Why the fuck don’t people talk about things?
I mean… really talk about them. About real fucking things.
Like The Ex Boyfriend and his Wife.
She’s fucking beautiful, you know? Beautiful and fucking talented and smart and a damn good mother. But they don’t talk about shit.
Ed and I tell each other everything.
I don’t know how you can call someone your “best friend” and life partner and not tell them who you really are or what the fuck is really going on with you. Because you’re lying then.
And maybe more people lie on a fucking regular basis than I thought did – but the thing is, either way that’s a fucking shame.
Millions – fuck – billions of people running around, milling about, doing their daily lives and the people they love the most – the people they say mean the most to them don’t even know who the fuck they are.
So if they don’t know who you are – then who even are you?
People are always saying how much they admire my relationship with Ed. And it’s funny, because I think it’s a brilliant awesome relationship too – but I don’t get why they don’t have the same thing.
I honestly don’t.
Because it’s not that hard to tell people – just fucking tell them – who the fuck you are and what the fuck you’re looking for out of life.
How much father would we all get and happier would we all be if we just told the truth about our lives. Our selves.
I can’t stand the feeling I feel when I’m lying.
When I’m just holding all the shit inside.
I never understood it.
I have been a liar – but mostly an exaggerator.
When I feel something it has to show somewhere. I have to tell someone. There’s always been someone who knows everything.
It’s Ed now.
It’s Ed for always.
He’s the one I want to walk through this life with.
The Ex though – damnit. He makes me insane.
I think about him a lot.
It’s that weird new love bullshit that you feel when you’re a teenager. That shit is fucking addictive. All sorts of chemical shit going on in your body, right?
Having sex with him is going to be the anecdote.
I wish he were here now so we could just get all that shit over with.
And just see each other through clear lenses.
I feel like that’s the thing with sex.
You either keep on lying or you take the opportunity it gives you to put on the clear lenses with that person. The one time you get to life the whole fucking matrix-y veil and see a person – down to their fucking soul.
I need that with the Ex. It’s going to have to happen.
I wish the Wife would come around.
What’s funny is I feel like she knows. She has to fucking know. From my angle it’s completely fucking obvious.
I’d even be into a threesome if that would make it so that I could have sex with him.
I need that.
I wish relationships were all fluid.
Deep down I’m a relationship anarchist. Fuck. Not even all that deep down – right on the damn surface but there are so many fucking social constructs that prevent that sort of even fucking discussion that I don’t even know where to begin with it or what to do with it. I don’t see why every relationship in our lives shouldn’t be allowed to develop the way it should naturally develop – with everyone communicating and everyone being honest with everyone else. Radically fucking honest – look – I want to fuck that girl or that boy or what the fuck ever – or I’m in love with him or I love her or I want to be with you but I need to live with her for a few months. What the fuck ever. The world is so fucked up.
It makes me think about religion and what God really meant for things to be.
When he made the world it was perfect.
And Adam and Eve were in it and they had everything they needed and they had perfect yin yang union with one another and they thought the other one was equally hot. And nothing wanted to eat them and they just ate fruits and vegetables and basically fucked all the time and hung out with talking animals and had perfect communion with the divine.
I hate that it isn’t that way now.
I feel like it wasn’t necessarily the apple as much as the need to create rules and categories and separation. That’s what humans do. Separate and categorize even when things are perfect we’re always looking for something to change or move around or whatever – nothing can really be perfect – somewhere inside we long for the wabi sabi imperfect nature of being human. It’s what it means to be us. Imperfect. Broken. Fucked up. But eternal. The great paradox of being.