oOoooOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo3.16.2006
1:20pm
london time.
we'd miss the first train out of waterloo to paris
and i was a wreck.
i hate traveling.
but i love going places.
the mystery of my life.
why here?
why now?
though nervous breakdowns are rarely constructed of rhymes or reasons
the artistry of the moment wasn't entirely lost upon me.
here i was half way across the world
with the people i loved
the boy i was head over heals about
and i was holding my breath.
i was holding my damn breath waiting...
waiting for what, you ask?
h e l l if i know.
it seems to me
that the relationships around me these days have taken on an unusually familiar sense of
high school-osity.
he's wants this
but he's dating her
and you're dating him
and he's loving you
but you can't forget
about the asshole before.
all the dirty little secrets
that keep our lives from being bored
and being simple
an ageless tale of pride and presumption
that has graced the WB for decades.
and for me?
though my love life should be,
and has become,
enviable (not my word i swear)
i'm sitting in waterloo station
essentially
creating drama.
because some asshole i was manipulated into believing in
and loving
meticulously programmed me into being a battered wife.
a woman who takes it in the face
and still comes back for more.
(cause oh, he loves her. but love is hard.)
and now here i am
crying to someone who adores me
begging him to give me space
make me chase
give me cause to feel a little uncomfortable in the relationship
because somehow
that's how i knew when He Who Shall Not Be Named loved me before
oh the glory of learning your lesson the hard way.
the worst part is, sitting in bed, looking at a perfect specimen of a decent human being
realizing that you haven't been as strong as you thought you were.
months later i am still haunted
left with no sexually transmitted disease (act of god, if you ask me.)
but worse
a lack of confidence, a battered libido, a craving for insecurity
and incessant dreams about zombies
(yes, zombies)
where he is the rat king
come to eat my soul.
(apparently i'm a lot deeper when it comes to the whole relationship metaphor as flesh eating zombie/end of the world scene than i thought)
it really fucks me up that i'm still that fucked up about all this.
and though i'm pretty damn happy otherwise
and
it's been months
i still find myself both morbidly curious
and physically ill at the thought of them.
so i'm going to say something
that i said to one of the zombies in my dream
( in order to make its head explode -- you know cause that's how you kill zombies)
and hopefully this will be enough to exorcise my demons
so that they never grace these webpages again.
" look. i know you. everyone does and inevitably, she will learn you can't change a leopards spots to stripes. and though i got hurt and am still clearly stalked by zombies ( i may have even developed a little fetish), i have learned my lesson and take comfort in the plain hard truth of the future. one day, when you're little zombie wife is sitting at home with three kids, no job and a bottle of prescription antidepressants, you'll be out there fucking some fat internet corpse underneath Panther Hollow Bridge, thinking of me. And I'll never think of you again. I feel bad for you, you know. In fact, I'm pretty sure I pitty your pathetic drooling existence. You can't help being a zombie. I think maybe you were just born rotting. But I can help being turned into one...."
and then i cut his head off with a chef's knife.
a henkel, in fact.
he would've been proud.
scribed; 3/16/2006 06:32:00 PM
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