The boys invited me out to Wing-Stop tomorrow after I get off work. I’m going, totally, and why shouldn’t I go? I have apprehensions, but those guys all look up to me, and I’m the commissioner of the fantasy football league for fuck’s sake! And rightfully so. I’m not a follower, I’m a leader, and I’m only really happy when I lead by a rock-solid example. I just go out there and fucking nail it like 90% of the time dude. I rarely get kickback about things, and when those guys have a question, they come to me and ask me what to do. I don’t go to them and ask them what the fuck to do, I just KNOW. And even the more veteran guys like Steven and Ryan are coming to me with their billing questions. Yeah. And Mike is at no end of wanting to introduce me to people, which I don’t mind at all. Dave actually came by and shook my hand today and said that he was not going to be in on Friday and wished me a good weekend. Badass, right? Things have been clicking.
Now, if only I could get over her.
I’m still struggling with a lot of raw, munched up feelings all not sure what to do with themselves. Feeling hopelessly lost, unrequited, perishing slowly like the embers of some great wildfire. Nestled deep in the scorched ruin, they burn.
I imagine that people do move on from these sorts of things, but it takes it’s sweet time bleeding itself out of you. I’ve tried fucking everything to get over this sadness, and still, it lingers. It hangs around, collecting tadpoles and heating quickly in the summer sun. I’m through with it!
But my words are ultimately meaningless, because I’m still feeling the same way as before. I’m still locked in a deep struggle with regret and pain. I’ll eventually find my way back to the surface again, but I don’t have a schedule or a need to just be like “poof” I’m cured. I’d prefer to think that genuine reactions, real, deep feelings that are hurt and that remember do not just get over it in a minute. That tells me that they were never that deep to begin with, as the palate itself is the limiting factor in the creative potential of the painting. And why have I done this tom myself, falling in love for beautiful women who had disturbing families and regrettable flaws? I’ve done wretched things at their whim to have me do so. I’ve endured such humiliation from them, repeatedly. I’ve been beaten, bitten, struck, ripped, pounded and castigated on countless occasions in which I have been unrelentingly subjected to abuse and not reacted but to hide myself in a ball and weather the storm. It’s been so hard to find out what love could really be like, when I’ve tried to make it with so many unfulfilled, morally confused people. When I’ve been forced to swallow love, choke down my sadness, forever, more than once. The amount of heartache I’ve put my family through is hard to fathom. It’s a deep history mired with regrettable pairings, hardy (well intended) endorsements, and destructive outcomes. Enough of that, I say.
I’m just going to go out with the guys and have a rad ass time, and take it easy on a Friday evening. And talk football. Hell yes.