Considering it is people’s jobs to keep me employed. Other people’s job to keep me employed, they do a terrible job at it.
In reality I only receive one day off. Now, I would like to see anyone else do everything I do in a shift, then go sift and filter through everything, then write and complain about the orange liquor or cola that as me swollen, or the food that poisoned me, or the endless cleaning and washing, then tell the world how a neighbor kept my package from me for months, then have any creative thoughts left, let alone work through grief, terror, disgust, shame, body image disgust, and the humiliation of never being allowed to love a man that I want for the rest of my life.
Then, never have any time to unplug my brain, rest my mind and body, or live outside these walls.
Michael Wayne Brown can go suck his own. I am uncertain why you chose to be so reckless, unsafe, unwise, and shameful in your presentation. No competition. Like no man would ever want me other than an abusive man who got off on smacking me around, hitting and kicking me.
That’s what this house has done to me. Made me believe that there are no available men for me whatsoever. Every man is either gay or married?! With no man whatsoever interested in me?! That I would be interested in?!
I was going to write about some dreamlife where I was living with a writer or journalist. We live in France, I go to cooking school during the day to come home to him, cook for him, make love to him, and forgetting this house and this place, and everyone with it ever existed.
How we would go on extended weekend trips. I would finally get to go on my trip to England, Italy, and Spain. We would go to Portugal. Ireland. Here and there, we would make time for it.
I would have brought my cats with me.
I would be able to go to the market every day and be able to see and choose what was fresh, new, different, unusual, or exactly what I wanted. Then, go home and create dishes I’d only imagined before.
How I would disturb him in the morning while he was reading by sitting on his lap, the arm of his chair, look into his eyes and he would want me again after having just had me.
How this man would actually in person, in the flesh, kiss me every day. Kiss me like his last breath depended on it. How he would grab me because he wanted me, wanted to consume me, wanted my sex.
How he never forced me.
How he never treated me like a child, or a baby, he valued my opinions, my mind, my brains, and he always wanted my body.
How when he held my face in his hands as he tasted my mouth, we are the only two people in the world.
But, I guess that only happens in the movies.
Thanks for teaching me that will never be possible in my life, not in this life anyway.