Chin Up, Heads up

I was considering starting a new blog and only telling certain people where it was... starting over with a clean writing slate to start my new life slate. But I consider that quitting.

I choose instead to refuse to overlook the fact that I was remarkably happy for a long time. I was happy because I was so in love I couldn't understand it. I was happy because I loved well and was loved well. I learned what it takes to know somebody, and I learned what it means to be known. This is more of a stamp on me than all of you; I need to air out the truth before I bury it in bitterness. If I bury it, rain will wash its shield away, and I'm sick and tired of standing in the rain.

He doesn't want me. He doesn't love me. I'm not what's best for him. I thought I knew best and I didn't. There is doubtlessly someone better for me. Though I'll have to see it to believe it, there is someone better for him. (hahah, classic spin on that, eh? whatevs, it's the truth, yo.) I don't love him anymore. We are not headed in the same direction. We will not get married, we will not have children, and we will not see our children have children. I need new associations for my favorite music, and I need a new perfume. This month and a half was torturous, and I'd like some cussin sunshine, already. My happiness has been wearing a raincoat, and it's time to break out the minidress. Hoots and hollers accepted.

[Pandora's current needle in my voodoo life: "Walking With A Ghost" - Tegan and Sara. never fails.]

I need to stop questioning if my feelings are feelings or coping mechanisms. Everything's a damn coping mechanism, and everything's a damn feeling. Let's cope and feel and cope some more. I can simultaneously cope and feel, and I intend to. I will not find new space for my thoughts because my thoughts go here. He'll always know where to find them, and that's unnerving, but at this point, I feel most unnerved when I'm not unnerved.

Before you pat yourself on the back for seeing through me, remember that this transparency isn't invisible (ooooh). This is an entry here in this blog because I need it to be. Cliches are only cliches because they meant enough to be overused until the imaginary threshold of significance voted them off the Island of Profundity. Well this is my blog, and I'm sunbathing on a personalized Island of Profundity. You might not care to join me, but you're welcome regardless. You might have to kayak over from yours, but I'll be waiting with Scrabble and rum punch.

Cheers.