casting

steadily and far without leaving myself much line to reel things back in.
i have so many questions that i will probably never manage to answer.
if unanswered, the questions could swell and ooze. or they could heal and fade.
a fork in the road in her jumbled murmur over my shoulder. look, mommy, a fork in the road. how do we know which way to go?
today, without the answers, the questions have me frantic. she puts so much faith in me to direct her, as if i'm even capable of steering my own ship.
i think of that scene. and a million other scenes... and i wonder if everyone's attempt to stay united is in vain. does everything eventually disappear? do the dynamics just dissolve into emptiness, into nothing? how does anyone ever really love someone?
i mean really. without lying and cheating and forcing themselves. is there such a thing?
my love is a spigot. a few good left turns and i spew, steadily, heavily. but turn it to the right and i am done, off. completely.
or i like to pretend things are that simple.
i don't want to see him tomorrow. i don't want to see them tomorrow. i'd like to erase them utterly and forever from my life. this is not how i expected to feel. not entirely. i did expect to feel deserted, abandoned, left. i did expect their interest to steadily wane. but not so abruptly. and i didn't expect that i would begin to heartily embrace the disinterest. i didn't expect that they would call me and i would not return the calls.
no one who leaves a message lately hears from me. sorry. sort of.
today, oncampus, i was disconnected. today, in bed, i was disconnected. today, all day, i have been disconnected. there's too much in my head. i can't even pretend to give a shit.
she bubbled through the door, prying her eyes apart and talking as quickly as she possibly could to keep herself awake as she tugged at the torn, dingy once-white strap of her discountdesigner bathing suit. she detailed her trip as she bit with no teeth into the center of her apple.
i told her i missed her.
i lied through my intact teeth.
i'm not in a space to miss anyone. i'm busily erecting walls. i'm busily wallowing in my own pity. and i'm tired of sharing with anyone else. it only muddies me a little more. it only exasperates everyone around me.
last night, on the return trip with andre crooning loudly in the car, i wanted desperately to find something louder, wilder, more penetrating. distraction. i wanted to drive off into nothing. i wanted to drink too much and laugh too loudly and dance drunkenly to really bad music. like i used to when she wasn't around. i wanted to pretend that there were no consequences. that having no money doesn't mean anything. that the next week will pass smoothly. that the next year will be liveable and i won't find myself aching or scrambling at the end of it. that i will get into school easily. that he will find a job and we will stay together. that she will not resent me entirely. i just wanted to drink and forget and pretend. instead, i drove madly back home and observed his tolerant semi-interest as he responded over the top of his monitor.
the questions i posed, his responses, his eyes sliding into the back of his head after he'd finally closed his computer and decided to lie down and address me directly only depressed me more. i should have stopped at a bar the way i'd wanted to. i should not have come home to think. and fill my mind with everything that doesn't matter in the end. the rest of me never listens, anyway. i have no psychosomatic synergy. that synapse collapsed long ago.
this morning i told him to. i told him to partly because i wanted to see if he would... but partly because it has been some time and i needed to remind myself how much i'm willing to not take care of me. sad, i guess, that i could never be a porn star. at least there's money in mastering that art of letting yourself down. over and over again.
this is not where i'm supposed to be. this is not how i'm supposed to be.
mark ruffalo onscreen reminds me of him. slow but volatile. slow but oddly profound. deliberate. i haven't seen him in three years next week. when he was here he made her cry and disappointed her repeatedly and blew off her investment so that he could vomit vodka into bushes with his half-retarded friends. i hated him for treating her the way he did. what i didn't realize was that i do the same thing relentlessly every fucking day. i let her down consistently more massively than his fleeting presence (or absence) ever could.
the scene featuring his dilapidated house and his trashy dyejob girlfriend made me cringe. when he wondered if i ever check on him just to see where he is, or if i ever thought about it, i didn't need a pause. i don't wonder about him. generally. until i see the cineamatic corollary to my life. the torn screen door of his world banging shut, denying he was ever involved in the creation of a child. until i see how it looks from the outside. she would be so appalled by him. what part of me ever thought he was fit to be anything other than gutter trash, anything other than what he nastily called him. every single day. i was standing too close to really get a good look, to really scan the scene.
the best time to go is around 7am. but i always show up hours too late. and nothing ever bites. i just cast and cast and cast into emptiness. not right now. let's wait and see. we should stop and think. we need to put space between this and that. let's just wait and wait and wait..........
cast and reel and it's always the same fable, the dull, droning shit about the one that simply wouldn't bite.