I'm supposed to be sad. I'm supposed to be remorseful. I'm supposed to be full of regrets.
I might be those things, but I'm just too pissed to feel any of that.
What... the... fuck?
Suffice it to say, some stuff happened between my last post that no one read and this current post that no one will read. But the gist of it is that there are things I'm just not allowed to say. The problem is, I really need to say them.
Unknown blog to the rescue! Here goes:
1) People who are betrayed get off way too easy. Yes, I get it, someone hurt you. But does that really give you carte blanche to do THE WORST THING EVER to that person? As in, install spyware on that person's computer and SHOW THAT PERSON'S SECRET THOUGHTS TO YOUR PARENTS!? I mean, really. Some things are sacred for even liars and cheats, and it doesn't do anyone any good to read the things I say when I'm upset (as in all of this).
...unless it makes you feel better to think of that person as terrible and horrible. In which case, you're a bad person too. (We all are, let's be real.)
2) I don't need to know that your friends thought I was a bitch and that it was a mistake to marry me. The friend who started the whole stop-the-wedding campaign is also the friend who made a huge deal of having to walk down the aisle with another girl and wanted me to buy her dress. She's also the friend who SCREWED MY BROTHER while still dating a live-in underwear model. Your friend sucks. You don't see me campaigning that you shouldn't be crashing on her couch.
3) Your mom? Also sucks.
4) There's another party involved in this whole debacle, of course. Also getting off way too easy. You went after a married woman. It takes two to tango, and you were the one to ask for the dance. I know I said a bunch of shit about you being good for me because you keep me in check. Who keeps you in check? Who tells you that it's not fair that I went over to your house to make you feel better for your unrequited love and you don't do the same to comfort me for this hellhole you helped to dig? How is it okay for you to compartmentalize and act like this never happened and I don't exist when I have no choice but to deal with it at every turn? Fuck your silence and fuck you too.
5) I said I didn't want to talk about it. Would people PLEASE stop trying to get me to talk about it? If you want me to talk, this is what I'll say (see above). Do you really think it's wise for me to go alienating all my family and friends with my toxic vitriol? I already talk to my pets more than would be psychologically advisable. Do you really want what's best for me or do you just want some idle gossip? Fuck that.
Which brings me to...
6) THIS ISN'T THE FUCK ABOUT YOU. No, my divorce is not the same as yours and it certainly isn't the same as that breakup you had. I'm not saying it's worse; it just doesn't help me to hear about your shit. That's just more shit for me to deal with. Not fucking helpful.
Also, be advised that I have no desire to rehash the last moments of my failed marriage with you right now. I know you're curious, but you're just going to have to go to Perez Hilton for that urge. Furthermore, no you didn't think something was wrong back in the day, and if you did, I don't need to hear about it. It's not helpful and IT'S NOT ABOUT YOU.
...Phew. That's better. Lord knows I could go on.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Are you there, blog? It's me, harlett.
Why yes, this is my second post in 2 hours. Thanks for noticing that, non-existent blog viewer.
The past couple of days have been an exercise in suppressing an impulse to talk to someone I'm not supposed to talk to. Funny thing is, whenever I talk to that person, I either end up frustrated or crying in the shower. So maybe my real impulse is just to express what I'm feeling.
So that's what I'm doing.
Why the hell are the absolutes of love so simple, when the circumstances surrounding it are so goddamn complicated? I'm a serial monogamist, which has gone... really poorly for me, to be honest. And now I think monogamy is a bit of a giant crock of crap.
Why do we let the idea of finding "the one" rule our young lives? Don't we have other shit to worry about?
That's part of the predicament in which I find myself. I hurt my significant other by living my life because I was his life.
That sounds very sweet, doesn't it? It's not. Truth be told, it's pathetic and annoying. He doesn't care where we live as long as we're together. That means it's up to me to decide where we're going to live. He doesn't care what he ends up doing as long as we're together. That means he's working a minimum-wage job and hasn't shown a lot of effort to improve his station. That means that I have to find a career that will determine where we live and feed that kid he wants. Did I mention he wants a kid? He says we can have one as long as I have the promise of a career.
How is that fair? It's very romantic, but it's not fair. So I concentrated on my career. And I didn't stop there, I kicked ass. I kicked so much ass that I decided to kick ass in different arenas as well.
And there he was, on the couch, all sad because I wasn't hiding in a stinky hoarder hole with him all day, and telling me that I must be very selfish because one of his sister's friends de-friended me on Facebook because I didn't ever post about him. What a cunt.
Do I love him? I most certainly did in the beginning. Now the resentment wins out. Can you really blame me? Can you?
The thing is, I want to have kids... I just don't want to have to raise my significant other as if he were a kid as well.
Sonuvabitch.
The past couple of days have been an exercise in suppressing an impulse to talk to someone I'm not supposed to talk to. Funny thing is, whenever I talk to that person, I either end up frustrated or crying in the shower. So maybe my real impulse is just to express what I'm feeling.
So that's what I'm doing.
Why the hell are the absolutes of love so simple, when the circumstances surrounding it are so goddamn complicated? I'm a serial monogamist, which has gone... really poorly for me, to be honest. And now I think monogamy is a bit of a giant crock of crap.
Why do we let the idea of finding "the one" rule our young lives? Don't we have other shit to worry about?
That's part of the predicament in which I find myself. I hurt my significant other by living my life because I was his life.
That sounds very sweet, doesn't it? It's not. Truth be told, it's pathetic and annoying. He doesn't care where we live as long as we're together. That means it's up to me to decide where we're going to live. He doesn't care what he ends up doing as long as we're together. That means he's working a minimum-wage job and hasn't shown a lot of effort to improve his station. That means that I have to find a career that will determine where we live and feed that kid he wants. Did I mention he wants a kid? He says we can have one as long as I have the promise of a career.
How is that fair? It's very romantic, but it's not fair. So I concentrated on my career. And I didn't stop there, I kicked ass. I kicked so much ass that I decided to kick ass in different arenas as well.
And there he was, on the couch, all sad because I wasn't hiding in a stinky hoarder hole with him all day, and telling me that I must be very selfish because one of his sister's friends de-friended me on Facebook because I didn't ever post about him. What a cunt.
Do I love him? I most certainly did in the beginning. Now the resentment wins out. Can you really blame me? Can you?
The thing is, I want to have kids... I just don't want to have to raise my significant other as if he were a kid as well.
Sonuvabitch.
Is it safe?
If you've somehow come across this blog, congratulations, you are either:
1) The creepiest creeper that ever did creep,
2) Pathologically bored, or
3) A Googler of phrases such as "Talk to me, goose," "Never forget," and "Goodnight and goodbye," AKA awesome.
Either way, I'm about to spout off some really vague, emo crap. I do this because:
1) I don't want anyone to know who I am, and
2) I have a proclivity for spouting off vague, emo crap.
And if you think I've given away clues as to my identity by way of my writing style, think again! I'm really not that into numeric lists (or am I?). The only condition I have for you not-yet-existent creepers of my blog is this: no falling in love with me.
Anyway, I'm in a bit of a situation, a situation that doesn't allow me to talk to people I actually know (not about the shit that matters to me, anyway). I tried talking about it on an anonymous forum, but it turns out those aren't really all that anonymous. But I've already said too much.
I just need a place to have my feelings and not be judged. Actually, it's not so much the judgment I care about, but the offense. Not matter what I say, no matter what face I make, no matter how I sleep or breathe, I seem to be hurting someone. And I don't really seem to know myself all that well lately, but I do know this: I don't want to hurt anyone.
I don't know where I'm supposed to be in life (or if there's a even specific situation that is actually best for each of us; jury's out on whether we're screwed no matter what we do). I can safely say, however, that I've made some really bad decisions. I'm not quite sure which ones were the bad decisions, but the decisions I've made have certainly conflicted with one another.
It's like this:
It's appropriate that the clip deals with insanity, because I feel like I might just be a loon at this point. I don't think I'll commit myself to a mental hospital for life if I indulge in my flaws, but I will probably commit myself to a life of unrest.
It's also like this:
I'm beginning to think the phrase "I just want you to be happy," is a cruel joke played on humanity. You do what makes you immediately happy, and you're hedonistic. You do what you think will make you happy in the long run, and you risk being unhappy forever. Is it worth the risk? Is it? How do you know?
And what if you do that thing that promises lifelong happiness and something else brings you immediate happiness in the meantime? Why is it so noble to stay unhappy for the sake of a long-term happiness we don't even know exists?
I used to think that making other people happy made me happy. And now I'm very sad.
I could jump from happiness to happiness forever. I'm cute enough to do that (I really am crazy good-looking--it's a curse).
It's also a curse to be smart. Dumbasses can be happy forever.
Cuz it's like this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-g-FEv1RwFg
Won't let me embed. Fucker. But if you found your way here and can understand what he's saying in the embeddable Italian clip, I rescind my "don't fall in love with me" condition.
1) The creepiest creeper that ever did creep,
2) Pathologically bored, or
3) A Googler of phrases such as "Talk to me, goose," "Never forget," and "Goodnight and goodbye," AKA awesome.
Either way, I'm about to spout off some really vague, emo crap. I do this because:
1) I don't want anyone to know who I am, and
2) I have a proclivity for spouting off vague, emo crap.
And if you think I've given away clues as to my identity by way of my writing style, think again! I'm really not that into numeric lists (or am I?). The only condition I have for you not-yet-existent creepers of my blog is this: no falling in love with me.
Anyway, I'm in a bit of a situation, a situation that doesn't allow me to talk to people I actually know (not about the shit that matters to me, anyway). I tried talking about it on an anonymous forum, but it turns out those aren't really all that anonymous. But I've already said too much.
I just need a place to have my feelings and not be judged. Actually, it's not so much the judgment I care about, but the offense. Not matter what I say, no matter what face I make, no matter how I sleep or breathe, I seem to be hurting someone. And I don't really seem to know myself all that well lately, but I do know this: I don't want to hurt anyone.
I don't know where I'm supposed to be in life (or if there's a even specific situation that is actually best for each of us; jury's out on whether we're screwed no matter what we do). I can safely say, however, that I've made some really bad decisions. I'm not quite sure which ones were the bad decisions, but the decisions I've made have certainly conflicted with one another.
It's like this:
It's appropriate that the clip deals with insanity, because I feel like I might just be a loon at this point. I don't think I'll commit myself to a mental hospital for life if I indulge in my flaws, but I will probably commit myself to a life of unrest.
It's also like this:
I'm beginning to think the phrase "I just want you to be happy," is a cruel joke played on humanity. You do what makes you immediately happy, and you're hedonistic. You do what you think will make you happy in the long run, and you risk being unhappy forever. Is it worth the risk? Is it? How do you know?
And what if you do that thing that promises lifelong happiness and something else brings you immediate happiness in the meantime? Why is it so noble to stay unhappy for the sake of a long-term happiness we don't even know exists?
I used to think that making other people happy made me happy. And now I'm very sad.
I could jump from happiness to happiness forever. I'm cute enough to do that (I really am crazy good-looking--it's a curse).
It's also a curse to be smart. Dumbasses can be happy forever.
Cuz it's like this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-g-FEv1RwFg
Won't let me embed. Fucker. But if you found your way here and can understand what he's saying in the embeddable Italian clip, I rescind my "don't fall in love with me" condition.
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