the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing
2017-05-19 9:04 p.m.

so i dreamt about coming to ben last night while he slept. and it was in the apartment my dad lived in while i grew up. which was a "refurbished" long term care facility with safety cords to pull if you fell down helpless. i remember pulling them for no reason. like daring the wall to react to the antics of a firstgrader.

i've had the same dream before. or the same feeling in the dream where i decide to sleep with ben even though i don't want to and it repulses me. or i should say didn't want to and repulsed me. but the present tense holds true despite, i don't know. i don't understand why i dream about this a decade after he left. i still remember we last spoke on my birthday. 2009? maybe. and he called from chicago to say, "happy birthday, birthday girl." i have cried on every single birthday that i've had. there are photos of me crying on my birthdays throughout my youth. its like a thing. and i guess it was the "birthday girl" that really struck a chord.

this is not to be a sad suicidal entry, but its curious to me why people have a stake in other people living? ok so chris cornell hung himself i guess and people are pretty upset... and posting suicide hotlines or sad emojis in triplet. writing that "we all need help sometimes." well, just maybe, its the best thing that could have happened to him. it seems pretty selfish to want somebody to stick around breathing just because you liked a few songs they wrote in the nineties. maybe the best epilogue anybody one can wish for is to headline a rock show in detroit and call it a day.

or maybe the best doesn't matter. it can be a normal nothing day. i was supposed to wake up early and run with martin, but he is tired, so we canceled. i watched this show first dates while eating peanuts. i hate eating peanuts but i have nothing else. and the show was awful... i mean the people were awful. or normal. predictable and even the ones made to be intriguing were dull.

so i can't really be upset when people think the same of me. there are an infinite number of amazing people in the world, but i'm not one. neither is this guy in san jose. there's nothing wrong with him, but there is nothing that will keep me curious. the hard drug angle perhaps. but that makes me feel like a whore.

being a whore at least implies some desirability. mike took a photo of me at lunch and i can't even look at it. i can't stand that other people have to look at me. face to face. especially fucking and me being on top. even with the kindest man, its hard to be on top. i try to cover my face with my hand like a fucking who the fuck knows. its odd and weird, but i just don't want to be seen. i think i should turn to blindfolding men from here on out.

so that is how i came to now. maybe i am just a girl. standing in front of a glass of whiskey. asking it to love me.

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