Thursday, November 22, 2007

The Last Day

I’m sitting here on my couch, pretty crumpled, scratched and battered after two solid days in bed, sleeping away time. Nick Cave is gently coaxing out emotion from a frustrated soul tonight. Words are lost and I’m just here, being crumpled.

I have been trying to write this entry for weeks. I simply can’t get there. I can’t get this part to spill over onto the screen – it all seems too damn private and in some places, too damn hard to admit. The two newest chapters cannot sit on the same page as they are so very far apart, and I don’t want one to infect the other. Both are things I never thought would happen; one has made me deliriously happy, the other - heart-achingly sad. I’m scared, angry and hopeful and right now, I just want to walk off into the sunset, holding his hand, without looking back.

I think, perhaps, I will stop here for the night. Maybe at some point in the next few days, I’ll find the courage or clarity that I think I need to keep going with this - even though the temptation now, is to write in big, theatrical, Warner Brother’s style letters…"THE END".

I want my sunset, my happy ending. I want my fade to black through a diminishing hole. I’m done. I am no longer the person I thought I was and the one person I thought would never fail me has done exactly that. I doubt anything will ever be the same again. I’m glad it won’t be because what I am feeling, feels like the most almighty of losses and now I know what it is, I just want to dump it, to wriggle out from under its heavy, suffocating folds, step over it, and walk away. I’ve given it/them all too much time, too much of my damn life – and for what? For nothing. My ex once told me: “The simplest answer, is usually the right one.” I think he might have been right.

And now, do you know what? I think it is time...my big finale, my happy ending. I choose to say, “STOP. NO MORE.” I choose to let it all go. I choose to walk into my own goddamn sunset and I choose that this is the time for my new beginning.

So, “Thank you and goodnight to you…” She nods at an unsuspecting crowd, “…and to you…” She turns to look at herself in a mirror that suddenly appears left of stage, “…you can fuck off an’ all...”

THE END (Yes, it really, really is)

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Imagine that. L-I-F-E. Almost daring to suggest that I have one?
Life has been getting in the way of my posting.

Thursday, November 08, 2007

1 Year, 72 Days - Posted 1 Year, 77 Days

Scratch all that bollocks about boys - I have more important things on my mind, like…ooh, the rapidly decreasing size of my main airway. I have tonsillitis. Big angry, grown up, tonsillitis. Gone are the heady days of childhood, when one would proudly set off to school, wrapped in woollen items that pointlessly flapped around purposefully set shoulders (as soon as you were out of your mother’s eyesight and earshot of course). Excited, exhilarated and desperate to show all your mates how gross the back of your infected throat looked; it was a beautiful fleshy version of Show and Tell. Instead I find myself under my duvet - way, way under; panicking. I am going to be found cold and grey and stiff-as-a-board - dead. I don’t even have a bloody cat to gnaw at my lifeless face flesh. What a failure.

So shot to ribbons my dear immune system seems to be these days, that I get every bug going; the latter being a pustulating oral mass of lymphoid tissue that fills up three-and-a-half-quarters of the back of my throat. Nice. And very attractive.

This latest burst of infectious hostility can undoubtedly be attributed to the THREE (yes, three) courses of antibiotics that I have consumed in the last month/s - all taken with the sole aim of kicking a cacophony of germs asses. This course is numero quattro. Four courses of wonder drugs that bulldoze any healthy bacteria you happen to have left in your weary system if you consume vast amounts of prescribed toxic waste every day. I thought the whole point of tonsils was to ward off infections? Pointless bits of swollen ulcerated, hanging matter.

A pissing newborn could shake this shit off faster than I. And I missed a night out.