scream 2006-07-20 9:15 p.m.


The story was fantastic, Davy....

I don't write fiction. Other than first grade for assignment only... have then I, and never since. I'm not sure that I could... Maybe one day I'll try.

I don't write enough lately.... unless it's small "I love you"s with my cell phone in the midst of a boring afternoon in a sweaty print shop - somewhere northwestern Alberta.

I don't write much except for the things I wish i could say - but can't for one reason of another.

Except for you and my mother, who really wants to read what I write anyway?

I feel tragic this week. I guess the toll of last week is catching up. My stupid infection, my stupid allergy... my poor judgement... my guilt.

I haven't been sleeping for breasts so sore breath kills them... and for a memory as sharp as a needle... and for the junk it pumps into my veins.

Can I survive hating words? I don't think I can, and I think in time it will be that that kills us... are you suppose to enter into a bond like marriage and just make due with the insults... am I suppose to toughen up? I wondered that today on the way home... when, without realizing he demeaned my character for the second time tonight....

First was... "Let's watch this... Judge Judy. You're a lot like her... A bitch. Hot tempered. Always yelling."

And then again in the car getting ice cream... "We ARE going to my bank, and I am making my account joint and you ARE putting your money in it. You have to stand up for your own responsibilities. Your free ride is over."

I don't think he realizes the idiocy of the things he says.

Nothing of these last years has been free... and what I always feared most about marriage is coming true ever-so-slowly. This is why I never wanted anything to do with it. He isn't ALWAYS this way... but I realized tonight that I hardly notice anymore when he is...

We morph... because we're comfortable... we lose respect... because we're comfortable... we kiss less... because we're comfortable... we use hating words and we don't think about it hurting... because we're comfortable it barely hurts... when it should.

We live in a disposable world. We are a disposable generation... and it's easy to walk away as it is to walk towards it... Even now, when we're sure... we don't guarantee anything for longer than 30 days...

5 years, 7 months, 22 days... and I am the bitch... with a temper... and no appreciation for my meal-ticket...

Well... that's because I made my own fucking food.

This was suppose to be a partnership and I'm suppose to be the love of his life... not a burden.... and everytime he says I'm a bitch... or I'm lazy... or I don't care... that I don't love him... that I use him... His words become more true.

Am I suppose to toughen up? Am I suppose to smile? Bend over and relax?

It better be good.


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