I really love my boyfriend. There is a good reason why. One of many is the following:
He obliges me. Constantly. Some may think this is silly, but I don’t. I do things for him, he does things for me. He puts up with my crazy antics, my silly thoughts & my wacko photographs of us.
I also put up with his neurotic cleanliness of his fingers (he hates touching food with his hands).
I love you, hot stuff.
My therapist long ago once told me that I would never be satisfied. I don’t know if this was the best thing to say to a person like me or if it was a blessing in disguise.
I’m still trying to figure it out.
I admire people these days that know what they want to do in life. And I don’t mean just having a job they love. I’m talking about life.
Great friends, great lover, great job, great everything.
Still not satisfied. I want more. I want be able to create & learn & love more & not hate so much.
This brings me back to the satisfaction point.
All the things I do and love satisfy me. Will other things add to my satisfaction?
Every 6 months I go through a spell. I freak out on myself. ‘Never satisfied…’ plays over and over and over again in my head.
And I don’t know how to stop it. I’m an arist. Deep down inside I yearn to create and paint and take photographs, but there is something holding back. It’s called fear and rejection. This is normal, right?
I’m becoming … I don’t know what you call it. I remember the days when I could party 3 days in a row. Those days? Far behind me. And the partying isn’t necessarily ‘hardcore’. It just involves copious amounts of alcohol.
I woke up this morning with 4 empty wine bottles. That’s a lot. However, I’m sure I drank 2 of those. I remember at 2am playing Bohnanza thinking.. this is going to hurt tomorrow. And it does. Never again. That’s what I said last time, but I promise. I can’t do it anymore. My body doesn’t like it & neither do I.
My Grandmother is moving into a ‘home’. I’m spending every weekend for a few hours helping my Aunt clean her place. Cleaning meaning junking stuff. It’s sad to see someones stuff no longer theirs but just a box going to somebody else or a thrift store. I am unsure how to feel about it all. At first I was totally emotional & crying. Because I don’t what she’s feeling inside (she can’t speak english anymore) and because her neurological disorder doesn’t allow her to properly communicate even in Croatian.
It’s hard. It’s also created a family rift that spawned. And I’m not sure it’s going to blow over this time. But I hope it does.
We can’t choose our parents, but man I thought it would be easier at age 30 to get along with them. It’s not. It feels harder .. it’s draining and exhausting.
I’m currently house and pet sitting. The dogs like to remind me that they hate me and miss their owners by pissing in every corner that closely resembles a ‘tower’. I am unhappy about this, but I cannot make them stop pissing. Oh, there was also a poop as well, nicely left on the carpet.
Also, I love my cat. She doesn’t piss everywhere or yell at me. I feed her, she’s satiated. I pet her, she’s satiated. I play with her, she’s satiated.
HUMANS ARE NEVER SATIATED.