spare girl.

ah, dear sweet, sweet irony. a night when all i want to do is sleep because remaining awake is just too disappointing, and all i can do is stare at the ceiling.

i've been in this predicament a lot lately. i'm desperate to sleep because, to be perfectly honest, being awake holds less and less appeal for me right now. i don't know if it's winter or circumstance, but Things Are Not Working.

i can say with a certain amount of authority that it is most certainly Not You, it's absolutely and plainly Me. enough of a pattern has emerged in my life to make it abundantly clear to me that whatever it is that is that has touched my life with dust can no longer be blamed on outside forces.

it has to be me.

there is something in me that is inherently poisoning my life. there is some fundamental facet to my being that has marked me as a bother, as unnecessary, as undesirable, as disposable; disposable to my family; disposable to my lovers; disposable, even, to my friends. and if not disposable, then destructive to myself.

there is something about me that must explain why i am going nowhere, why i repeat the same stories over and over.

as i've analogized previously, i sometimes feel as though i'm an sporty, yet temperamental car--covetable at first sight, tolerable for a few test drives, until you start to notice the idiosyncracies--the crookedness of the gearbox; the fact that something in the glove box rattles, just a little bit; the way the leather squeaks a certain way when you sit. and so you stable it in the garage, mortified by your folly and hoping you don't ever actually have to deal with it again. only in my case, the stable can usually be replaced by palpable and unexplained silence. (with the occasional christine-style paroxysm, where i run around causing damage to those who would dare to try and give me what i want).

having been more or less accustomed my whole life to being alone in one form or another, i'm coming to terms with the nagging suspicion i've long had that i am probably going to remain so in the long run. i am trying to accept that i am just clearly an extremely bad bet. and i guess...well, no. i'm not okay with it, even remotely. but as i've said, i suspect that that's how it is. so i'm working on becoming okay with that. because this pesky hope thing that i'm nursing, that something might actually change or work out, has ultimately done nothing but make me cry. (a dashed hope, as i'm sure you know, being among the most painful of injuries out there).

at the end of the day, i just wish i understood what it is about me that is so horribly wrong. because there has to be something. all the evidence points to it.

something to ruminate upon as i try to drift off to sleep once again. maybe if i'm lucky, i'll actually get there before sunup. maybe if i'm lucky, i won't wake up.