Wednesday, 7 February 2018

Anyway, Too Much Is Better Than Not Enough.

I was brushing my teeth tonight, looking at myself in the mirror. A few times in my life I haven't been able to bear looking at my face in the mirror but now I can and I do.

Brushing away my mind pondered around to itself. Maybe there *is* somebody out there for me. Maybe they're all ready to meet me but I'm so mired in "Nuh I'll be a spinster and I don't care. Writing and a dog and my sons and Netflix and poetry and books and a vibrator and nice linen just for ME. And cheap coffee sachets, yoga, maybe a tap dancing class."

My kids ask me if I have a boyfriend. I've never introduced them to anybody new and if I did, good luck on passing the Rocco bullshit detector test. When Max asked I told him I'd just like somebody to sit next to on the couch with, you know? Maybe even hold hands.

I seriously doubt it, though. I'm too much - men (and women) like the idea of me but when they get a bit closer they can't handle me and how could they. *I* can't even handle me. I'm too much - too loud, too feisty, too angry, too sad, too crazy, too manic, too traumatised, too tough, too closed.

I'm working on being cool about it. Because this is not a fairy tale and there are no happily ever afters. I mean we all die in the end, right?

"They lived happily ever after until one of them died leaving the other one grief-stricken and fucked up until they died too, maybe they were reunited in the afterlife or maybe there's no afterlife. Nobody knows." 

Good night, I am SO cheery today you're welcome.




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