She Wanted Him to Love Her...

At the end of the day, even though I'm totally fine with myself and my life and the choices I've decided to make recently; I can't help but be a little sad.

Sometimes I crack jokes about it, or talk about it nonchalantly, but the fact remains, I don't think it's entirely fair that I came all this way for love, with the fire of passion and devotion on my heels and was greeted by a luke-warm version of the person who told me I should come. I'm not into mincing words tonight. It's late and my music idol died today...I'm pissed that D is just a jack ass.

Every ounce of emotion that I craved so much from him felt like squeezing juice from a rock. Trying to wiggle my way inside and understand his inner workings. After 4 years...I still have no idea.

Every time, even now, that I reach out in some profound way....I snatch back a nub. What's so wrong with loosing yourself in love? What are people so afraid of that they chose to over think something as organic as LOVE?

I know it's a tad tasteless to be this specific about the details of my personal relationship on a blog that gets read by total strangers. But it doesn't matter...because the person it's about has never found it necessary to read any of this.

I guess this is my 'Waiting to Exhale' moment...the one I should have had months ago when we broke up. Instead I'm having it now. It's taking all of my power not to get up from this chair, walk down the hall and put a pillow over D's gaping mouth and suffocate him the way he's suffocated me.

Fuck this place and everything in it.

Living in Suburbia...

So I've heard some recent remarks (mainly from my mother) about being to harsh on Houston. Granted, my reaction hasn't been all that...er...fair. However, it's not far from the reaction I had to my last culture shock, NYC. I hated it at first. Hated the smell, hated the people, hated the weather. Although I loved the shopping, music, buildings, and men....there was still a lot of initial hate...

...Where was I....?


...Ok, so anyway, I'm beginning to see why people who are ready to settle down and start a family move to the suburbs. Why they go to a place so far away from the hustle and bustle of the city life, so secluded and comfortable and well maintained....basically it's because here in suburbia it's a lot harder to escape.

I'll admit to the void and to whatever audience this poor blog might still have that in my deepest heart of hearts, I know I don't belong here.

The question is...can something that doesn't belong somewhere remain for other reasons. Can I be unselfish...and see beyond the sharp change in environment?

Time will tell...

"Steeeeeely" Gray

One of the perks of living in a suburban neighborhood is the ability to jog without worrying about getting hit by a town-car or falling on your face because of severely uneven pavement.  D and I woke up Saturday morning and jogged through our neighborhood and out towards the new developments.  I was trying to figure out what deluded glue-sniffer thought it necessary to name two parallel streets "Camby Park" and "Damby Park", when  we rounded the corner and passed the neighborhood playground.  On the way back we decided to go to Home Depot when we got home, to pick up some paint.  We (meaning "I") had decided it would be a good contrast to our blood-red leather couch to accent our living room and dining room walls with a "steely gray" or as D says (over and over...) "Steeeeeeely Graaayy".  Off to the Depot to get supplies for our many "projects" we had listed for the weekend.

One of which was kindly "asking" D to clean out the kitchen drawers he had filled with all of his man-tools.  The drawer I had designated for my cookbooks and ladles had become the junk-drawer equivalent of a tool box.  So I made him a deal; I would buy him a toolbox and he would put his shit away.  

Sunday night, after the gray paint dried and my cookbooks were safely in their proper place D and I laid back and enjoyed a job well done.  Sprawled out on the couch with D's eyes fixed on the TV while mine looked around the first floor of our house plotting over what could be painted next.