and so it’s ending.

none of this is new. I’ve simply held on too long once again.

so he read that last entry in my journal, lying beside the bed, he told me– what did he say about it? nothing that seems to make any difference.

I hate being slow to let go. I hate being the kind of person who goes more than halfway and then more and more and more in an effort– a foolish, losing, vain effort– to make up the distance between.

it’s unacceptable to be so little valued by my lover. to receive no welcome signs or tokens or gestures of affection– and then to try to compensate for it.

how the hell did I get here?

it’s simply not acceptable— the only word that works– to adore someone else so much you don’t take care of yourself.

the crashy parts of the roller coaster are exceeding the bits in the sun and speed. it is entirely untenable, and it is is ending, and I hate that.

I hate him for squandering me. for failing to meet me in the marvelous… but apparently he is not there, simply does not feel it as I do– that’s a hard fact, no one’s intention, just the way it is.

L had it right: I am the cup of coffee.
the only choice I have is to unpour myself for him.

I fucking hate being here. I cannot believe heartbreak again. I am so tired– sick— of trying and failing.

I had a moment in the the stunning warmth when I thought, oh my god. finally. there you are.
I thought, everything is fine, manageable.
I felt some sort of grateful perspective– the give and take of being in relationship, being in it together– for almost five minutes. and then on and off with diminishing returns. is that the way it is? perpetual xeno’s paradox?

this life is a pain in the ass.

my fortieth year.
who do I think I’ve been fooling?
what is the purpose of all this brittle optimism and bravado?
it’s a cruel ride.

I don’t know if someone malicious sits at the controls and enjoys the spectacle… I do not enjoy the spectacle.

maybe there really are lots of gods, including the ones who fuck your shit up for sheer amusement.

another alternative is a pseudo-scientific version: methodic conducting of experiments, observing our reactions under different types of pleasure and duress.

another way it could be… is completely meaningless. that’s the one that terrifies me. nihilism. I can’t deal with that worldview– that it all just happens for no particular reasons or intention whatsoever.

I simply cannot believe that consciousness and the ability to question were given to us for no purpose. there doesn’t seem to be any evolutionary value to that that I can see– maybe there is one, and I just can’t make it out.

from my perspective, consciousness implies and entails consciousness– intention, will. toward some purpose. that I’m supposed to keep knocking around in this life and to listen more carefully– act with greater intention and energy and openness– that I learn not to squander myself for a few moments of feeling– or tasting or smelling– good.

that I learn how to advocate for myself more faithfully and powerfully and beautifully.

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