Fuck You November.
I haven’t written in my blog for a few months. Not that I haven’t wanted to, or had witty, urbane remarks to make, it’s just that sometimes you have to wait until it festers. And fester it has.
Yep. November. You can fuck off. I know it’s my birthday month, but I am so tired of everything that has been assaulting me and my life for decades now. I don’t know what I did in a former life, but it HAD to be awful, because every day I freaking pay for it.
And really, it’s cold, There’s snow, and even after 25 or more years, as we roll up on next week I still wonder what could have been if I had simply said get on a plane that night instead of I’ll be there in three weeks. I know it wasn’t meant to be different, but the ache is still there, and no one has yet to fill that void. And no one has ever really understood what it all meant and what it meant to lose you.
So yeah. On days like today, when every fucking thing seems to be falling apart around me, and life seems like some really bad joke that keeps getting repeated…I just wish I could sit in silence with you and have it all be better.
I know it will get better. It always does. It just doesn’t help not having anyone to sit on a curb with me and let me break down. I need to break down. I don’t need someone to put me back together, but I need that safety of being able to collapse in a blubbering, snot-blowing heap, without someone trying to make it better. I need some to agree that it sucks and let me wallow. I am sick of holding it together.
So yeah. Fuck you November. You and your cold empty days and frigid nights. I want to sleep on a bed of California stars.