Saturday night wine-in with Joni Mitchell

It’s Saturday night and I’m hemming a dress.

I’m trying to… I’m an impatient and crude sewer… sewist? Needlewoman?

But I want to hem this dress because I cut it shorter months ago and I like it, and I keep putting it on and thinking need to do that hem and throwing at the back of the wardrobe. But I’m MOVING to FRANCE soon so I need to shit or get off the pot, regards my dress.

And I’m drinking wine and that’s what I did last night too, I drank a bottle of red plonk, 6 euro a bottle, embarassed buying it really. I steeled myself for the teenager puffing up his chest when he served me, to ask some question about my cheap wine habits, to which I would reply “no I’m making mulled wine… for… eh… lots of people… you can use cheap wine for mulled wine, it doesn’t matter.”

Of course he didn’t say anything about my wine choices. He has in the past challenged me on my whiskey purchases but last night he was on a walkie talkie with a colleague whining

“I’m FOOKING STARVING, hurry the fook up! Ah here, ah here man! That’s fucking ages!” (I believe his colleague was leaving him waiting for his break.)

But I drank it on my own playing Age of Mythology and I said tonight would be different.

Anyway I can’t spend money because I’m going so soon and I have already dipped into my savings this month… I’m going to France with Fuck All savings.

And tonight I was listening to Joni Mitchell and hemming my dress and I think “All I want” was playing and it got me thinking of Antoine. Not of missing him, but just a gentle sort of thinking… I was thinking of the tender moments with this strange person who the more I got to know, the less I understood. Now, after everything, it’s so odd to me that we ever shared anything… and we shared so much, and yet it was nothing, nothing at all.

I thought, why am I still… thinking about him? Why am I still friends with him on facebook? Am I waiting for something? I don’t want him again, if he wrote to me I’m sorry I’m sorry I miss you I love you I’d let him down firmly but gently, and probably in a patronising manner because of the age difference I have recently added to our relationship, that I waved my hand at earlier. Nah, not for us. Now it’s my weapon, in case he comes back…

But he won’t and I don’t want more of him. So I opened facebook and went to his page to Unfriend him, not maliciously, but in the sense that neither of us should be made aware of changes, posts, photos… etc.

I know even now I do the odd facebook stalk session. Like a new girlfriend is just going to be announced on his page, or he’ll write something that totally references me… I don’t know. So I went to unfriend him… and instead of having that option… the button read “add friend”.

HE unfriended ME.

Goddammit.

When did this happen? I’m sure he was my friend recently, like two or three days ago. I don’t want to read it as something mean either, because from my point of view it wasn’t something nasty to do.

I guess it just means that for whatever reason, he was thinking of me, and for whatever reason, he wanted to not be facebook friends with me any more. I am sure it was really, really recent… like a matter of one or two days.

But there it is, he made the move, and for some reason it hurt me a bit.

I’m not really that hurt, I don’t need like, outpourings of sympathy… I’m just stung by it. Like a slap on the wrist of my confusing last relationship…

I don’t know what it is… I look at a picture of him and he looks younger every time. Like, really young. I don’t know what it was, what morsel I grabbed onto, that made me see him as a big, great man. I can’t recall it now. He was confident and I guess the usual men who like me are shy, self depracating, can’t believe their luck to be with me.

I wonder why I attract them..

Is it because I’m a fake confident? Like I feel confident.. I feel that I feel like I’m an attractive, fun, interesting, intelligent person. But then I don’t make decisions like I believe it… And who knows what my facial expression gives off…

When I look in the mirror I put my face in an arrangement that is just for me. I know it and I know my face and I see it all. I imagine other people see something similar but maybe I do some other expression when I’m being observed, or when I’m not… I’m terribly afraid that my personality, to other people, looks like a shabby attempt at jollyness, cockyness and spontaneity but it’s a flimsy veil over bitterness, fear, solitude and heartbreak.

I can’t tell, wine doesn’t really help. Joni Mitchell makes me feel splendid with myself, like my best friend is telling me things I always knew but never thought of. But I can’t shake the knowledge that it’s Saturday night and it’s Joni Mitchell’s voice and not a friend’s, and I’m drinking wine on my own trying to hem a dress like it’s going to MAKE me, a new outfit, new person. And here I am, a really great assortment of friends in Ireland… GOOD friends, friends who actually give a shit about me… and I’m home drinking on Saturday night and I’m about to move to France where I don’t even speak the language, and maybe the main reason I’m doing this is to prove to myself and my ex… my ex- facebook friend… that I wasn’t moving to France to be with him? Like it’s a game of emotional chicken and I’m the fool that gets run over for her bravery.

I DO want to do this, I feel like it’s my one big decision I’m making  to better myself as a person. To get over the things I dislike about myself. The antisocial, lazy behaviour… I HAVE TO get over that if I do this. So it’s good… just because it originated from a desperate need to follow a good feeling, a shallow good feeling with a boy… doesn’t mean it’s a fake plan doomed to bring me right back here even sadder.

But I also got married because I started a plan and I didn’t want to back out and admit I hadn’t a clue what I was doing.

But here I am, and I’m going to do something risky and scary and that’s good, I don’t want to wallow here making nothing of myself. Struggle is good, it has to be good. I need to do this. Ooooh I am a lonely painter, I live in a box of paints… I’m frightened by the devil, and I’m drawn to those ones that aint afraid…. Oh goddamit I will never get sick of Joni Mitchell. She’s just beautiful.

My family’s opinion has always washed off me like water off anybody’s back, but when I said I was getting married they all stalled and asked questions that made me shut down in self defence. And make up lies, monstrous lies about my view on life.

But I told my grandfather about this plan of mine, and my grandfather is a great, ridiculously intelligent man. He told my mother,

“in a way, everything Abby has done so far in her life has been leading up to this.”

And I really relish that being true.

So fuck it. Hope and enthusiasm and all that shit, while I’ve got ’em, I’m going to apply them to this situation and fuck, I just hope it brings me somewhere that isn’t the same as everywhere else. I have hope… but I’m also fucking terrified that all my life is going to be is one crisis after the next, savouring the drama to distract me from the fact that I’m never happy with anything and I’m always lonely. But that’s just wine talk, isn’t it?

I’m excited to go on my adventure I just hope there’s something out there for me….. something, anythign, to hold my attention and interest me that will stand up to scrutiny. I entertain myself with people who aren’t worth shit, like Antoine, and then it’s over and I’m thinking, who the fuck am I to continue to feel so superior when I can be utterly floored by some pretentious kid on Erasmus or before him, the cheap, mean, idiot I married, or before him, the ketamine dealer who cheated on me with his brother’s kid’s mother???

I don’t want to change myself, but I’d love to know what I can change about my behaviour, to get something better for myself. I hope my next plan is the first step…

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Just a shitty post about not going out tonight.

It’s pissing rain tonight. Just finished a 10 hours on my feet shift, after the same yesterday and an 8 hour the day before… Tomorrow I have the day off, but typical, no interesting offers of social activity tonight.

I’m dying to go out and get drunk and make loud, sweeping generalisations about life and imediately disagree with myself in front of a slightly confused audience. I’m itching to walk past some men I don’t like the look of in a short skirt and buzz off the indignation for a while. But my options are sad… I know this group of erasmus students who speak English and are around my age… they go out for drinks all the time, but always quite boring nights out and boring conversation. I just wind up drinking too much and too quickly so at least I can entertain myself, and spending lots of money and waking up fat or covered in vomit. So I think I’ll pass. No one interesting or attractive to go out with. Plus, went shopping this week way too much so if I stay in I can kind of validate the expenditure. Although I got a taxi to work this morning because I was going to be late for the 5th time this week (very bad. And I don’t need to tell you why...)

So, I’ll fire up the auld graphics card and get to some serious Fallout looting and killing of innocent civvies… and by the way, I’ll be doing this USING ONLY MY VAGINA. No that’s a lie. Maybe some day they will invent a controller just for female gamers. It could be like a joystick, wink wink, that you insert vaginally and then using pure vagina strength, navigate the game world and get some seriously disturbing thrills every time you get that headshot. It would vibrate obviously. Anyway, that doesn’t exist yet. So I’ll just have to play the old fashioned way with my hands. Quiet night in anyway, wake up tomorrow all refreshed and eager to clean my house. (yeah…)

FUCK ME NOOOOOOO!!!! Through the thinnest walls in the universe comes an ear rape so jarring and unwelcome it threatens to send me out in the rain to hang with Hank Scorpio and the crew.

My neighbour next door just put on that fucking song…  “La mano arriba… cintura sola…. danza kuduro” WHAT a pile of shit. I watched the video because my sister likes to show me really crappy popular songs on youtube to get a reaction. She seems to enjoy hearing me spit angry bile out in spiteful monologues. It amuses her (up to a point. I just hope she doesn’t repeat anything I say to her peers or teachers or anything). So I watched the whole thing. It’s a yacht video, with these bored looking models lying on the deck, Rohypnolled off their glossy tits. Don Omar and his skeezy mate Vincenzo party around the comatose models, crooning about this dance which is supposed to involve moving around and putting a hand in the air and turning around and moving their heads. This is what he sings, and he’s bopping around the whole time burning calories, and I’m thinking, what the fuck? (it’s a frequent thought for me I know)

Here’s a slimeball with a yacht and some models, and he’s singing a song about sexy women dancing, and what does he choose to record as his video? Not the women dancing, oh no that would be too attractive and coherent. So we watch him going on about this great dance and the women just lie there. He dances, sure, he gets really into it. I don’t know, if he had the women dancing the video would probably be watched like… a lot more. But I digress. It’s shit anyway, and my neighbour is pumping it out next door when I really just want to chillax after work.

I started playing the same song on youtube loud and she has turned off the music. Passive aggressive neighbour relations right on. RE-SULT.

Anyway outside it’s pissing rain, seriously, like monsoon style. I’m not going anywhere.

Even if I had anything more appealing to do than spend a few hours with some fucking STUDENTS and Hank Scorpio and hottish guy with girlfriend (who I have since gone off completely) and pussy agnostic with his religious nut girlfriend* (*this link to same page as vomit link above).

I’d like to go hang out with my pretty and fun friend, but she gets off work super late and I don’t know, I’ll probably look too shit and “lived-in” by midnight, won’t be able to handle the emotional drainage of being her token ugly friend. Men should be tactful and gentlemanly and pretend to be interested in both of you.

Oh yeah you may have noticed, I’ve discovered linking to my older posts. I am doing this as much as I can from now on because I write a lot of diary entries on here, and in case you’re a new reader or something… you can get some back story. I give my posts really shitty irrelevant titles though so if it’s far back, it’s hard to remember what I mentioned and where. I don’t have the desire to go trawling through old stuff and updating tags but yeah from now on might try to keep things organised better even if it’s only for my own records so I can find stuff.

Anyway the music is off again. I can chill again. But shit I think I should go out, or I’ll just be boring and bitter all next week and then I work next Sunday. Shit. Lazy… rain… Urgh.

Fallout? Fallout.