It's just a washing machine

The humming of the bathroom light, the laundry going into rinse cycle. They are the choruses of life. They are the rhythms that sustains us, bind us, keep us subconsciously aware monotony abounds when nothing inside us feels normal anymore. Humming and swooshing goes on and on without our discretion, concern or involvement. Nobody asks the laundry to make a new noise or to improve its performance, to improvise. Nobody asks the bathroom light to hum harmoniously. we just hope all our machines work in the morning. But that humming so constant, so bland, so dependable, mimics the very livelihood we wish to emulate. Dependability, strength during turmoil. The ability to shoulder the burdens of others, consistently and without need for reprieve. It's just a washing machine but I'm jealous.

hahahahahaha

I'm drinking

We've (Sorta) made it

We're still together.
I know there's a of of excuses I have to come up with, at this moment. That I couldn't live without him (I could.) It's my religion (partially... in a sense the whole reason.) I couldn't pull it off (I could, and nearly did.) I know I should say something to sum this all up. make a pretty picture out of it all to make it all make sense.
But I'm not.
I'm simply saying we're here. I'm here. We're happy. I'm happy. I hope you're happy. Because I know in the end, that's all I owe the world. I know in the end, the world wanted me to either shut it or do something about my unhappiness. And, (lets face it) it was easiest for us all to pin in on him. 'Cept it was me. And I know what I did. And what I did wasn't exactly right. I listened to a whole hell of a lot of people who weren't me. I don't blame anyone or am mad. I'll just do what I know is right. And honestly, what was right, is for me to stay with him. And what is also right, was for me to finally realize that life is just that, a series of right decisions.
But oh how I'll be gone if harm ever comes my way.

I Realize Now I was Brave

I realize now I was brave. I didn't always know this. I didn't always realize this. I left my home town. I left for school. I left for good. I didn't look back. I worked hard. I excelled. I did all I could. I went to Hawaii and back. I worked and worked and worked and worked. And I don't regret that I worked. I don't regret that working became my way of living. The way I breathed.
I didn't realize always what a brave spirit I had. That I could have just laid it in the laps of my parents. Left the living of my life to them. Let them control me 'til their demise. Lapped up into the shores of a mans misery and abuse and called that status qua. Called that just Tuesday.
I realize now that I was brave.

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Moving can be bittersweet. Especially in moments of true terror that I'm leaving. No matter who the person is you're leaving, a lot of times it's the stuff you worry about securing and taking with you and the stuff you're concerned with going through and leaving behind. And the going through of the stuff is what brings you to moments of we did that, then. Finding evidence of the trails of feats and failures. You find yourself in the midst of an unannounced photo album in the form of old receipts, mailed materials, cards et etc. In the midst of my bittersweet dash to rummage through and destroy the evidence, before my eyes, that this marriage even existed (honestly that's how I feel at this point,) is the below.
A phoenix of a moment in time ten years ago in the backyard of my house at 17 years of age. A time when my mother was still alive, my father was not, in fact, the man of the house (my aunt truly was) and in defiance, planted emasculating roses gardens one after another. It's a sink in the middle of a raspberry garden. I  took this photo as a part of my high school photography class. I took it, in reality because I was amazed at the whys of anyone putting a porcelain sink in their backyard, in the middle of an overgrown raspberry garden, kept there for years. This was my first attempt at developing my own images, and I used too much of a chemical in the development process (fixer I think,) and that's why it's so yellow, not because of age. In fact, it looked like that two days after development. I'm grateful that I found this, out of all of this....

Things I really do have to remind myself of at times

I want to get something off my chest. You're a guy. I'm a girl. There is a thing called sexual attraction between us, possibly. This could happen because you have a penis and I have a vagina. Big, nasty words mom and dad forbade us from saying at a young age. Thing is, we're no longer that young anymore. We're us. We're twenty, thirty, forty, etc. And we have a brain that works for us now, not some sub servant bystander that takes the hits because in the end of the day someone else pays our bills. No, we're our responsibility now.
But lets get back to us having vaginas and penises. It's straight up biology. We own them. They're ours. They may or may not be the culprit to many of the crimes that have been committed against our hearts and the crimes we have committed against the hearts of others. But what it all comes down to is  what differentiates us from apes, the ability for us to think these things through. The ability for us to have the knowledge that things may or may not be right when working strictly with a primordial mind.
Things may become ugly, in fact. Things may turn out for the worse. Things may feel good. Oh yes! Things may feel good! But what happens in the end of the day is what every other part of our body has to live with after. Our liver, our kidneys, our lungs and our brains. They're the ones that matter in all this, not our respective reproductive anatomy. They're the surviving members that reach out to us to tell us whether or not we've done wrong or right by last nights 3AM binge and later.. fun.... So it may be fine and dandy to make fun of  the ability to use these pieces of anatomy to make decisions for us .. but we all know that the deer in the headlights became they least attractive look after the age of say... yeah... eighteen.

Smile

I listen to people and their lives everyday. And it gets to me. I think to myself far too often, are their lives becoming my lives? Is the state of their being threatening my own? It's strange, yes, but I think these very thoughts everyday. I sit and think to myself too often God!That's what life could be like? I hear the hurt, I hear the pain, I hear the suffering. And most importantly I hear the "I'm taking it"
And I think to myself, I'm not. I'm not taking it. I'm not taking it at all. I'm sitting in a room full of knives pointed at my head and I'm screaming. I'm absolutely going berserk. Whilst they walk up and down that room like it's just another Go*% #$%^ Tuesday.
What makes them so different than me? I'm suffering a divorce only.
I'm constantly having to remind myself I still have two feet. Two arms. Two legs. I have a working brain that functions--in a mediocre way--but functions. And yet I still sit in a sun lit room full of things I could be reading, watching, listening to and I'm crying! Why do I do this to myself? I look at two pictures of myself taken on the same day and I see one person smiling and other in direct agony. A griminess. A sneer. Coolness in her eyes.
Too often, lately, I've been thinking about the end. The final days. The finality of our days. We're going to die. I'm very sorry to bring in the bad news, of course you know, but these days be numbered.
I've lost two family members, in a short time period, to obesity and watched them both die--I didn't just get the memo, no, I was there, no telegraph needed, I was there to witness my next of kin pass on. And it killed me too, obviously. It killed me too. A very big part of me died. The part of me that said tomorrow and the next day is assured. no. You're assured this second. The second that you just breathed in and out and that's the only promise God, Buddha, Satan, Bob Marley is going to promise you today. So you take it or leave it. And I guess what I'm trying to say is I look a lot more attractive happier when I smile. When I choose to smile instead of fear.