow me to hyphenate. I want someone who is proud of me. He will be good with his male friends, and laugh and make bawdy jokes with them. I want him to be proud I have my own female crowd, and don;t need to go with him to games. I want to have the knowledge that, though we lead separate lives, he is the person I can't wait to tell it all to. And vice versa. 

D read my palm, something I didn't know he could do. In broken English and French he told me I have a wall, I have to be strong to get through it. He pointed to the line on my left hand, tracing it with his fingers in his black wig. I, at first, thought I began at the bottom of this line, but maybe, it is really the top. Maybe this is the great challenge he was talking about. The line he pointed out had a huge cross I'd never noticed. 

I used to wish, a long time ago, that I'd eventually be found. Maybe I still want that. 

You First?

When I think of all the monotony in the world, I think of you. You make me smile. You make me laugh even though I don't do it while you're around.
I guess it is silly to sit and hope you'll notice me, it's been nearly a year with little sign if any. In fact, you hurt me more than I'll let on. Fighting like children, it feels good to know at least I get under your skin. Maybe you aren't what I need, but you're everything I want. You excite me, give me hope there is something worthwhile in the city. I'm not afraid of you anymore, but I know that your opinion could stand to break me. I'd fall into a million pieces, even after I've been so good lately. But I'd die to know. Do you enjoy me as much as I enjoy you? I can tell you look for me in the crowds. You tease me! Flirting with my friends right in front of me as if I can't see you; I can, I do, you simply want a reaction and, well, I refuse. Hope it irks you, I do. You get the most delightful blush when insulted.
You hate cologne and it is a shame, there is no smell, just a feel. I want to know the taste, want to run my hands all over your blazers, fooling no one with their age and poor fit. How did you get so skinny, I wonder, when your family is not? I watch your brother look me over and feel such frustration that he isn't you; I want to scream, with everyone there. I want to slap the table and stomp my foot, frowning in such a way that would have befit my four-year old self. It's hard to contain myself around you at all, I'm so used to being so free with my feelings, most of the time anyway. The words seem so crass and unacceptable, I never dare to say them to you. But that could change, who knows? I don't care anymore. I want to experience you everywhere. I want to break you down, I want to shout out when I see you, hoping you notice me and acknowledge this fact as opposed to being so mysterious. Maybe you do?
There's no one that can excite me the way you do. And it pains me to think you KNOW and let me suffer in the tension that's always between us, forever on edge with each other. Everything I say annoys you, and all you do, given appearances, either bores and disinterests me or is highly offensive to me. You made filthy jokes with me last I saw and it was all I could do to not jump you in front of the crowd. I felt so special you showed this side of you to me, I didn't say it, treasuring the moment until I was so ridiculous I felt sick of myself. I guess that's silly.
I'm going to make you see me. This can't go on like this! You are unfair, lovely. But thank you, for seeing me.

February

I ratted out the wrong man today. That was wrong and I feel terrible. I just couldn't expose the real problem. Does that make sense? I lie very well, sometimes so well, even I end up believing it.
I feel that, there are times, that I hide so much from so many people. I'm alone in this castle I've built up, and it's sad to think, I don't trust like maybe I should. I wait and wait, always expecting the bottom to fall out. And in the end, it sadly usually does. I whine when I get like this, but it's easier to accept the impossibility than to deal with any possibilities.
I really am sorry I hurt you. And there are times I am sorry I couldn't be what you needed. There are times I miss you, there are times I don't. You weren't there for me, and never could be. I couldn't be your Pelham Bay housewife. I'm sorry, I really am. I feel stagnant ever since, but it's a pleasure and relief to feel something, anything, after so long of feeling down and unattractive. I felt trapped with you. I felt as if I could never be myself around you without being judged. I felt like we always competed. I felt like you were out to get me. I felt like I had to hold back when speaking to you, for fear of being ruined somehow. I felt tied down, as if nothing good could happen to me so long as you held me back out of spite, jealousy, fear. You told me I was cold and unyielding, I just couldn't lie like you can. I couldn't pretend anymore. I planned a future with you that had no part of me in it. I didn't understand what you saw in me, I didn't see in you what I envied in other girls' lives.
You refused to go out with me for Valentine's Day. It's a stupid holiday, you used to say. I was never enough on my own. I eventually understood I was never enough.
I never gave to you. I understand that, in retrospect. I never let you in. I never felt I could. I don't trust.
I never told you I loved you over the phone, rarely said it in person. It seemed too silly, ridiculous, meaningless words. I was selfish.
I didn't want to be married to a man I knew I'd eventually resent. Isn't it true all husbands and wives resent eachother, you used to ask. Yes. You are the reason I believe that, and the way I treated you made you that way. I don't know how to be with someone completely. I'm caught up in this existence where everyone leaves the minute it stops being fun. I've learned to walk away with such ease I fool even myself.
There was a time I used to imagine the day you'd ask me. That turned to a dread, slowly into our relationship. What changed? I stopped chasing after you. For ten long years, I chased after you.
I'm sorry you loved me. I'm sorry I couldn't love you back long enough to last. I think you deserve someone who can. And maybe I do as well.