sometimes i don’t want to deal with it. i want to leave it there and go out drinking or go shopping or see friends or ride bikes in the cemetery. i want to sit on the couch and read or watch tv and not think at all about this thing that needs me to keep it alive.
sometimes i don’t know what to do with it next. it’s frustrating when i’ve done everything i could think of to keep it going, to keep it happy, and then i can’t think of anything else. i feel like i’m not good enough for it.
sometimes i think that it’s not good enough for me.
sometimes it bores me.
sometimes it breaks and i don’t know how to fix it.
sometimes it upsets people i love, even though i don’t mean for it to. i don’t know what to do when that happens, when something i’ve created has hurt someone important to me. it hurts me, too.
this two-year-old, however, has outlasted hair colors and friendships, jobs and boyfriends. i no longer date the guy who made me watch the boxing match. i don’t know what happened to the marble. my hair isn’t blue anymore. you and i are no longer close. i stopped going to the poetry slams. guess the dictator and/or sitcom character now thinks i’m luann from king of the hill instead of kate from the drew carey show. i don’t go out with you anymore, but the ticket stub from unbreakable still sits in the butter compartment of my refrigerator. i miss phil.
happy birthday, bluishorange.