Why do I only come here when my thoughts are churning like a tornado on crack???

Oh yeah...
maybe it's because I think best with my fingers.
It's not very convenient; especially for verbal communications.
Gah.
Why do I keep trying so hard to fuck up my budding relationship???
Answer: probably because I'm not really ready for a new Relationship.
In case you hadn't noticed, it takes a lot of work to sustain one of those over time.
Yeah, I know, it's a shocker.
A fucking new idea, man.
And I'm pretty much tapped on from that last one...
but my reserves are building and I know what it takes, but maybe that's the problem...?
I know too well what it takes...I get tired just thinking about it.

The thing is...
I know I'm worth more of his attention, I just know it.
And I know he digs me.
He really does.
SO WHAT THE BLOODY FUCKING HELL IS THE ISSUE??????
Yes, that is what I would like to scream at him.
But I don't.
I just smile and nod and play Pleasant/Polite/PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE.
Hey, Lisa?
STOP IT.
Speak your mind, you fucking moron, tell him it is NOT OK that he is never available.
(yes, I'm chastising myself here--stand back)
But no, I don't.
I wait until I've hung up and the tears jump out of my eyes and the sobs leap out of my throat and I find myself sitting on the floor in my pitch-dark bathroom, the traffic on my emotional highway merging from sad into angry.
And then, when anger arrives I text him.
Because, don't forget, I'M PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE as a motherfucker.
I don't even know what I want anymore.
Him.
I want him.
And I know he wants me, but Jesus hairy ball sack Christ!
Why didn't someone warn me that dating is PURE, CRYSTALIZED HELL ON EARTH????
God dammit.
Give me back my shitty and unfulfilling marriage cuz I can't take this torture anymore!!!!
I'll call you tomorrow when I'm not so tired. We should talk.
Uh, yeah. Are ya sure??
I mean, technically there are two hours and 31 minutes left in today, the "tomorrow" you mentioned, but no.
Not a word from you.
My hair happens to look so fucking great right now that I'm considering heading out to the neighborhood bar just to let someone else look at me, I mean, they probably don't deserve to be graced with my beauty, but shit, this kind of hair day doesn't happen every...day....that felt redundant.
But whatever.
Not that this is about my hair, or my appearance at all, but still.
At least I have a date for New Year's Eve.
A guy friend who wants to date me...but ya know...I'm hung up on this other fella so it's hard to see him as more than a friend.
It's hard to see anyone else that asks me out as anything but a weak and unsatisfactory replacement for this other fella.
But I guess that's what I get.
That's my punishment for expecting divorce to make me happier.
Divorce is supposed to make you miserable, right??
Right.
So bring it the fuck on, universe--
I'm ready for your worst!

Yeah.

I just want to quiet the inner turmoil.
Feed the demons, etc.
But...that's not what I want.
I want to be happy, I want to be in love.
But maybe the two are mutually exclusive for me, for now.
And maybe this is why I have avoided being in love for the past 14 years...
Because, goddammit, opening oneself up to love deeply just opens oneself up to excruciating pain.
What happened to that Embracing All Emotions attitude that I adopted to nobly face my life as an "artist"?
Yeah.
It's hiding somewhere far away and refuses to grace me with its humble presence and I am cringing here in the bright light of Reality while waiting for the screaming masses of Crazy to descend upon me, as they would if I were really an artist.

Well.
...time for a check-in with the Bright Side Seekers committe, the Silver Panty Liner Gals--
Tomorrow or the next day I should be receiving my new painting.
And today I got a $200 check from Google for my Ads, so even though their very content offends my fickle nature, I will cash that check and party it up!
Happy New Year, indeed!

And now, because I feel it roll off my tongue, may I present:

Poetry for pussies--

Put something in me
Fill me, fuck me
Make me ache
Lick me raw
Shave me smooth.
But do it quick,
cuz I'm tired and sick
of you.

...what?
Did you think I was going to be all figurative and metaphorical and shit??
Nah; that stuff's for pussies.
Heh.

I hereby set myself free of all my angst and all my expectations!
Tonight is mine, tomorrow y'all can come back of you must...
But.
For tonight I choose happiness.
That boy be damned--
he's as scared of commitment as I am and we will find our way soon enough.
Because he...he fits inside my soul like I fit in that corset he loves
and he fits inside my body like sex was invented just to define the phenomenon of Us.
...our limbs intertwining and responding and writhing and---
fuck.
Good thing I replaced the batteries in that one thing...

(yes, I'm as glad to see the Crazy Bitch known as the Bored Housewife as the rest of you...maybe my fatigued and perpetually-on-the-verge-of-tears self will be entertaining to someone...)

P.S. I just composed an "I miss you" email to the Soon To Be Ex...fortunately the tears and snot factory sent me running for tissues which gave me the chance to come to my senses before sending it. Gah. I think this calls for getting drunk and fucking a stranger, whadda ya say? Ok, fine. I'll just binge eat.
P.S.S. My head feels like a block of cheese that has been shot through with a machine gun; no, not Swiss Cheese--the bullets ripping through fleshiness is an important part of the image! The swiss are far too uninvolved to convey my feelings with accuracy. They're terrible marksmen, too.