I haven’t made an entry in 10 days. In 10 days it will have been one year since I quit smoking. 10 days. I have spent 10 days living in the beach home of and with one of my very dearest, dearest friends. I had such a marvelous time, talking, being, walking, bike riding, sharing time without any pressure to do or be anything. I am terribly grateful for her. She is one of the many treasures in my life. I am not unaware of these treasures.
I got home and here, waiting for me, a really cruel, mean message from someone who, quite honestly, doesn’t know me well enough that anything they say should carry any weight; but, once again, I have given people who don’t deserve it the power to hurt me. When I ache, when I hurt, when I am tired, when I need to go– somewhere — always, it seems, I have gone and I now go to musicals, always, and listen to songs that tell stories I will never have, stories I should never have given the power to move me the way they do. Which all began with Carousel. Ruined me for love forever when I was 6.
Somehow, some way, I got this idea that love was supposed to be this impossible thing where someone way too wonderful for me would see past all that was not wonderful about me to my soul — which I long believed I had, which I long believed was something beautiful — and I would, you see, see past and into and beyond and it wouldn’t — it didn’t matter what anyone thought — we would know, we would connect —
It wouldn’t matter that I looked like I look, that I’d failed like I’d failed, that I wasn’t and had never been and was never going to be — and I wouldn’t care he’d never read a book or was mean or couldn’t articulate — I would do all and enough of that for both of us …
I’m now and always have been a fucking idiot who kept believing in and believing in and waiting for and … even still … I see a musical … I hear a musical and I think … yes … you see, it can happen.
But it can’t. It’s a musical. And love is a fantasy. Not real. And life is a stupid joke. And all my life I have been falling …
Bleeding everywhere. Prolapsed soul. Collapsed heart. Every orifice weeping my essence, emptying me of all that was, cuz I ain’t no way is.
10 days ago I quit writing. 10 days from now it will be one year since I quit smoking, to save my health, for … what? Exactly. I suppose, to have gifts like the last 10 days … so I will hold on to such treasures … even though I am still, still hurting.