The Drivel Thread

So I Was Contacted
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I keep trying on different attitudes, and the one I’ve been cultivating since Valentine’s Eve morning, is to be friendly to others, but today I decided to try aiming to be friendly to primarily myself. I don’t know how this perspective will weather. I cleaned the bathtub, and it was actually enjoyable after all the years of procrastinating. It’s a beautiful large tub. I’m thrilled at having cleaned it. Now I just need Morrissey to come over and take a bath while I watch and help. Morrissey, are you sick of me yet? One day, while we’re both still capable of passionate love, we will finally get together and have a great time, if luck is on our side. The sun just came out. It’s been raining. I didn’t go for my walk today because I knew I would not see you, and I didn’t feel like having a solitary brisk walk. I think my wrist is getting carpal tunnel syndrome from using my laptop and pens too much. Life can be delicate. I want to feel you in my arms before it becomes impossible. But I don’t mean to bore you. I harp on, about wanting to touch you. I saw a man go by in an electric wheelchair who looked somewhat similar to you today on the sidewalk just outside my front door. It was a bit of a tease. I can’t believe I cleaned the bathtub. The rattling cough has been present, deep within my right lung, but it’s been mild lately. It just reminds me, that time is short. I won’t get into the gory details this time. I’m sick of reiterating them. The sun is still shining, through the blinds. It’s pretty. So, because I cleaned the bathtub, I wonder what else I’m capable of doing. When will you come for me Morrissey? When? I will try to take better care of myself, to aim to preserve my love for you. It’s all that’s worth preserving about my life. Otherwise, I would feel like a vegetable. I hear a siren in the distance.
 
That's a great mug, Sharon. I'm telling you, with a grimy brick wall and a gray sky in the background, there's something very Smiths-esque about your looks.
 
There were some negative comments about the photo at the time. Some said he looked ill (maybe he was, as it turned out) and others said he looked 70/80! But I suppose it will bring variety to your collection.
Morrissey’s face is so expressive, that each photo is different, so yes, you’re right, it will definitely add variety to my paintings of him. In this photo, he looks like he’s coping with disappointment, to my eyes.
 
Sharon looks like she smells of celery soup, urine, an old washcloth and desperation. Which I think was Audrey's point.

Be kind! That was not my point. My point was, she looks sort of dour even when she's happy and full of hope. She looks like a feminist granny who eats unsalted sunflower seeds. She looks like she could be riding a clunky vintage bicycle to the recycling center (sorry, centre) on a rainy day, like Philip Larkin cycling to the library. These are all things I associate with a Smiths aesthetic.
 
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Morrissey’s face is so expressive, that each photo is different, so yes, you’re right, it will definitely add variety to my paintings of him. In this photo, he looks like he’s coping with disappointment, to my eyes.
There seems to be a lot of sadness there. I didn't take much notice at the time, but it does seem so. But with him taking things to heart so much, it could just be that having this photo taken saddened him as it delayed his tucking into his crisps, if he calls them that now, having spent so much time away from the UK. If his diet is as limited as he says he might have been desperate for them. The delayed chip photo. But then the subsequent cancellations make me feel mean for saying that. But who knows?
 
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Be kind! That was not my point. My point was, she looks sort of dour even when she's happy and full of hope. She looks like a feminist granny who eats unsalted sunflower seeds. She looks like she could be riding a clunky vintage bicycle to the recycling center (sorry, centre) on a rainy day, like Philip Larkin cycling to the library. These are all things I associate with a Smiths aesthetic.
No, she looks like someone on a lot of medication who has snuffly breathing and pesters strangers to take sticky notes with things written on them in the hopes they'll be her friend.
 
I had a lousy lung for a few hours today. I went to the restaurant and ran a little for the bus home afterward, and found I don’t run gracefully anymore, even for just a sprint. What’s to become of me? I am still trying on the attitude of being friendly, but now primarily to myself, and felt quite timid on my only outing today, which was taking the bus up to the restaurant and then back down to where I live. I had a counselling session this morning, to put together a report showing what effect the rapes have on my current life, to get funding for further counselling. The main effect the rapes have on me is that I’m afraid to be in places where I might be in danger of being raped again, and more pervasively, having to keep my mouth shut about it in most social interactions. I do have one neighbour who appreciates my candour about it, and can even laugh about it, which gets me laughing, but usually I keep it to myself, like other crimes that have been committed against me, because there seems to be no point in talking about it. People either don’t believe it, or they just don’t know what to do with such information. So counselling would be a good way to discuss it and not have to bottle it up. Writing about it here helps, and my counsellor is darned good, so I hope I’ll get funding to keep her around for a good length of time. I hope I will do to the rest of my apartment what I did to the bathtub. It’s a treat to have it clean. I gave two sticky notes away today. I found one on the floor at my door that the food delivery guy must have dropped there. The other I stuck to the bus driver’s railing and she thanked me. She’d looked bored and it couldn’t have hurt.
Sharon looks like she smells of celery soup, urine, an old washcloth and desperation. Which I think was Audrey's point.
Oh but you’re not desperate. Not, at all. Never.
No, she looks like someone on a lot of medication who has snuffly breathing and pesters strangers to take sticky notes with things written on them in the hopes they'll be her friend.
What do you do? You just judge others. That’s all you do it seems, except for doing your job at the grocery store. What a great difference you make. Much better than I do, in your expensive coats and cheap shoes. Earth shattering.
 
Tags
anxiety bloody awful poetry testing the waters trying to feel good in your own skin trying to make friends wanting to alleviate anxiety wanting to feel safe to be honest wanting to have integrity
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