I said, “I was born At the bottom of a wishing well”.

NOTE: If you haven’t noticed, I’m posting a lot of old words from prior to 2020. When I got sober, I got in the practice of writing everyday. This doesn’t include my handwritten stuff of which I have a ton of notebooks as well. It was my religion. Now that I look back at some of it, I can’t help but laugh. Some of it makes me cringe, some makes me proud, and some I’m like, w o w – I was crazy. Guess which one this is – enjoy!

[These are all mostly unedited except for typographical errors or grammatical errors that affect clarity or intended meaning.]

Something good! Something good… something good to say about today is that I have eleven months sober and I think that’s something to celebrate. Something less celebratory is that I’m still single. Shrug. I can’t really blame God for keeping me single. That is who is behind this, right? Wink, wink. It’s okay, that’s what I keep telling myself. It’ll all work out. These are a lot of empty words to describe a very empty feeling. Here we go, the meat and potatoes of my loneliness. I’m simultaneously in love with several men and also absolutely love none of them. Perhaps even sadder is that I’m loved by none of them, either. There are a lot of theories behind why this might be. First of all, I’m not very desirable physically or emotionally. I’m not overconcerned with my weight and I refuse to put an emphasis on shaving my legs all the time. I have a sizeable amount of debt and a criminal record. My mental health record is a little spotty and I tend to overshare this information regularly. I talk about God a lot and I write pretty bad poetry and even worse, rambling prose. And actually, being lonely isn’t so bad at all.

Date: 2018-09-08
Words: 184
Minutes: 0

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