This is not to say that from time to time I don't feel appreciated, just this past week a surprise care-package of the coolest kind arrived in the mail from the delightfully inventive Miss Jill. The selection of fun-stuff in the box was perfect, and exactly what I would have packed up for myself - if I liked myself enough to care. And it really made me smile and giggle and feel happy, truly I couldn't have been more surprised or grateful: music, a book, vegan chocolate and even a mirror ball (of a sort) and more. I know there are so many people so much worse off than me, I do know that. And I'm trying so hard to hold onto that feeling and let it be enough.
But I'm such a miserable bitch that nothing is ever enough.
You know when you have a spill and you try to sop it up with a brand new, totally dry sponge it takes FOREVER for it to absorb the spill? That's me. A damp sponge sops up spills in a blink, because it's already primed. So I'm a dry sponge. Every now and then a drop of water hits it but by the time the next one comes it's already dry again and so it's never able to really function the way you want a sponge to function.
I'm a non-functioning sponge.
In a desert.
With a blow-dryer.
Jesus, cue the violins, eh?
I guess it's just that the older I get the more I wonder why I'm here. And I've wondered that since I was a kid, so imagine how much I think about it now. I'm tired. I'm tired of being a non-priority, even to myself. I'm a second-stringer at best. Afterthought, non-weekend friend. And clearly I'm too heinous to expect any romantic overture to be anything more than a means to make someone else jealous, or worse, a gag at the ugly girl's expense.
I've never been first in anyone's life, not even as a baby... I know, I know love yourself first. But when that doesn't work... well, then what?
Then I guess you end up like me. Wanting more than I'll ever have and trying to be happy with what I do have.
I'm just tired. Really tired of myself. And I'm tired of proving my parents right.