retrospective lens

I always thought jealousy was sexy. I'm a comfort porn writer, what the fuck do you expect? Unrealistic romantic idealism is my wheelhouse.

Not corrosive, irrational, restrictive jealousy, mind you. Adorably possessive, I'm not afraid to show you that I don't want you with anyone else kind of jealousy. If a partner of mine wasn't naturally jealous, it stirred up all sorts of stupid girly insecurities like, 'He doesn't like me anymore." or 'he'd let the entire Saints team plow me without a second thought and omigod what an asshole'. You know, sensible reactions like that.

But now I'm starting to realize the benefits of one being so confident about someone's feelings for you. Being responsible for someone else's insecurities is fucking exhausting. Constantly reassuring them, reiterating yourself every five fucking seconds. Making excuses for shit you have every right to feel or do. Constantly walking on eggshells, wary of being yourself, taking blame for things that you have no control over. I was a fucking idiot to ever think that jealousy was an attractive trait in someone. Sure, I still do like the adorably possessive kind, but that can quickly turn into a rancid dish, given the wrong ingredients, and an inexperienced cook.

Fuck. Girls are exhausting. I'm sorry, boys. We're a pain in the dick. Sure, we do have to bleed for seven days without dying, but jesus christ almighty, we're tiring. Some of you REALLY don't want dicks up your bum, is all I can think of.

I haven't been in the habit of trying to explain myself to other people for the things I do or say in a long time, and to start now would be counterproductive to my journey. Like he used to tell me-might as well do what you're accusing me of, at least I'd be getting the fun with the bullshit.

Captain Clonopin is anchoring in my harbor and although I do need to get some stuff done, fuck it chuck it football is the name of the game. Training three people is exhausting, even if they are quick studies. Soon to be four on Thursday.

-rae

what are you doing? i ask my ceiling

where are you

and who are you talking to

as time slips past us?