There are 100,000 reasons why I haven't
been doing this. One of them – a big one – is that I pretty much
tell you everything. All of the things that happen through my head
end up coming out of my face directly at you.
And, you know, time.
Time is a huge issue.
Always will be.
And now, it seems, more so.
I struggle. I know you do to. We
don't belong here. Spouses aside, this place takes everything it can
from you – all that you're willing to give it and then whatever it
can steal or guilt. It is a desperate, dying place that can't do
anything for itself. It is the vampire of towns – completely
incapable of caring for itself and taking the parasite route.
I think a lot of the frustration and
anger I have is tied to my job. It was okay for a while. I could
make-up for the colossal amount of suck in my job with the good
things in other aspects of my life. But, this place likes to excel
at negativity. It's started to bleed-over into the rest of my
existence. I can't do anything well or right because I'm distracted
by the anger and hate that I carry for this place and am no longer
able to put down.
I define myself by my job. It's not
the best way to be, but it's how I work. I'm good at what I do. I
love what I do. I don't want unearned (or even earned) praise, but a
bit of respect would be awesome. And I don't even have a drop of
that. I see others getting to do so much more professionally, and my
hands are tied. Not in a fun way. If I stay here, I'll just get
stagnant and bitter and old – if I ever want to leave later, I
won't have the skills to do it. I am dangerously close to
obsolescence right now.
I've got to go.
There will be casualties. Not the ones
people expect. Our geography is a casualty, and one that I know I'll
regret. Part of me insists that I need to be near you. It's not too
freaked-out yet because I'm not going anywhere as of right now.
We'll see if that changes. I'm betting it will. You are what ties
me here.
But I listen to you, too. I have been
listening this whole time. Really.
We are fine. We're going to be fine.
We will be fine. It will all be okay.
I am useless to you dead – mentally,
emotionally, or physically. I can't be any good to myself or to us
if I can't function because I hate a full half of any given day –
and the other half, I'm either sleeping or fuming.
This is good. This is right. This is
strong. Fuck geography. This will outlast it. I mean, yes, there
won't be so much face-to-face – not until you get better internet.
But is that what this is based on?
You distract me every day, whether I
see you or not. If we communicate or not. You are will me,
regardless. I'm upset that it has to be this way. But I'm not
worried, and you shouldn't be scared.
Pas.
