Hold on to what is good even if it is a handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe even if it is a tree which stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do even if it is a long way from here.
Hold on to life even when it is easier letting go.
Hold on to my hand even when I have gone away from you.
- Pueblo Blessing
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Monday, Nov. 17, 2003 - 2:29 a.m.
WARNING!!!! if you know me personally, you may read my diary, but if you do, you take the chance of hearing things you don't want to know, misunderstanding what I've written and being hurt by it. If you are unsure if it is ok to read, save yourself and me the grief and heartache, and ask first!!! Please note that this is a DIARY, ie my subjective feelings, hearsay, suppositions, and outpourings of ranting of the moment. It does not represent objective news, the whole of what I think of a topic or someone, or even a thought-out representation of any of the above. Keep that in mind. Thanks. * Here is a Diary Etiquette Read Me.
Hate is another name for Sad gone Bad
I hate
I hate that you took your candelabra to the vampire scene. When i think of it I think of your house where we were and i feel violated.
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| graffiti, Montreal, photo copyright 2003 Wench77 |
I hate that you flirted by email with KO when you were missing me in July.
I hate that you wanted me to draw on your moustache to please her.
I hate that you couldnt get me a table but you could give her your bedcovers on a night when you were freezing.
I hate that you went with her to Sunday night's dance.
I hate that I had to keep wandering around like some lost orphan trying not to bump into you two, or be put on the spot to stay or go if you showed up and both were hurtful and excluding me.
I hate that you put me through that so I have a drama reputation when I was going to stay home and avoid any unpleasantness.
I hate it that I had to look pitiful as everyone took down their tents on Monday and packed out and you still hadnt shown up.
I hate it that I will not ever feel comfortable again in Hell's Kitchen because of your messes.
I hate it that I had to spend hundreds of dollars, nearly a thousand, to spend more time alone in a disgusting Detroit bus depot than having fun with you.
I hate it that I never got to take you to the PowerExchange when we were ok, that you fucked that up.
I hate it that you were dishonest with me about that Friday meeting and wanting to go.
I hate it that you promised me and told me all those things that you wanted and begged me and then let me down.
I hate it that I think of all the things in Montreal in the context of your next visit, which never happened.
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| graffiti, Montreal, photo copyright 2003 Wench77 |
I hate it that you couldnt just leave it when I came home in June, and then we couldve been friends or fuckmates or whatever that would be nice, instead of adding to the people who avoid me in this world.
I hate it that you couldnt respect any of the boundaries I put on seeing you... the sex, the miss red black lips, the time with corncob. You said, it is painful but I respect that. You didnt respect a fucking thing.
I hate it that you encouraged me to domme you and then squidged out of it, and then finally put me down by comparing me with a professional so now I am scared and insecure about it.
I hate that you told me you wanted to be my wife and life partner, and the next time someone tells me that, cuz it never happened before, that I will cringe.
I hate that so many nice things that enrich my life that you gave me are now tainted with sadness and anger.
I hate it that you shared photos with corncob without asking me, that now I will forever be suspicious of people wanting to take photos of me.
I hate that I had to put down my foot on you using photos of mine cuz I cannot trust you have any judgement. I gave those photos to you and took photos with you cuz i wanted you to have them, not because I wanted to have to threaten you with lawsuits.
I hate it that your cousin could drive me 5 hours and then drive 5 hours back just to get me to you, and I probably didnt spend that many nonsleeping hours with you. Did you give me 10 hours of your time?
I hate it that you shouted at me when I had already waited 20 minutes. Stand there, so she knows i'm there, and she'll acknowledge me, and then I can say something. Bullshit. I was standing there for 20 minutes, she knew I was there from the moment we arrived. No one acknowledged me and 20 minutes is absolutely disrespectful to make someone wait when you say "give us a sec".
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| Hold me tie for another night, graffiti Montreal, photo copyright 2003 Wench77 |
I hate it that the person who was my best friend was the person who treated me the absolute worst every fucking day there.
I hate it that you don't send back my stuff, because I would like for once to feel something nice about you since then.
I hate it that the people that you fucked me around with were people I liked before. At least if it had been strangers I didnt care to know.
I hate it that you didnt trust me, and kept saying stupid things like I'd leave you, and that you're not my type.
I hate it that you wouldnt put any any effort into brainstorming how to work things out, and then said you didnt choose me because you didnt want to move to Vermont. Vermont. That is like me saying "let's go to the circus" and then you breaking up with me cuz you don't want to go to the circus. Well, maybe people are a little more flexible and might be willing and very happy to go to a movie or to dinner instead of the circus. Vermont.
I hate it that the most valuable thing you gave me was the feeling that you would stand by me, and that is exactly what you DID NOT DO. At least if my most valuable thing was that you bought me lingerie, I wouldve been happy cuz you did.
I am so sad I am so sad.
I hate it.
I wish I could hate you. But i dont. I want to hold out my hand. I want to hold out my hand and have you take it. I would have tears in my eyes. And I would hug you and would say, I know you are sad and hate it too.
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previous meanderings - future past
Goodbye Michael. May your next life be kinder to you. - Thursday, Jun. 25, 2009
Taking Care of Your Cows - Thursday, Jun. 25, 2009
Saint Joseph robs the cradle and eats spaghetti - Sunday, Jun. 14, 2009
sticky notes and broken irises - Friday, Jun. 12, 2009
The FOODCOMMANDER - Monday, Jun. 08, 2009
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