Kalamity K

The Daily Chaos of Kalamity K
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2005-04-11 01:02:41 (UTC)

How Fast An Outlook Can Change

I almost didn't make it through typing that title before
the tears hit my eyes with a vengeance. As it stands, I'm
typing things while breathing, mouth open (I HATE DOING
THAT) and staring at the ceiling, fighting to keep those
fucking tears in my eyes where they belong. If there are
a lot of ty pos as a result, I apologise.

I thought I was collected enough to come in here and write
something briefly about my weekend, my life, etc.
Apparently I badly misjudged myself.

My boyfriend's mother's funeral was Friday at 1530 AEST
(Australian Eastern Standard Time). I had waited and
planned to write something more on it, when I had more
details, but none of forthcoming and I don't have the
energy to keep on asking. I don't think he's spoken to
his family but I don't want to be a badgering pest about
it. I feel like I am not doing this sitaution justice in
here but it is not becuase I am trying to be
disrespectful. I don't know anything and I didn't want to
write anything until I had something proper to say. I do
know that it was supposed to be a small private funeral
and over 100 people came. That made me happy to hear.
Happy is such an inadequate word sometimes. I don't
really know much more than that. My boyfriend will offer
up two sentences of details and I when I ask follow-up
questions, the answer is always the same: You know what I
know. Perhaps it is a telling indice of how different we
are, but I couldn't stand knowing two per cent of
everything. But I'm not here to say shit about anyone or
judge anyone. I'm just commenting on our differences.

Friday night we almost had sex. I thought there was no
chance in hell. I made an off-hand comment about how I
really wanted sex. He was so uninterested - made a joke
about turning off the porn flick on tv really quick so I
didn't get more turned on - that's how much it wasn't
going to happen. I mean, different planets uninterested.
But then...as I'm going to sleep...there he is... He
actually played with me. Of course, I'd taken Gravol to
help me sleep so I was wiped and my head was bugging out
and the thought of anyone touching me made me want to
scream and throw him off me, but I couldn't say that. I
don't know what is wrong with me. I can't even put a
fantasty in my head to get me through it (and why should
anyone have to "get throught it?") ... there were only a
very few select things I could put in my head that made me
not scream. It's not him. It's me. It has to be. And my
fucked up head makes me feel everything as uncomfortable.
And so it ended like this. After a little while of me
making no noise and barely answering him when he spoke to
me (which hurts my head, I am a vocal person, I can't
understand that he doesn't see or if he does, why he says
nothing...), after being shocked that he was actually
taking the time to concentrate on me (I know I sound rude,
I'm sorry), after all these things are running through my
head, after all these thoughts in my head are questioning
me, making me wonder how pathetic and bad a lover I really
am, making me resolve to stay with him b/c got knows know
one else would put up with such a wet fish (I told you my
brain was screwing around) and how I'm just so fucking
pathetic and lazy as a lover and inexperienced and
pathetic and uninventive and pathetic and boring - I
finally said, "Don't you want to have sex with me?" I
don't know. Call me stupid but the patterns we seem to
have established make me even more reticent to get
involved and enthralled because half the time, most of the
time, I end up feeling disappointed in the outcome so...I
just don't invest the energy, I guess. His answer: I
really do, but my back was feeling a bit off, so I didn't
want to risk it. His mouth was somewhere near my ear.
His fingers were in me. And I stopped on a dime (not like
I was doing much anyway, b/c of my patheticness mentioned
earlier). "I know this is incredibly bad timing but...you
didn't go to the doctor, did you?"

A while ago I wrote an entry called something like No Way
Around But Through, Part I, which I haven't continued
yet. It was started partially b/c he had back pain that
night and though it didn't make it into the entry (b/c
things started going to shit), he was up all night
throwing up, moaning, crying, yelling, whining, whimpering
about how much it hurt. I tried my best not to lose my
temper. I am an unforgiving bitch though. At 0400 when
he started saying how he couldn't stand it, couldn't take
it, I got into my old thoughts patterns: good damn thing
you'll never be the one to have a kid, you sucky wimp and
if it's so bad, go to the doctor. By 0500 I finally
yelled at him to go to the doctor. He wouldn't, he said,
I knew he wouldn't. I'm unsympathetic and cruel, he says,
trying to make things harder for him or some such
nonsense. The next day from work I wrote him an e-mail.
I love you and I'm sorry but I am not living like this any
more and I'm not coming home until you make an appointment
for the doctor. I've made up my mind and you know what
the decision is. It's up to you now. Let me come home.

He made an appointment first thing in the morning. It was
for the Thursday of that week, two days later. He had a
meeting that night so he moved it to the following
Tuesady. Monday morning his mom died. NOW LISTEN UP.
I'm not complaining that he forgot to go b/c his mother
died - I forgot about the appointment too, and the office
strangely didn't call the day before or after he missed it
to ask what happened...but now he hasn't gone. He said
he'd make an appointment tomorrow. We'll see. I told him
he has now successfully cheated b/c I should technically
not even be at home. Whatever.

So, in the midst of messing around in bed, that is how it
ended. "You haven't gone to the doctor." And I sort of
pulled away. I'm tired, I said, the Gravol. Shit, he
said, I forgot you took it, why didn't you say something?
I'm thinking, because you were watching me as I took it...
I don't think his thought processes go as deep as this,
sadly, but sometimes I wonder if he times these things
like this on purpose. Yeah, I never initiate sex.
Who'd've ever thought I'd be the one to never initiate
sex? Whatever. Sometimes I wonder if he times it so we
don't actually ever have to have sex, but so it ends up
that he made the move and I said no. I felt terrible -
but not b/c I was "rejecting" him. Just b/c the situation
in general leaves me feeling shitty. I made sure to say I
wasn't rejecting him and I'm sorry and please, are you
okay with it? He seemed fine. I don't know. He always
seems fine. He always says he's fine.

And there we are, sort of right back at the beginning of
the entry with the tears and the things I didn't think I
could say. Not my complaints about sex, etc. I could
complain forever...sadly...about everything in my life.

But I feel very disconnected from my boyfriend and very
much like he's disengaged from me. And it scares me
because the wedding thing keeps on coming up again and
again, lately. His mother died and you'd not know it.
Things with him and I are not good, not in my eyes,
despite the fact that things have calmed down and we've
been laughing together a lot more, especially this weekend.

But it's all surface stuff. I don't feel like I know him
any more. I certainly don't know that he knows me -
though he might have a leg up, b/c I tell him more than he
tells me. I'm trying to make this work. I'm trying to
convince myself that there are worse things than marrying
a friend. I'm trying to convince myself this isn't a
sentence to being unhappy forever.

But I hate my life - my personal inside me life so much -
perhaps hate it an improper word - I'm so dissatisfied,
depressed, etc., over it - that how can I possibly judge
the external things in a proper context?

I can't.

I have so much to say about the baseball game I went to
and my dad and the things the said to me and this and the
that...and I don't have time right now.

Someone close to me wrote in his diary, "Despite my diary
that sounds so upbeat, I'm still pretty down." He's been
having some pretty serious trouble with staying positive
about things of late...to a point where I'm really worried
but too far away to do anything but send drivly electrons
in his direction in the lame hopes that they'll make an
impact, while I know well enough that if it were me,
nothing would make an impact unless I wanted it to...and I
know he has no intention, at least from what he's been
saying to me, to get out of this any time soon, and it
makes me so fucking sad to see that that I can't even tell

I read that and that's when the meltdown almost started.
I feel so bad for him...and I commiserate...and I
understand, boy do I ever understand...and he's been on my
mind constantly...for reasons too numerous and varied to
explain, for reasons even he would be surprised of, I'm
sure...and I realised that despite the fact that I've
spent a pretty good weekend wtih my boyfriend, despite the
fact I was feeling a bit better, despite the fact that
things might have been looking like they were taking a
turn for the better, despite the fact that my counselor
and I suddenly have nothing noteworthy to talk about...

Despite all that, I'm not doing that great. I'm still
pretty down. Very down. Upset, confused, angry as hell,
desperate, sad, careening, rushing to nowhere... And I
don't know why. But I know it's true because one sentence
doesn't make a well-balanced, in-control person cry. It
might make them pause and think, might make them sad, but
it shouldn't make them feel kicked in the gut, gasping at
the ceiling and praying not to cry. [Note to diary
owner: don't take this on your shoulders, please. You
know me well enough to know that words serve as a catalyst
for me, a giant catalyst...and yes, while it was partially
b/c I was and remain worried about you...it's also b/c it
struck such a fucking honest chord in me...and I think you
know that...I think you knew that without this
note...but...I couldn't let you leave thinking it was "all
your fault..."...though I don't want it to sound crass
like I don't care, jesus christ do I ever care and you
known it...shit I have to go...growl...I'm sorry...please,
just please understand this mess, PLEASE...]]

I came up with a stroke of genius this weekend, about my
career. I decided I knew what I wanted to do. I decided
I would be brilliant at it. I decided it would make me
happy. I decided it would never happen. I...yeah...I
really have to go.

I'll try to come and finish this later, though it will
likely be tomorrow.

I...I'm fucking lost...and it's not going away. The stuff
I'm doing to fill the voids...looks a lot like desperate
attempts to me...even the symphony...it's not making me
happy like I thought it would...how fucking screwed up is

Deadwood is on and I said I would watch. I have to go.

I am not crying. I want to bawl. But my boyfriend would
know something was up and I can't have that. BECAUSE

Except I don't believe that either.

Diary mine, you are sharing time with your paper relative
these days. I'm sorry...he's yelling at me that it's on.
I said, yelling, angry, YES, I'M COMING. I think he may
have answered that he doesn't believe me.

You know what? Bite me. I'm sorry I'm such a mother
fucking stupid fat cow little bitch whore who sucks. I'm
sorry. You love me, you say? Then fucking deal with it.

OH god I sound terrible and cruel. I don't mean this.

I have to go. I'm sorry. Don't hate me. Please.


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