I toss that vain and vulgar thought around in my head.
I explained to Beckett Couvillion the third that the gym was not in the cards for him today. I just wasn’t feeling it. I did tell him the short hairs revelation. He cocked his head and seemed dismayed at the insult. I patted his curls, gave him a kiss on the head and whispered in his ear…
Not, you silly, Mum!
Recently, I had found the need to come down from the attic where the daybed and broken fancy French bed and computer and iPod and big screen TV and pills galore and dirty soiled gray sweat items litter the floor.
Recently I put my life on hold…
Give me a sec. my mom is being a bitch because I left the TV. What a douche bag!
Ok I’m back
No I was watching the women’s tennis final and I got yelled at because I stopped watching and got up for food, too much food from what she’s bitching about!
Don’t remember who I had been texting. Probably Zoey. Complaining to her about how life on the internet for Ambien Grace has turned into a three ring circus. How I have soiled myself once again. However, this time, more than Concord NH is in the audience.
That had been a vacant thought about 4 months ago.
Facebook is no longer my domain; Mum put an end to that. The family name is being tossed about like trash being left behind in an old abandoned trailer park.
On Facebook alone I wrote, spoke and alluded to loving my ex-girlfriend the psycho bitch: 1,961 times. Stuff like,
Not seeing you for a couple days kill me…it’s like I’m not whole…
Seeing you was the best part of my day. The only good thing. I got to be in your arms and feel your hands all over my body. So I am going to keep thinking about the hour we spent together. I will keep you and my heart forever. You are my only love!
Good stuff, huh? I have the same grungy sweatpants on, the ones that I have cut the pocket out of; ease access if you know what I mean. And, even they are no longer hiding my full figure form. For added measure a little fashion had been complemented to my workout ensemble I have worn the ‘stained with chocolate but still very usable gray UNH wildcats t-shirt. My bra feels like a straight jacket and my two sizes too small pair of thongs could be used to floss someone’s teeth. Sweat pours off me as I push myself to walk the treadmill at least five more minutes. My mantra; I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, so on and so forth.
You know what gets me? Love. I have given that word out so many times and it still doesn’t work. Now, no Facebook, no Twitter, no MySpace, no blogs, no nudity! I have been banned from exposing the underbelly of my genetic make-up. Yet, all the pleas of love and forever-ness were nothing but vacant childish attempts at immediate gratification.
So, now, with dimmed down self-analysis in hand, I am really pissed! What if more gets out about my sordid thinking? The kinky backdoor sex? The pleas for more and more rough behavior.
What of the time sex got so out our hands in the cab of Kate’s truck her horn kept going off. Legs thrusting against the steering wheel, honk, honk, honk. It had been akin to an announcement to the patrons of Horseshoe Pond Conservation area:
Hey, fishermen, parents with their children and dog walkers, we have arrived, do not disturb!
I’ve found peace somewhat in knowing that I had been used. I found some understanding in the idea that Kate knew all along I had no idea what love is.
Kate most likely was and is a firm believer in What’s love got to do with it?
Oh, well, clues are for people who can follow direction. Love isn’t for those of us who can’t follow the clues. We are the clueless unloved!