Crying Like a Little Bitch.
I must be mad. Yes, I'm quite sure of it. Mad. As in Crazy. My eccentricity allows me a lot of leeway. But I miss the drummer and that is madness. I think partly it was sparked by a book I got for Christmas. Henry and June by Anais Nin. The extent that I relate to this Anais woman is infuriating to me. I do not respect her, I don't even like her, but I am like her. While I have never known lust for another woman (despite what you may have heard about my Christmas Party kissing shenanigans), I do know how suffocating it is to be married to someone you adore but simply does not stimulate your intellect. To think, if only I had taken a lover I may still be happily married today. Not that I am fool enough to actually believe that. But I do believe in the love that she shared with her lover Henry. The Love. The love that is nothing. It goes nowhere. It's only purpose is to exist and nothing more. It knocks the breath out of you quicker than a hard fall. It's a poetic love and it is my favorite one. It was the love I shared with the drummer for years before we ever dated. And I miss it. I never cheated on anyone with him. We went years without even speaking. But when things got bad, in the back of my mind I knew my drummer loved me and I loved him. I won't speak to him. The phone bill is still in my name and I won't even call him to settle it. I just don't believe in beating a dead horse. Or speaking to a man who may or may not have ever loved me at all. I'm going stir crazy. I'm afraid I won't be kissing anyone in Birmingham on the New Years. DJ Geisha and I have just nailed down plans for a road trip to Huntsville. I don't remember the name of that band that's playing and I honestly don't even care. I just want to breathe again. Song of the Day: It's a Sin, PSB