Damaged Good

Friday's are the worst. Especially now, in the evening, I can hear the traffic outside- people rushing home to begin their weekend. But I have nowhere to be and no one to be with... It's the sad story of my life, in some ways, I have always been alone and longing for company.

As a child I would ask for and receive board games for Christmas every year. The kinds of games that were impossible to play by yourself, like: Monopoly, Life, and Risk. It's obvious to me now that I thought that if I had something to offer, surely the players would present themselves for the games. But they never did. Somehow my thinking has never really evolved.

I have had friends over the years. Even whole relationships, but the majority of my life seems to be spent in solitude. A recent ex recently told me that I have a double curse: intelligence and creativity. That somehow these "gifts" are also a curse; because I can entertain myself for long periods of time, which is true but truly useless in the comfort department. I suppose that's why I paint so many portraits. I surround myself with imaginary friends. Famous faces stare back at me from every available inch of my walls. I am the object of their attention and affection. I spent years on a stage, now my audience is my cage.

Just finished reading Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. I had been leisurely making my way through the last book, wanting to prolong the experience. But it was inevitable that I would finish today. I cried. Several times... Despite that I am happy to be reading novels again. My imagination is sparked and the characters become my companions. I have far too much empathy for this world. Feel too deeply. Fall too often. Perhaps for these reasons it is better for me to be alone.

I try to be optimistic about the future. I long to say yes should opportunity knock. What I know for sure is that even though I am damaged that doesn't mean that I'm not still good.

Wait, What?

I arrived home this evening to find two items in my mailbox. The first being the DVD box set of Todd Haynes' Mildred Pierce, which I love and wanted as a reminder that children are simply wretched scabs that will break your heart and fuck your lovers. (I secretly suspect that a similar thing could happen to Madonna if she keeps dating men closer to her daughters age than her own...) I happily added this to my Amazon queue when it became available and was pleased to see that it arrived today. 

However, the other item in my box- a National Geographic magazine, I have no memory of ordering. Oh wait, it has a map of the world with it.... Maybe I do remember possibly subscribing to N.G. in order to get my hands on this precious map of the entire fucking world. But was that really my motivation? What kind of person was I hoping to become in 2012? What does the fact that I signed up for a subscription and forgot about it say about me? I love reading N.G. at the orthodontist or other such glamourous waiting rooms I might find myself in. The pictures are fascinating and beautiful. The articles, interesting enough... Usually in a WTF kind of way. But who was I on the day I decided that, yes- it's time to be a National Geographic reader on a regular basis?

I've been shedding layers of toxic self over the recent weeks. Old skins, beliefs, attitudes... I want to let it all melt off like whipped cream on a hotcake. I don't need the calories and the guilt is so passé. I'm beginning to see the world through new eyes. It's a very good feeling.

I met a man at work the other day, who upon hearing my Christian name responded: "You're too young to be a Wayne. All Wayne's are twenty years older than you." I thought about that for the rest of the day. It made me feel good, somehow better about myself. I decided to google my name to find out what I could about it and stumbled across a couple of different articles in reference to the fact that a disproportionate number of criminals have the middle name of Wayne, ala John Wayne Gacy. Something about the fact that middle name Wayne's are more likely to end up behind bars for heinous criminal activity than people with other, non Wayne middle names. I was slightly freaked out, as this was not the information I had been looking for, so I paid little attention and went onto other less threatening web content. (As an experiment, just say your name out loud and insert Wayne as if it were YOUR middle name. Creepy, right? This is my reality, mind you.) 

I'm not a criminal. Though I have often thought of myself that way. The fates are vicious and they're cruel. I learned too late I used two wishes like a fool...  So what shall I use my final wish on? 

I know that having it all could cost me everything, but what have I to lose? Even though I have a map of the world, I'm still not coming to save you. You'll have to forgive me, my dear. I'm molting.