its not you, it’s me

tomorrow brings second writing club meeting. at this even there will be more than four, six I believe, and we will share and laugh and drink and it will be like a really good movie that hasn’t been made yet.

I hate to start a paragraph with something as cliche as "my life", but, fucking shit, my life has been a slew of fucking dramatics and transitions lately. as if I could possibly pin point when it started would be, I don’t know, too easy or something.

I have made mistakes in the past and many of them have been at the girlfriend’s expense. I am a big fucking cluster of regrets and apprehensions and fear. I am nominating myself for an award that will grant me the rights to call myself all sorts of stupid and self loathing names such as "fuck up", "cheater",  and "unappreciative whore".

though I’m not a whore, not in the traditional sense anyway.

if we do end, I get the bookshelf, you get the car, I get the dogs, you get the money.

the dogs have been vomiting, they’re sick, like everything else in the house.

I’m sad.

:(. but I dont use emoticons or anything at all resembling them.

I dont use writing as a crutch but I sure would use your mom.

The fact of this matter remains to be unseen. In short: the girlfriend and I are going to "seperate". we are going to reevaluate our relationship using a lot of meaningless words that prove to be nothing but over analytical bullshit. I’m going to play the role of the stupid fucking selfish girlfriend who cries as she takes a shot of vodka and tingles while she throws up her food. I’m going to let the snot drip down my face because I don’t have enough energy to wipe it away. take vitamine B instead of eat food, no more energy to cry… gives me a headache.

I feel like the fucking character in that stupid robert frost poem the same way I’m sure everyone has at one point or another and that’s probably why that stupid fucking poem is so stupid fucking popular.

things are tense and dry. I’m probably making a big mistake.

but…

if I don’t I’ll live here tainted and cared for, the same as I did as a child and a teen always having someone or something to fall back on. if my safety net is removed, I stand high and balanced on a wire a million feet high, the chance to fall is there, to lose myself forever, and in those moments there is exhileration as I have never felt before, and that is when I truly discover who I am. or I fall. and fucking die.

being in love is not my issue for I am very deepy and truly in love with the girlfriend, the issue belongs to independence and self doubts. the inside of my tummy is spinning like one of those little plastic tops and I can honestly say I have never fucking felt this confused in my whole fucking life.

I will, perhaps, move into the spare bedroom. I will still be here to care for the dogs and pay her the portion of my rent, but the relationship that once existed filled with sex and company and hands on my back on my thigh will be demoted to a roommate status. last night I slept on the couch. drunk and sick. I cried until my body felt warm and drained. I slept hard and awoke to the same thing I had gone to bed with.

I had shared something with another person and though it was not physical nor romantic the girlfriend says she saw it when we exchanged glances, when my phone rang too many times in a day, when I didn’t come home until three in the morning to a dimly lit house and all the doors and windows locked as if she had already told me that it wasn’t my same home anymore.

It was not her who decided to mix things- it was me. how cliche.