Zoey, my naked and tainted muse from work allowed me to creep my fire into her life in bits and pieces. Our relationship? Well, though I had been the supervisor for the Ma and Pa Kennels, Zoey needed little watching.
But watch I did. I creeped her on Facebook. I offered up words of sexual deprivation on Twitter. I kept every single picture of her Up Close and Personal on my phone.
Had I removed the worrisome nude photos of her as my dear old Mother had asked? Shit no! I awoke to them in my left hand as I gently persuaded myself with thoughts of Zoey in my right hand.
Zoey had been the possible attempt by me to make myself a new girlfriend. Things of course, never turn out the way I plan them to.
When new employees arrived for the first day of work little time was spent on training many an afternoon, however, had been spent on regaling some New-B with stories of what I had hoped to do with Zoey. This obsession with a trinket beyond my means went so far as to warn other possible new ‘girlfriends’ of interest, ‘stay away from Zoey. I don’t want you talking to her. You know how jealous I get. Revoke any thoughts of befriending her right this minute.’
Of course that triangle is another chapter in and of itself.
The point being; my need to taint others. Anyone I’ve ever gone out with has managed to find their way back to their old girlfriends. I guess life with me made life with someone else not look so bad.
Text me now, I need you. I’m just moody today, leave me alone. Never ever be friendly with anyone and tell me about it.
On and on and on.
I burnt cards owned by someone scorched by my being. I’ve surrounded others with rumors of such ill contempt that many would follow suit and soon my enemy would be bullied out of the friendly circle altogether.
The pills I take don’t do much. Again, I have a bought by Mommy and Daddy therapist that doesn’t ask questions and hands out any script I ask for. Our fifteen minute session never dips deep into my neurosis. My need to collect knives and sharpen them on my skin. My vain attempts at suicide. I don’t have a problem; it’s everyone else I come in contact with!
Does the Mr. No Ethics Therapist care that I drink myself into bathtubs, naked with no idea of how I got there. Does he know that I can give the world’s greatest blow job but yet I claim to be a lesbian?
No, I have tainted him enough with ‘I’m okay, you’re okay’- that I just get my anti-psychotic meds, a nod of approval and a promise to see each other in another six weeks.
Stained, tainted, warned, I should continue to remain in the attic of my soul with no hope of release. I am the future, so I’ve been told. The future of what? Does anyone truly trust a wanna-be adult like myself with worldly decisions? Continue reading Tainted