I feel bone-ass crazy anymore.  I can’t tell what is reasonable or not, I can’t tell if it’s me or is it him, can’t tell my own ass from a hole in the ground.  Even if he is crazy, now I am too anyway so how would I know? Or what would it matter?  Or…I have no idea.  I tried to hang on to certain principles, all that shit about what energy you put out blabla.  Then I tried to hang on to moral bottom lines: some things you just don’t do (“True friends stab you in the front.” Oscar Wilde, indeed).  But that’s just a thing, you don’t have to believe that and it is not a Truth despite Kant’s vouching for it (I got that vid below from JDean who noticed that in just about all ways, even if we’re talking about course caps and student parking, my mind is stuck in extreme deontology, so he thought I should have the word for it, and I passed that along to Aaron because his word is consequentialism, but he had no interest discussing philosophy (fair enough), and would only be interested in getting bent out of shape over JDean because Aaron seems intent on driving me insane…unless he’s right and I’m already insane and more apt to commit adultery or any atrocity known to human behavior and just am too stubborn to admit…), so to hell with that too.  People fuck each other over, marriage is a 50/50 crapshoot, and if it fails he’ll break up with me the same way probably but he thinks he never will.  (Is that NORMAL? I mean, I have to admit that’s probably TYPICAL…I guess….) All I know is we go round and round about such things as John friending me on fucking Facebook (I wish him no ill, but talking to John was like talking to a brick anyway so why the hell would I do that since I already have a cinder block right the fuck in front of me after all?), and that is utterly beside any point, the point is I’m sick to death not only of this betrayal hangover not to mention having been worn out in the first place even before that by Aaron’s irrational jealousy about EVERYTHING but he won’t listen just JohnJohnJohn until I killed Facebook altogether having really not much but antipathy for the social media which was only serving the purpose of keeping my father from calling me directly on the phone (God forbid) and which had become a means for me to turn around and stalk my own husband just like he had always always stalked me because I AM NOW CRAZY.  So fine, fuck it, have it your way. 

(pause for about second of peace….wait for it…..)

And then he wanted to talk about Bale.  At which point my head blew the fuck off and I gave up all hope of sanity ever reentering my life ever.  And if I could keep to that, I think it might be just the ticket, I’ll just kiss my fucking mind goodbye entirely as a useless pile of neuroses and just ignore everything it tells me about anything more important than what do you think we want for dinner.

If I had to “think”, which I cannot anymore, I’d say that I had it wrong all along.  That I’ve been the crazy one, and that at the moment when he said “I don’t love you, I just thought I did”, the buffer around my  self, my “identity”, disappeared, and I was left staring at the basic truth: I am a shrieking soul.  My mind is fucked, my body resonates with that always sleepless and hive prone, and under all that, for no good reason (I don’t belong to any tortured club, after all – I’m straight and white and middle class, so fuck me), my spirit is SCREAMING.  I came into the world not crying but SCREAMING. 

I dream: I’m in a house and a cocker spaniel runs by, jumps into the kitchen sink and down the disposer, grinding itself into nothing, and a fat black cocker tries to follow but gets stuck and dies half ass sticking up out of the sink.  Then I look around, and everywhere there are souls trying to get the fuck out of wherever we are, and this domestic space is just a mirage of haven, and outside are more souls wandering around like this, either lost or mistakenly assuming they’re alive and many are simply desperate, slamming themselves into anything that looks like escape.  I’m supposed to help these souls get out of here but I don’t know how, I’m trapped myself.  Aaron calls on the phone to tell me he has found a new job – are you coming home? Yes, later…but I suspect he is also stuck in one of these places and is one of those mistakenly assuming he isn’t dead.  I hang up the phone, look around at the spirit carnage as if I have to clean this shit up, and I SCREAM (myself awake).  And I laid there, and truly believe(d): That is real.

Or at this point, my nerves are shot and I’m just plain crazy. 

I must be.  Because at the end of the day, if he wants to (re)marry me so badly, then don’t I get a big diamond ring and shit (armscrossy)?  And he’s thrilled with that idea.  And I think, Welp then at least you maybe can focus your energies on that instead of on making me crazy and that might be good(!), for all I know.