First Friday

A tattoo parlor I enjoy is having an art viewing party downtown and I take the opportunity to take some party favors to my friend.
Initially I was going to bring my kid, I thought she might enjoy dancing to my friends dance mix and seeing the pretty art. I was told ahead of time it was a kid friendly invitation.
However earlier in the day I got an alert on my phone that there was a shooting blocks away from the party location and a suspect still at large, so maybe I nudged her into staying at home with her daddy (to maintain my own anxieties) it turned out for the best though, she was full on coughing,sneezing, cold sick the following day and I’d rather not take that into close space quarters.
I’m dressed for the event in a dress picturing some bright red prehistoric flowers to match my chameleon. As I enter I see the owner lady wearing a very beautiful maxi dress, she’s talking to a small group of people but flashes me a smile on entry, and another couple blocks the stairwell upstairs where my other buddy is so I take the moment to peruse the original art on display for procurement. Prices range from 200 to 800 for variously sized smaller pieces, a note I make to myself and tick away mentally for pricing my own goods. The themes vary from delicate resin depictions of forest spirites, to snakey ensembles, and pretty ladies looking all spiritual.
When the way opens upstairs I make my way but am stuck in the hallway as people shuffle in and out. My friends in his tattoo studio with his dj booth, a few tables of merch goodies and a handful of people. He was involved in conversation, so I meandered to take in the details of the art they kept for their own collections, a beautiful death and the maiden piece takes up a large spot , and I enjoy a few other scenscapes sprinkled about. When he made his way to greet me, the exchange was briefer than I would have liked but duty calls in hospitality.
I came away from the event with a small print but after fumbling with my payment transfer login got the okay the pack up the print anyway and take care of business when I was able , which I did in the morning.
All in all it was a good night, I joked with some strangers, got me some art goodies and saw some faces I’ve missed. Still I am an awkward sort when left to my own devices and I promised my husband I’d be home before 8, so I snuck out before getting a chance to sample the beverages.

Wishes spent that you wouldn’t burn me

I miss you.

It doesn’t matter, knowing that you weren’t good for me, or my self-esteem and self-worth, for that matter.

It felt as if you were the one to break things off. After processing this feeling for awhile, I realize it’s because you hadn’t really given me any other option.

There are so many things that I love about you. Your silliness, your sense of humor, your generosity, the way you felt, your nervous tics. I wanted to be able to withstand your downfalls enough to hold onto these pieces of you forever. In a way, I will hold onto those pieces of you forever. Who knew that the shortest lived romance would impact me the greatest. I still smile when I think about you. I still water our $0.50 plant, and I’ll think of you when she blooms. I don’t mind giving the ring back because it means one more time to see you. Even when I’m stone-faced in your presence, know that I’m absolutely crumbling inside.

I’m sorry about the birthday plans. I’m sorry about ending things. I just needed to feel safe again.

What did you do?

Dear Snide,
When did you become this self pitying burnout? You are a fucking crisp shell of who you once were and now I am truly done with you. Go on and tell yourself it’s all good, chew another “candy” and become even less alive. I was angry because I had wasted so much time trying to get into your drawers to restart something that happened too too long ago and now I am disgusted by you. Is it any wonder why your alone? Now you are just more alone and I finally don’t give a fuck anymore. Take your made up OCD’S and your “candies” and have the world you want, alone! Good bye, good luck. What an asshole I was for so long a time, jeez what a waste.

Narcissist at work

This might seem feeble and pathetic but I do not care – I want it out of my head.

At my new job I encountered the most narcissistic person I have never met – I have never been more let down or shit on in my life. She spent the whole time on her high horse shitting on all the staff below her because we were younger – yet I’ve managed to achieve more than her in my short life.

She moaned about the pay and how she could make more sat on her arse – so I question why did you take the job?

I decided to confront her one day in an informal setting in order to put us at a more even playing field however she had had 5 drinks before I even got there so was drunk alreadt. Anyway I decided to proceed and asked her why she took the role and what her role involved? She became so threatening and defensive from this question and decided to annihilate my personality and how I would never be able to do the job when that wasn’t even my question – it continued for about half an hour when I told her to just leave it and that she was right so I could enjoy myself she continued to make a scene.

After I stopped giving her the attention she wanted she left and then I later found out that she quit the job – honestly am relieved but still feel like I am in the wrong for confronting her but she was making my life hell at work and I just wanted to have a conversation about her job and why she kept letting me down when she was supposed to be my support system.

So a big FUCK YOU to her and I hope I never see her again – and i hope you never get hired by anyone else again so you can’t treat anyone as badly as you treated me.

The things I realized

I hate to say this, but I was wrong. It is entirely possible to hate a person when the rose-colored glasses come off. I told you and myself that I could never hate someone I loved, and it kills me that this might mean I’m finally moving on, finally letting go. I am afraid to let go of you. You’re all I’ve known for so long. And it’s been so long without you that I can’t really remember you anymore, can’t really remember us anymore. I’m scared. But I’m happier too. Freer. How did I let you hurt me so badly for so long? I guess the price we pay for love is pain … and this pain is never-ending. I mourn the love I gave you, I mourn the pieces of me I lost in you, and I mourn the idea I had of who you were when you shared yourself with me. I mourn the sentiment that I could never hate you, and I mourn the night you watched me break with not a thought of remorse. I will forever mourn these things, perhaps, just as I will forever avoid your name and the thought of you, just as I will see you in everything I do. Time will heal all, yes, but it can’t come fast enough for me to seem to move past you and the impact you’ve made on me.