Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Day Seven: Fumbling

I breakfast with Beautiful Girl, two days in a row. Sunshine, patio, internet, business, boyfriends. She knows me. She knows nearly everything. I have written her paeans, she has been my favorite girl to flirt with.

The flirting is gone - we are deeper friends than ever, we can say anything, but we no longer say that. Perhaps it's the way I've shrunk while she's expanded. Maybe it's that we're both wrapped up in Boy Troubles. Maybe it's that I can barely juggle whoring and wifing and dying inside a little every day, let alone adding another orange to the pattern. Mill's Mess, indeed.

The first day, I realize, she is right. I should be moving on. The second day, she sits across from the table and sends me this. Yes. That is how I feel.

I speak to Be-My-Real-Friend. I wonder if he feels left out, that I haven't written yet about our last time together. It's on a napkin, it's in the notebook. Many things are in the notebook. Big City Lover - an hour's pleasure. A musician and a video chat (he's emailed twice, just the sort of thing that makes my ego beat a little faster, I cannot bring myself to answer). Folk Rocker and the writing block and how it passed.

And I lie next to my husband, ostensibly napping, and I wake weeping because I realize this is it, it's not fun any more. Writing isn't fun any more. Whoring isn't fun any more. Fucking isn't fun any more. Even the challenge of thirty days has been mired in work, work, work - it's been 21 days without a day off, 21 days of bed after dawn, wake before noon, manage and boss and lead and take on one more job because running and bossing and struggling and resenting the load are all better than thinking or feeling.

The blog is in its throes. I've no call to write the bits of flesh rubbing together that make everyone happy, give us all a wank. It's tripping sadly down the path of the lame little diary, whining about my life, come and share the pit with me, I can't get out.


Autumn said...

_____ shouldn't [have to] be an obligation. The blank can be filled with a lot, I'd guess.


Randysrandy said...

M - I was thinking just yesterday when I noted another day passing with no post of how your blog has changed over the course of a little more than a year. And how you have been unafraid to reveal so many different facets of yourself and share your pains with us, instead of feeling constrained or obligated to write only about your sexual experiences.

I find it a much richer blog as a result and worth my time to return to again and again because I know it will be genuine and resonate, rather than be the same tune all over again but in a different register.

All this is a long-winded way of saying that I've picked this pit, I'm happy to share it with you; and further (well you know this already but it bears saying anyway), each post is another step on the way out.


Penny said...

Mandy, Randysrandy said what I'd say. Usually I don't comment just to repeat someone else, but in this case, it seems right. I worried about your missing days. I know that reading your blog is probably not the same as knowing YOU. But the caring that I and others have for you is real. I want to hear what you have to say, even when it's heartbreaking or heartbroken. Please keep writing. Please keep holding onto life even when it leaves a scar.