So much shit has happened, yet it seems like nothing has happened at all.
Every day I ride the bus to work, I look out the window and at the people around me and I think, "I'm in a new fucking life. I'm here."
It's not completely true, of course. My hands and face and legs are still the same.
My skin still remembers all the things it touched and the things that ran goosebumps across it.
My heart is still the same one.
But shit. This is all new.
* * * *
This week I did "spirituality night." Each one of us gets a turn to put together a spiritual activity or exercise for us to do together. Keep us grounded inside.
I had everyone write poetry.
Here's the one I wrote for James:
After reading it out loud in front of everybody, I thought 'Fuck. Is that about someone?'
Nah.
I really wish Rebecca didn't irritate me so fucking much.
She's not a bad person.
Ha. Why do we always say that to justify talking shit about someone?
"_____'s not a bad person. But I can't fucking stand _____"
Say what you really wanna say, dick.
What I really wanna say is that she's someone who I can't seem to find a common resting place with. The moments we have that are quiet and friendly and nice come from me not really being me. I have to get super basically "nice" to have things be chill between us. Like, "Yeah, the rain is so nice. It is hard to get rained on, though. That's true." Or, "Yeah he's so funny. Yeah he's always got jokes."
Fuck.
Trust me I'm getting tired of myself feeling this way.
Wendy used to say that when you don't like someone it's because they remind you of something you don't like about yourself.
I keep looking for that thing in myself that she reminds me of, but I can't find it.
Maybe it's the judginess. Maybe it's the holier than thou attitude. Maybe it's some other shit.
Maybe there's nothing and I just have to fucking grow up and deal with a person who I disagree with on almost everything.
Bad note to leave this off on, but I gotta go for now.
See ya homes,
Your babe
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