mainsqueeze's Diaryland
Diary
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sigh.
Taken from paper journal, entry dated 6-6-2007:
Last night I stood in the parking lot for forty minutes after work talking with an old friend about our most recent doomed relationships. Erika has been dating her current boyfriend for three months now, says the sex is so bad so has resorted to coming up with the most outrageous scenarios possible to liven things up. A few nights ago they fucked in a kiddie pool full of whipped cream and the night after that she tossed him into the bathtub and pissed on his chest. She says the next item on her agenda is to try blood wrestling with pig's blood from a butcher shop. I asked her, if it turns out she likes pig blood sex, what will she do after they get sick of that? I mean, what is the next step after you have sex in clotted, rotting pigs' blood? As for me, well, I guess I'm kinda seeing a new guy nopw but the problem is I forget his name from time to time and when I kiss him, I find my mind wandering to Dan. Always back to Dan, damnit. So, as far as my very vivid imagination is concerned, I am kissing Dan, and I love kissing Dan, he feels so amazing and perfect and I think I may be the luckiest, happiest person alive and then I open my eyes and he isn't there at all. I called the New Guy "Dan," about four times the night I met him, luckily caught myself just before whispering the wrong name when he kissed me. Mikey V was with Erie last night and he said, after listening to my woeful tale, that it sounded like something good was thrown away (except he said it with more swearing and a wee bit angrier) and when he said that, I thought that was the best way I could ever describe something like this. I guess I knew I was a throw-away girlfriend from the beginning, but then I am a creature of habit and I am not sure what I would do if I was ever with somebody who wanted to keep me. Erika is planning pig blood sex and I am pining away for my ex-boyfriend. Doomed. I have never in my life been one to skip meals or miss out on sleep due to a tiny dose of heartache but my stomach has forgotten that it is made of steel and my brain wants me to stay awake so bad it concocts the most evil, horrific nightmares possible so that when I finally do doze off, I wake up shortly thereafter panting and sweating and too afraid to try to go back to bed. I had a dream that I drowned in a shark tank at an amusement park the other night and I woke up gasping and terrified. Danny W from work, after hearing the other details of the dream, wondered aloud what kind of situation I would have had to have gotten myself into to make that dream relevant in any way. I called U of M today to find out when my decision would be arriving and thy told me it had been sent on May 1st and then the man on the other end of the line adopted this bullshit sympathetic tone and said, "You were denied." I didn't even have the presence of mind to ask why, just thanked him and hung up and leaned against the kitchen counter for ten minutes staring at the floor with a lump in my throat that felt as big as a fucking canned ham. Denied. All these years everybody has always told me how smart I am, how successful I'll be in life, and this, oh man, this knocked me down more than just a peg or two. Flat on my ass, baby, and I had my phone in my hand and was dialing Dan's number before I realized what I was doing. I walked into work today and the sun played a trick on me so that when I walked toward the flickering lights on the slot machines, the whole room seemed to darken ominously. I felt like I was in a scene from A Christmas Carol and the Ghost of Christmas to Come was gonna pop out from around the corner and lead me back to my office where I would see myself at age forty hunched over my desk fucking weeping because I never made anything of myself while I was young and I was still supervising at a shitty, dumpy casino, still falling in love with the wrong boys, still broke, still struggling and getting older and older by the second.
7:38 p.m. - 2007-06-07
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