cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- WhatI am about to say to Alex and her bullshit Alex texted something nasty to me a few days ago. I haven't even looked at what she has sent me on Signal since then. It's been about three days. This is what I wrote that I would send to her, but at this point I don't even want to read what she replied. I had let her know that I wanted to help pay her mortgage and that I had income sufficient for this, knowing that she lets Lindsay stick around because she helps to pay the bills. Alex. You insulted me. Deeply. There is no well of goodwill to draw on for forgiveness. You've treated me like a fuckbuddy. A hookup for whenever the coast was clear. All while making promises of some future where we have a real relationship. It has become clear that this promised future will never happen. You have no ability or will to remove Lindsay from your life. Nothing about your situation will change. You aren't kicking her out, you aren't going to hang out with me and my kids, we're never going to put up bookshelves together, there is never going to be an actual relationship between us. You're just bullshitting me and wasting my time. You had a real opportunity. Someone wanted to commit themself to you, and make you cum, and fix your appliances, and help plant your garden. And you just gave me the finger on probably at least fifty occasions when all you had to do was to show up. Did it never occur to you that I have a very painful time with being alone? That every one of the uncountable weekends when you've passed on showing up I've sat there in my car, looking at the phone with the engine running, thinking about the dinner I was going to take you to, the museum exhibit we would have seen, the party or concert we would have gone to, the conversation we would have had? This has happened again and again and again. This is how you treat someone whom you say that you love? You're like a living ghost. An apparition that has to be the same thing stuck in the same loop indefinitely. Begging for help, but unable to actually do anything differently. You treat me like shit. Do you ever wonder what things would be like if you had acted differently in relationships in the past? Like, 'maybe if I hadn't been such an asshole to whomever, things might have worked out.' You are fucking up on that level right now. And you are old enough to have the self awareness to break out of that and be who you intend to be right now. I honestly don't give a damn whether I have colon cancer. I have symptoms, they come and go. Life is what is in front of me. I read a book, I look at art, I watch a bird land on a branch. I exist. There isn't a possible future happy enough to worry about or protect. I think you're in roughly the same place. Jail, home, whatever. The difference is that I spent most of 2022 thinking there was something to stick around for. I screwed up -- I trusted you. I thought we'd plant gardens together. I thought we'd go to different countries together. I thought our kids would hang out together. I believed all of the bullshit that you spouted. And then it turns out that you just fuck off and say you're too tired or you have to work or Lindsay will be around. Figure it the fuck out and either commit to working on an actual relationship with me or consign yourself to this daily poison with Lindsay. I am done with your waffling and your insults and your bullshit. So far, you have wasted a year of my life while I have waited for you to be capable of committing to a real relationship. It has been a year in which I've caught a lot of fish, gone to New Orleans and DC and Baltimore, written much of a book, bought art, gone camping, and built up a really nice collection of fine silver table ware. I think that there are a lot of women who would probably like to have come along for most of that, but I waited for you because I'm the dumbshit who loved you. I'm done waiting. Figure your shit out. Now. So ends what I am tempted to send to Alex. I am out of patience with her. In other news the NYT is asking me to be their stringer for the W@lmart mass shooting in Ch3sapeake Virginia, about four hours away. I said that I would talk about it. I guess out of a sense of public duty more than anything else. I don't need the money, but I miss the sense of duty and service. 1:59 a.m. - 2022-11-24 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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