the old-school guestbook archives
my amazon wish list... my favorite astrologer... my favorite artist... yerba mate revolution! erowid: a travel guide for interior journeys... no more war: MoveOn.org United for Peace and Justice True Majority seek the truth: Common Dreams Unamerican Activities The Nation people I adore, diaries I read: rev.raikes ariana cubiclegirl epiphany glitter333 laurakay wammo the music: the asylum street spankers backyard tire fire blue highway bill camplin wendy colonna freedom tribe joules graves guy forsyth band hamsa lila hanuman libby kirkpatrick leftover salmon pamela means medeski martin & wood the motet the nice outfit nickel creek open road rose polenzani railroad earth south austin jug band string cheese incident taarka tha musemeant the devil makes three tim o'brien band trolley wild sage keller williams yonder mountain string band |
last gas for 90 miles ~ February 19, 2002 - 11:49 p.m. I just don't know what to do. I've tried and I've tried and I've tried. you can't teach someone how to love, my sister said, somewhere in that rampage of nastiness she unleashed on me on my birthday. and about that, at least, she was right. maybe I've given him some things he can use. I almost walked out the door tonight. almost walked, even though I don't have a lot of great options for other places to go. there are couches I can sleep on. there are shelters, if it comes to that. it's never come to that, with anyone. I don't know how I've gotten to this place. for three days he worked really hard at communicating with me, at being caring towards me, at taking my feelings into account. on the fourth day he got depressed and didn't give a shit anymore. came home and treated me like he wished I'd disappear. and what's funny is that I'd been feeling hopeful. I'd spent the night at the laundromat, thinking about how I'm committed to trying to make things better, to acting from a place of love. and then he came home, and stomped all over my optomism in big black boots. left me feeling beaten and hurt and all alone. and somehow, I'm supposed to believe in this. I told him, tonight, that he's got to commit to trying if he's going to try. that he's got to remind himself every minute of every day what he needs to be doing to make this work. he went back and forth. didn't know if he wanted to. I was committed, he kept saying, as if that had something to do with right now, this moment. at some point he told me to leave. as I was getting my boots on, he told me that he couldn't send me out on the street. and I'm supposed. to feel safe. and loved. he told me, before he went to sleep, that he's committing. that he'll work for change in every moment of every day, knowing that there's no guarantees that it's going to work. we've entered the territory of last chance. I told him that if he drops his commitment on the floor again, I can't guarantee I'll be able to stay. whether or not I have someplace to go. I love myself too much to put myself through this again. I have no energy, now, tonight, to believe in anything. but he says he's committed. and for some reason that's enough to make me want to give him one more chance. one more cup of coffee for the road. here's to hoping for the best.
(((rings))) |