I Ain't Gonna Touch It

 Some nights are like this in Suwanee, Georgia. I treat these as stream-of-consciousness rambles that are as much therapy as marking down the exact time and place.

I ache in places I don't think lover or doctor could ever touch. I feel like a scar, not quite fully healed and raw and sensitive. You can ignore it, but you mostly know it's there and if you come across it too hard, you remember clearly what made it.

I've been to the gym today, so my corporeal self is sore too. I think that is probably a little therapeutic in itself. Some people get a tattoo or a piercing or have sex with a stranger. I just challenge and test my own flesh. Though the stranger and the rest appeal. I guess it's like Lilly says.

I'm lonely. It only takes someone shoving me away hard a couple times before I stop stepping into it. I'm a lover and I want to love everyone, but I'm at least a little pragmatic and after a while, I start holding the cards closer to my chest.

I think the loneliness is what makes it so I can't eat much or sleep much. I'm now trying to talk myself into food. I don't feel that way with people gathered around. Food is just a thing to share then, not so much a chore. Sleep much the same.

Work was hard today. I played hooky a little last week and that always comes back to bite me. There won't be anyone to do the work that I should. Thus is life, I suppose. I guess it's job security knowing that I support all the documentation for our global highest-selling products. And some pressure. But I tend to do my very best under pressure.

My beloved sister, and she is, is having such a hard time. She's always been the pusher and I've always been the target, so I see her. She's got a good, smart, blindingly successful, handsome man who thinks she hangs the moon and her insecurity makes her ask him things like if he's seeing someone else. I guess that's the way to get a man to love you into madness. You have to treat him a little like shit. I never was any good at that. She's in pain. Pain makes things sharp you try so hard to dull when you're well. Not your wit or your charm or your brilliance, but your meanness and your suspicion and your insecurity. I know exactly how it feels to be right there. I can't say I ever blew up a right thing as a result though. Not romantically anyway.

My house is empty. I can't call it home anymore. It's not. I tried so hard to make a home. I always fucking do. No one can ever call me lazy in my love. As long as I get a little back. I'm not getting too much back at this exact moment. Except the boy. I guess our love is the realest one. I cannot think of one thing I would not do for him. I never get tired of that love. That's probably a little narcissistic, huh? Or something else I just cannot define. 

The really beautiful thing lately is that I have no trouble crying. I spent so long not really feeling enough to cry. It feels pretty good, really. It feels good to feel. It's not always happy, but it's intense and it's real. Life is good. Mostly. I have to get to a place where I can be content with that. And maybe I will some day.

I guess some nights are just like that in Suwanee, Georgia.

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