On the way to pick up your car and so you could help your sister with a house you gave me the news. You're moving out. The time between those words and getting back home felt like the world was ending. Suddenly it all made sense, it wasn't just that you were wanting to hang out with your sister more, it was that you were helping fix the place up. Last night and this morning, "Look me in the eye and tell me you love me" and all the I love you's before and after and the snuggles, they were all out of fear or guilt that you hadn't been able to tell me yet. It's my fault you thought that I would be pissed, that I would be angry. I was more angry that you had waited this time to tell me. That you couldn't tell me. Now it seems as though it is almost done so I guess I'll be helping you move out soon. Will this work? I have no idea.
The way home with the beer and the water, ignoring breakfast, the streams just kept coming. Cassadega in the background. Trying to sing, trying to get my mind off of it, but failing miserably. Thoughts of what would happen if I just took out a pole. That would never happen as that's not my way and with my luck I would do nothing more than fuck up the truck.
It's all my fault. You fell in my lap as quickly as I stood up under that wooden plank at the end of the bar. I never wanted this for anyone, which is why I never dated for those three years I was single. I didn't want someone to live in this hell hole squat house that I do. Everyone is used to living in a house that atleast is insulated enough, that doesn't have air escaping and intruding, where the floors aren't caving in at places, where there's no mold growing in condemned rooms. I've been here for 16 years, fighting with this house trying to keep it alive.
I've not saved a dime to build the house I've wanted and been afraid to move. I'm still a kid when it comes to the real world. I'm selfish, I enjoy my free time too much and I hate working too much. I don't want to be one of those people with 3 jobs just so I can live in the house you want with the white picket fence and the nice kitchen that you won't ever cook much in. I'm content with luxury squatting awhile more so I can save up for my house. Not paying rent, only paying my electricity bill with free DSL to boot. I don't need cable access or TV streaming and dumbing me down, but there's things I do need and most places won't have that. Not the places I'd like to live or the place you want to live.
So here I sit with the two beers I've opened and ignoring breakfast. It's that time again. It's that time for me to let it all go and wallow in my own self pity and hatred for this earth. It's time for me to fail at holding it all together again. I didn't respond to your text. I'm tired of being the better person, the one who's always there who knows how to fix it who can solve it who can help who can comfort. I'm tired of feeling like I'm holding up the world for everyone, that without me it would all come crashing down. These allegations are truly and most likely false, but I can't help how I feel. I can't do this all the time. I break just like everyone else, even if I don't want to admit it and it's been awhile since I've been broken.
Sitting here. Indulging myself. It's all I can do not to burn this house down and flee to some other state, where I'd most likely be right where I don't want to be.
I'm a cartoon. You're a full moon. Let's stay up
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