So now I’m packing to move to back to VA.

I have this long entry written out in my head about relationships and how they’re so fucking hard and how people don’t talk about how they’re so fucking hard because they use all their energy trying to project to the world that their relationship is flawless and make the rest of us feel even more insane because of how fucking hard our relationship is and I guess we’re the only ones that struggle because every one is just having a good ole fucking time fucking all the time even!

I want to write about this. With less curse words. But then, I don’t want to be the first one–just in case nobody else has these problems — in which case — hey my relationship is effortlessly flawless too.

Not really.

I’ve just got other stuff to do first. Like de-cluttering to move. I want to go through all these old journals that have just a few pages written in them and just burn everything. Including the written pages. That seems tragic doesn’t it? The only purpose rereading old journals serves is reminding me that I was a bloody awful whiny writer, good god, and that not a whole lot has changed.

I didn’t really make any realistic (or as is usually the case unrealistic) new years resolutions other than to learn Chinese because I read in a book that Ted Bundy learned Chinese.

—this was a few months after I started dating Ken. Who is half Chinese.  And I have a desire to learn Chinese because some dead serial killer probably learned the fundamental basics of it?  I’m weird.

Ken says he farted while holding his crotch.  I looked at him and asked, “did you fart out of your penis?”  It’s OK, because it wasn’t stinky.  He put the ottoman on the bed because he thought he was clever.

—I don’t remember being high when I wrote this, but then I guess that’s the point.

My therapist asked me today what would make me happy and I said I wanted to be smart.  Then she asked me to define smart and I couldn’t.  Then we sat there in silence staring at one another while the silence spoke more volumes than anything I could have possibly said after that. Then I said, “sure, rub it in bitch.” 

—She really made me focus a lot on why I didn’t think I was smart and when I said I didn’t feel like other people thought of me as smart–she tried to explain that we shouldn’t care what other people think of us, only what we think of ourselves.  I was like…yeah I don’t think I’m smart–I really feel like the therapy is going in circles here lady.

One Comment

  1. Martie
    Posted June 30, 2009 at 10:07 pm | Permalink

    Oh, girl. My relationship isn’t great all the time. We are broke. His kids are shit heads. Mine are turds. They fight. His ex wife is a total bitch. TOTAL. My Father in law is grouchy, mean and has screamed “shut UP!” in my kids faces one time to many. I don’t have a job. Our house isnt finished. So, see. No bed of roses here–tho we do have sex every night (sorry).

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