…where you are heading.

There are very few things in this world that I can say
for certain,
that I love.
I loved my dog in a heart wrenching way.
His death may be one of only a hand full of bad things that have ever happened to me
and him.
I love my parents, and their demise will leave a part of me broken, and I hate to think about it.
It seems mythical, like asteroids or super volcanos or the Zombie Appocolypse. 
Nothing will be the same when it happens
I loved Jen Langley and when she left,
I drank myself into jail and drove away almost every friend and relative I have. 

The echoes of those decisions still haunt my life,
and their forgiveness has been slow and arduous. 

The country of Canada will still not even talk to me. 

The last nine years of sobriety have been more about mending a broken heart than quitting drinking.
I love Ashley.  

She is young,
difficult,
sensuous,
mysterious,
beautiful,
and she could be the spend the rest of my life with.  

She makes me feel truly grateful to be alive.  

I didn’t know my life was only half full until my cup overflowed with her.  

If she read this, she’d ignore all the things so far and concentrate on the word difficult.
Now it seems, she too, will no longer be part of my life. 
I am in a state of constant anticipation. 

After a more than tumultuous weekend of fighting
and disappointment
I fled from the house,
afraid for my sanity,
grumpy
and bitchy. 

My sanity is a tenuous thing,
held together by AA mantras
and an almost preternatural ability to deflect with humor. 

Now, after I have outlined my concerns with my most familiar tool and sent it through the Ether, I wait for her to call. 

 
This outcome is not a surprise. 

We fought. 

We yelled. 

We cried. 

I have been in more disagreements with her than with everyone else in my life put together for the last 8 years of sobriety. 

I fight and yell because that is my other true love, drama.

I love drama,
and turmoil,
and conflict,
and unease,
and heartache. 

Just in time,
when the scars of Jen Langley were almost unnoticeable,
I managed to find another girl just like her. 
Intelligent
brooding
beautiful
dark haired
white skinned
psych major

I offered her my heart to break
and she lived up to my expectations.

It’s almost like I missed the pain, 
I reminisce with it about love 
It is a good friend who has stayed with me 32 times longer than any woman. 
Even now, I don’t truly know her decision, but I can expect nothing but the pain I have cultivated. 

It’s that spot,
half way between your heart
and your stomach,
that hurts,
and binds,
that makes you know you’re in love……
miserable….
scared….
and more alive than you’ve been in years.
Now,
do I actively harness this torment,
this feeling,
and use it to execute a planed series of events? 

Is this the fuel that drives me to the gym,
that moves my brush over canvas,
that speeds my fingers over keys? 

Does it burn so hot that it can only be used to destroy?
Do I ignore it,
and have it consume me from within…

Exploding out of me in unanticipated and destructive ways. 
It would only serve to further my addiction to drama.
In absentia, my choices will be determined by indecision.
I will choose to wallow,
and rut
until I don’t.
I will choose to build,
to grow,
but only after I’ve torn this life down.
I hope when it’s all over,
I’m skinny.
 
 If you do not change direction, you may end up….
 
Thank you for still reading my most sef lindulgent drivel.