Seriously, how much more heartbroken can one heart be before it is turned into a walnut and then buried by a mean squirrel in the backyard of my soul?

So my systems are down right now at work. It’s a revelatory situation. Most of the time people sit around wishing they had no work to do. But the entire cubicle forest is freaking out because we have all these calls to make and things to do, and it’s just throwing our SCHEDULES off, man. I’m gonna be so BEHIND tomorrow. Oh how I miss the days where I didn’t plan out my hours in a maze of multitasking.

Of course, I would love the distraction right now, to get my mind off the fact that I’ve been taken in again AGAIN by Sean Ayers. I swear, at this point, my non-relationship with him resembles my non-relationship with the Republicans. Every time I think “there is no way I can be hurt anymore by this, there is no way I can be any angrier”, something wallops me on the back of the neck and proves me wrong. And it’s my fault, cause they’re both so predictably going to hurt me. Seriously though, what was I thinking? What corner of my primeval junior high brain thought I could spend a week of nights with him, and he wasn’t going to blow it all up like a Molotov bomb? Because, you know, he “doesn’t owe me anything”. Like picking up the phone, or just being straightforward and honest about the fact that the one night in 10 he’s not spending with me in bed, he’s immediately out with another girl? And I think what makes me even angrier about the whole thing is that he knew he was doing something bad to me, which is why he tried to pick a fight with me the day before, and why he turned his ringer off the day of, and why he just can’t own up to it but instead tries to backtrack and defend. Like a kid who’s been caught in a lie. Just be a man and say “hey yeah, I was out with Kate last night, so what? I’m not your boyfriend and I don’t care how you feel about this, so if you don’t want to talk to me now, fine.” THAT I could at least respect. Take your consequences. Don’t act like you don’t know I’m going to be furious and brokenhearted. You knew I would be, and you did it anyway. Don’t play stupid. “I don’t have to tell you, I don’t have to, I’m sick of your ultimatums, blah blah blah”. It’s not an ultimatum. It’s called a “tell me you made out with some other girl last night so I can at least know exactly where we fucking stand”. I’m just so furious because of this shady attitude of his, and also because I just know if he could have managed to be happy just once in the times he had a chance with me, it could have been so great. But hey, start talking to me? You’ll immediately become mired in misery and your life will become a “nightmare”. Seriously, it'll go straight from "man I'm having so much fun with other girls" to "I hate my life and I want to kill myself". Within a week. I’m impressive like that. I guess the idea of going out with me again is like instant yummy poison, like dogs and chocolate. They think they want it all the time when they don't have it, but then they get hideously sick. He might not have even gone out with girl! He might have just gone to bar! But he needs an excuse to stop talking to me!

Oh god, on to other things. That concludes the vindictive, heartbroken, “god I hope your little fashionista googles you and finds this so she knows you were fucking me all last week” portion of this post. Also, I swear to god if any of you say anything at all to me about poor Sean who misses me so much, who's so heartbroken, I will rip out your eyeballs and feed them to my cat. Lies, they're all lies. Guy may love me in some weird indiscernible way, but he certainly doesn't like me.

Thoughts today include general amazement at the amount of celebrity rubbish I subject myself to daily. Also love for the functioning part of my brain that insists on functioning, despite my every effort to squash its hope with Gossip Girl, cigarettes, Kraft mac and cheese, pictures of Sarah Palin as a child. It just keeps going people, it refuses to die. It huddles in the darkest little corner, yearning to stick its head out, but scared of the CW crocodiles paroling my emotional plains. It’s anemic and gray, with tiny little limbs I can break with a forefinger or an opinion about which is the better Olsen twin. They are not separate entities, in fact they are a two headed mutant, a monster whose actual body extends far below the sewers of New York, like an iceberg we only see the tip of the problem.

Oh, also I’m trying to temper my political hatred, in anticipation of needing to eventually come down off this high Obama horse. I’m trying to remind myself that I’m an extremist, and I need to be more tolerant. Only, I don’t feel like one. I feel like my anger at the not even trying to be subtle lying and rumor-mongering is completely justified. And I’ll tell you what REALLY burns me up, the price of gas! It’s so low! Because it’s always this low before the election, predictably and measurably. For the last 12 years, like possessed clockwork! For the first Bush election, and the second Bush election, and now McCain. They want you to have less to bitch at the Republicans for. It’s mind bogglingly obvious who the gas companies are pulling for, and its brain bustingly insulting how see-through it is, and yet NO GETS MAD. Not at the Republicans mind you, AT THE GAS COMPANIES. Doesn’t it tell you how willy nilly they fleece you, that they can reduce gas to 2.25 a gallon for weeks before the election? It’s not the global market collapse, or hurricanes. They do this EVERY FOUR YEARS. Why are we content to sit here quiet as a mute child while they laugh at us, and then set our wallets on fire, while they hand out scraps to us like starving dogs? Why do we just keep flying into the glass window again and again and again? When is the American public going to get mad at the real evil bastards?!

So, you know, this confuses me, the utter immovability of the prairie mind. It falls into this tin bucket I carry around in my torso, the things that make me sick, that leave rusty tastes in my mouth and stinging needles in my eyes. I take deep breaths often, trying to contain the desire to shout at everyone around me. When people talk about the courage of activists, what they are really talking about it the courage to wake up every morning and do the same thing and say the same thing to an implacable wall, a dead black hole that surrounds them. Remember the scene from C.S.Lewis’s voyage of the Dawn Treader, where the ship sailed into the black fog, and the lights couldn’t even stay on in the face of the utter blacknesss? That’s what I think of when I see people who “do stuff”. I think of those sad little warm lights flickering and weakening and turning cold, unable to stand the lack of acknowledgement from the world around them.

I’m not even an activist. I am a do-nothingist. I am a have-a-jobist. I am a don’t-have-to-kill-the-animal-myself-so-its-okayist. I have no hope. I have too active a curiousity. I am a self-concerned shameful person. And all of you are too. Which is why I don’t understand why we can’t even get angry about something that affects US directly? What hope do the less selfish causes have then?

Of course, maybe the price of gas doesn’t matter so much to you, because you’re not living off yogurt and cheerios just to make sure you have enough gas money to get to work for the next two weeks. Maybe you don’t know the sense of horror when you realize that after the bills are paid, that’s it, there is no spare dollar that shouldn’t go into your gas tank. You’ve probably never called off work just because you didn’t have enough to get there. You think rush hour is just a nuisance, but to me that time spent waiting burning running is tomorrow’s morning’s allowance.

Yes, I am very angry today. At you, at me, at gas, at capitalism, at hormones, at all girls more than three years younger than me, at boys, at the ice collecting on my car, at my squeamy looking hair, at absolutely everything in the whole world except the pot roast in the crockpot at home which will be my sustenance thru next Tuesday. Also, I’m not angry at the Red Fox Dream Baby.