The princess and her pea 2006-06-08 8:53 p.m.


I've had a strange week.

A week of praise.

A week of wonder.

A week of people letting me know what I mean to them... from good friends to my mother-in-law... words like "no one has ever or could ever compare to you."

It makes me feel like I'm dying.

Maybe they all know something I don't.

I've had a week of saddness... of disappoinment... and I couldn't give a fuck about the Oilers right now... when my cousin's wife dies... and my friend's ex finds out he has cancer... and another cousin tells me she's having a baby. Why do I care about the play-offs? I don't.

I have had a week of song... of messages with you signing to me like I'm worthy... again, where am I going that you need to serenade me? Why do you waste your time on this girl?

I have had a week of shaking my head and feeling tired all the time... a week of puzzle pieces being flung from the firing squad. When did I become a target? Oh right... I always have been.

None of those pieces fit. I still have holes... and I can't find the cover to guide me.

I have had a week of being confused by my brain. By its mechanics... by its shape... literally, by the way it is shaped - at least some of the tiniest pieces of it. Yours is shaped like the earth... mine is shaped like the moon. I am different than you... from your olive skin... and doe like eyes... to your long legs and your perfect brain... all I can think to say is "Fuck you".

Yes... fuck you... for signing to me. For pretending you're happy. For pretending you understand the mystery of my unhappiness.

Maybe you're right. Maybe I love misery. Maybe I just want company.

That's the kind of week I've had. Everything in tangle. Everything in rhyme...

Every sonofabitch who thinks they can go on living they way they live is lying... We cannot live alone and be happy. Let's be honest. We all need our blairs... and our davys... our grants and our marcs and our girls to ground us. We all need those people to remind us that we are nothing when we're standing alone in the shower... we're nothing when we're naked.

Nothing but a mess of blood and bone... with a heart that barely pumps... and lungs too sore to breathe anymore. A crumpled up piece of paper on the floor somewhere between where we're going and where we've been...

That's who we all are... that's where we meet...

I am the princess on a bed of flaming fucking stones... and you... well... you're the bastard who can sleep through anything.


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