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2005-01-21 @ 2:07 a.m.
smash, trash and dash

Arrghhhh! My diaryland buddy list appears to be caught in some kind of strange time warp. I keep clicking on "new" highlighted listings, thinking YAY, some new goodies from my buddies, and then when I click on them, they're all entries dated from January 11th! Fuck! What the hell is going on? Did the planet blow up last Tuesday and nobody told me?

I have even written that anomaly called ANDREW (of DIARYLAND fame) notes complaining about it, but have never heard from him. (does anyone ever hear from him? Does he even exist?) The time warp thing is even happening on my own diary. Everytime I click on Your Diary, the entry from January 11th keeps popping up. It's all very fucking annoying and I may have to jump off a bridge.

Of course jumping off a bridge probably wouldn't kill me, I'd probably just get horribly maimed and look like Tammy Fae Bakker or Phil Spector.
The last couple days have been trying to say the least. I had my big 1.5 hours of employment this week on Wednesday. A training about privacy. Whoops. I guess I shouldn't have mentioned that, since it was about privacy. I guess that's why my nickname as a kid was Blabbermouth ****. I was so lonely as a kid that I used to talk to people walking along the perimeters of our property. We had a huge corner lot in town, and I'd see people coming down the street and I'd run and meet them at the edge of the property and then chat to them all along the entire yard as they walked their dog. I'd tell them everything that was going on at the ***** house, like that my parents yelled at each other alot, and my Dad drank, and our dachshund had given birth to puppies and they came out in plastic baggies. I was just a fount of bubbling information. I actually think I was just preparing myself for future years of therapy. In other words, find someone with a sympathetic ear and talk.

Because at home, I felt invisible.

"A" and I are working ravenously on my anger towards Married Guy. I actually think its a conglomeration of a lot of different angers in my life, that have somehow gotten bunched together and aimed towards him. Because my anger at him, is actually far exceeding anything he actually did. I'm really blaming him for things he's not responsible me not having a family at age 46. That's not his fault. But I'm somehow pinning it on him.

I guess I was trying to make HIS family MY family, because I wanted a family so badly. But thats not to say he was not faultless, by any means, because in this department, he was constantly and I do mean constantly encouraging me to be "part of the family" and it was very intoxicating AND confusing to me. The thing is though, you can only be part of a family, either by DNA or by marriage, not by sheer will, like I tried to be. But I guess my anger at him for constantly encouraging me to be "part of the family" is pretty legitimate. I mean, is it not cruel to offer up your family to a lonely woman in her 40's who is obviously looking for something along those lines and then say, ha, ha, not really?

So Married Guy..Iím just here to say, I was never part of your family...god damn it...if for no other reason than you had one of those gosh dern wifie things sleeping in your bed. Ya understand?

So "A" and I have had two straight weeks of doing intensive anger role plays. I may be able to "Write" angry, but as far as being able to express it in person, I am a total failure. I am not able to really access that white hot anger when someone is in the room. And "A" likes to get physical, like have us whack each other with pillows and stuff, but that whole scenario is totally foreign to me. I have a hard time doing it. I never had any siblings to beat on growing up, so hitting someone seems awkward and I also donít really believe in physical violence, so expressing anger physically is kind of like George Bush expressing intelligence verbally. And I guess I'm also afraid that if I get really angry, I'll just haul off and knock out a couple of "A"s teeth. And he does have a rather engaging if not impish smile.

This last Tuesday I had brought three items which were representational of my relationship with Married Guy. An e-mail from him in which he said he loved and cared about me as his friend, one of my famous humorous newsletters which celebrated my relationship with him and his kids (and strangely wifie was never included in these), and lastly one of only two photos I ever had taken with him. I had it in a pretty frame. Iíve had both of these photos face down in my house since November. I would pick them up and look at them every so often, but mostly they were face down because they were too painful to look at. I let ďAĒ look at all three items before we started. And he used material from them in our role play. Unfortunately, I just wasnít up to the role play this week. Iíve been fairly depressed, both from the weather and from just life in general. But ďAĒ was energetic as usual. I mostly just laid on the couch like some stuffed coatamundi taking it all in. I know ďAĒ wanted me to defend myself a little more, but I just wasnít up to it.

After it was over, I picked up everything to leave and then I asked ďAĒ if he would come outside with me. Now it is freakiní ass cold here right 5 degrees, but he put on his coat without question and we went outside. Between the buildings in the office park where he is located, there are 4 foot tall decorative cement garbage cans. Iím not really sure what possessed me to do this, other than built up anger which I hadnít expressed, but I took out the photo of Married Guy and I, and held it up rather dramatically over the sharp edge of the garbage can. ďAĒ momentarily looked startled and said, ďwaitĒ, but then I took the photo and with a quick flick of my wrist, smashed it against the edge of the garbage can breaking the glass out of it. It was all so sudden and violent and unexpected, that it even startled me. I quickly knelt down trying to pick up pieces which had shattered all over the place (I had rapped it pretty hard), but ďAĒ said not to. He didnít want me to get cut. I then stood and just looked at the photo which still had shards of glass in the frame. ďAĒ looked at me and said, ďI think you should throw it away.Ē I was suddenly overcome with emotion. Throw it away? Throw away Married Guy and I? I stood there for a good minute and looked at the photo. It was from my 46th birthday last February. Married Guy had given me a nice massage and birthday party that day. We had kissed twice. He had told me he loved me.

...but throw it away?

I stood there for even longer and ďAĒ sort of blurred out of the picture. It was just me and the photo. Married Guy and I had our arms around each other. I was smiling in the photo. How often do I smile in photos? How often do I smile in real life? And than I abruptly threw it in the garbage can. I felt like my heart had been ripped out by the roots. I then felt something very lightly brush the back of my head. I think ďAĒ might have possibly either lightly stroked my head. Iím not really sure though since I was in such shock. He then said he had to go back inside and I headed out to my car where I sobbed for about 10 minutes.

I really had an incredible urge to run back and get the photo out of the garbage which is really stupid since I have it scanned on my computer at home. But tossing it in the garbage just made it seem so permanent somehow.

I then went to the gym and worked on the treadmill. Iím sure I looked fabulous with my pale skin and dark circled eyes. I then went in the whirlpool to try and recover from both the role play and the treadmill. Tuesday night I ended up writing ďAĒ a lengthy e-mail about everything wrong under the sun. Iím sure it was very enjoyable reading, although slightly less humorous than usual wittykitty fare. I told him I never, ever wanted to get involved with another human being ever again, because it was too painful. I cried for like an hour at my computer, while writing it.

Wednesday it snowed quite a bit and I ended up missing my art class for the first time in over a year. I actually got in my car and started driving there, but the roads were a little slippery and to be honest, I just didnít feel inspired enough to create art. I tried to draw something at home, but it ended up being an angry woman with humongous breasts. Not really sure what that meant.

I did end up going to ďAĒs group Thursday morning. The roads were a little iffy, with icy condensation, but I knew I needed some kind of human contact. ďAĒ showed up with wet hair in 2 degree weather. He looked cute with his dark curly ringlets, but I had to reprimand him for going outside in such frigid weather with a wethead. He just kind of gave me his world weary look over the top of his glasses and said, ďIts not 2 degrees, its 12 degreesĒ.

Oh, much better.

I talked to the Mysterious Paul for a couple minutes before ďAĒ got there. Damn, what a shame heís too young for me. We were talking about finding the right therapist and then he brought up the most unexpected subject. MY art class. He asked me about it and said he might be interested in attending. Huh? Really?? I didnít even know he drew or had ever really listened to me talk about attending the class. Was his interest real or was he just flattering me? So I gave him my best pep talk, you know, since Iím now a board member and am interested in his bottom the bottom line financially. I also told him that we have an upcoming art show in March. Wouldnít that be cool if I could come walking in with a guy to the opening reception? Iím sure about 5 mouths would fall open in shock. I think they think Iím a lesbian or something. Iím only a lesbian, if youíre Angelina Jolie.

Group was a little livelier this week. We have a new guy. I always think ďAĒ is throwing in potential guys for me. This new guy is kind of weird though. A couple of weeks ago when he was introducing himself in the group, he said, ďHi, Iím Hershel (a pseudonym of course, like all the names here are), I was born in 1956 and Iím singleĒ. At the time, I accidentally burst out laughing. I didnít mean to, but this guy seemed about on par with an insurance agent in the excitement department, but telling us the year of his birth and the fact that he was single just struck me so funny. It was like being at an AA meeting and hearing someone say, ďIím Thadeus and Iím an alcoholicĒ. He just said it so deadpan. He looks like he collects stuffed crows or Victorian erotica which look like his mother.

I was nervous ďAĒ was going to pick on me today to talk about my recent photo smashing incident, but fortunately he left me alone, unless you count the part where he purposely stomped on my toe when he walked by.

The one time I did talk in group today, I think I said, probably one of the all time most retarded things ever. I was trying to explain how I have never really know who I am, because I always mirror the people Iím with. And then I explained in great detail, how I was so distressed by this inability to know who I was, that I try to BE MYSELF in front of my cat at home. Why? Because cats have no opinions about who you are, so you can be yourself, warts and all, and they donít really care. The only problem is, that the more I tried to explain it...ĒI can only be myself in front of my catĒ....the more demented I sounded. And I think ďAĒ said something slightly sardonic like ďWell, what if your catís love isnít unconditional?Ē

And Iím like, am I really having this conversation in front of a group of people, including the Mysterious Paul who might like to draw nude people and Hershel who might like to look at them (but only if they look like his mother). I know I sound like a raving lunatic. And ďAĒ was leaning way back in his chair and then would lean forward to just slightly to peek around the edge of his chair. Iím sure he was having fun with this.Poor witty, she only has her cat to decipher her personality defects.

After group, I once again headed over to the ďYĒ (which is only 1 mile from ďAĒs, in case youíre wondering). I had to take off al 12 layers of clothes to put on my black sweat pants and one of my sisterís new light blue Desperate Housewiveís tank tops. It just hugs my boobs so lovingly, that my nipples canít help but pop out. Thatís right, 40 something woman with nippled boobs coming through. Step aside, otherwise I might poke out your god forsaken eye or at least knock over a treadmill or something.

Naturally since it was the morning of January 20th, all the gym TVs were trained on CNNís coverage of Bushís Series of Unfortunate Events Inauguration. Since I am a low-rent type, I donít have any headphones so I have to rely solely on the crawls that run across the bottom of the screen which are presumably telling us exactly what the news commentators are saying verbally. Of course there is your inevidible typo, like when I saw that ďpreparations were on for George Bushís SnaugurationĒ...I wondered....Snauguration? Is that anything like those doggie treats called snausages? Iíd much rather see Bush Snaugurated than Inaugurated, but thatís just me.

As I was watching all the tax payerís money being wasted pomp and circumstances, I happened to glance over in the gym and I saw a news crew. They were interviewing somewoman down at the far end (damn right where I had been using the treadmill on Tuesday). That lasted about 10 minutes and then the camera guy started shooting all around the gym. Shooting footage of all us hard bodies (ha!!) doing our things on the machinery. As soon as he got close to where I was standing, I immediately took my hair out of a pony tail and let it all fall luxuriously about my shoulders looking rather seductive. Especially with the tight nipple licious tank top. Iíd have to be discovered. Have to!! Unfortunately my half hour on the machinery was coming to a close (and with my best time and miles yet! And I burned 126 calories to boot! yay me!!). So I tried to think of reasons to stick around a little longer while they were filming, but I couldnít think of any conceivable reason to stay. I had already tried some weight lifting Tuesday, but that is definitely out. I didnít like it. It hurt too much, so I finally left.

I watched the news tonight hoping to see the footage, but I didnít. But they are having a series called ďLosing Nine Pounds in Nine DaysĒ so Iím hoping that this will be an upcoming segments. Whether you can actually see me in any of the gym sequences remains to be seen, but wouldnít that be ironic? The very person who hated gym the most in high school. The person who used to make fun of the jocks. The person who used to purposely come in last on track, and then do it melodramatically, like I was running in slow motion. That used to piss off my PE teacher so bad. I didnít like her, so it really didnít matter.

But at least I have my picture breaking arm in order. I donít practice with it very often, but with one sharp rap, I was able to break through an emotional log jam the size of Montana.

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