Guilt for the Wicked

I hurt someone today. I broke his heart. He came over and told me he loved me, to give him another chance.

I said I hate him, that he had fucked up. That’s a lie. I said that so he could get over me quickly. So he wouldn’t miss me when I’m not there to wrap my arms around him while he sleeps or kiss his cheek to wake him up.

This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. His grandmother is dying. Considering he’s never met his father (let alone knows who he is) and his mother died when he was nine, his grandma is damned important to him. And you hurt him even more, Jess.

ARGH! Why do I feel this much guilt?! He really did fuck up. I don’t like him like that anymore… Shit, I’m getting soft. I used to hurt people for a living. I never lost any sleep over it. Now I tell a guy I don’t like him anymore and I feel like a hippo is wiping its ass on my chest. Time to move on, Fizz. You’ve felt sorry for yourself long enough. He should feel bad, not you.

Onward and downward, I guess.

My Family Gives Me NO BREAKS

I was really sad so I called my dad. I started to cry as soon as I heard his voice.

Pops: Hello?

Me: *sniffles* Hi Daddy…

Pops: Is this my daughter? Crying? Oh gosh. I’m gonna look at this menu. Here, talk to your Uncle Bill.

Uncle Bill: Hey, Jess. Watcha doin’?

Me: *sniffles more* Crying like-like-like a little b-b-b-bitch.

Uncle Bill: Sounds like it. You okay or are you just having a womanly moment? ‘Bout damned time you started to have those…

I actually feel a lot better now that I’ve spoken with my family.

Pops is down in Florida because my grandmother’s husband passed away on Friday. Friday was also my Uncle Bill’s birthday. Cowabunga.

Dream Words

This is it. What’re we gonna do…?

Enjoy it.

I wish I had stayed…. I wish I had done more.

Let’s pretend you had.

It may have been the saddest exchange of words I’ve ever had. It doesn’t matter who said what. It was sad for us both.

I almost wish the conversation had happened. 

But it was nothing more than a dream.


I want to live happily… But… That’s a dream. A sad dream. Those sorts of things… I won’t dream them anymore.


Be well.

Abe’s Perspective 

I just spoke with my kid brother, Abe

I feel a lot better. He put shit into perspective for me.

I told him how I was a bad person for seeing a nice guy when I’m still sorta hung up on someone. 

It’s good that you’re not just pining after Michael. You’re not sad just because he’s not here. You’ve got some introspection going and you’re looking at how your actions are affecting other people. If you need time for yourself, like you need some isolation time, that’s not a bad thing to ask for.

And that’s what made me snap out of the funk. 

Michael said he needed to figure out his life, take time for himself. And that’s not a bad thing. What’s bad is my crying over being left behind. He needs to take care of himself because no one else will. 

I feel ashamed for wanting him to talk with me when he’s probably working hard to better himself. He doesn’t need distractions.

As for this new, nice guy… If he’s really a good person, he won’t be upset if you take some time for yourself. 

I want to be a good person. I’ll try not to be too upset.

Life’s a Beach and It Tanned Me

I went to the beach yesterday. I needed it. I’ve spent most of my life near the ocean: Korea (it’s a peninsula), Hawaii, Florida (Gulf Coast side), and even when I lived in North Carolina, my grandfather had a beach house out in Sneads Ferry. So yes, seeing the ocean was very therapeutic.

Rachel, Dank Ass, and I got tipsy on Not Your Father’s Root Beer. Holy shit. I can never taste even a smidgen of alcohol in that stuff; the only way to know when it’s hit me is if my ears get toasty. After I drank just enough to find everything amusing, I swam around in a drunken manner, holding my beer bottle above the waves; I think I swallowed more ocean than beer.

And for a fleeting moment, the urge to want to do something reckless struck: I wanted to swim across the bay to the other side. I’m a strong swimmer, but there were miles of water to cover not to mention the many large boats cruising around the basin. I knew I’d never make it. I set my beer down on the dock, put my sunglasses on top of my head, and turned my back to the waves and sun. That’s enough of that, Jess.

And that’s when Rachel’s Uncle Sam started to get silly:

Uncle Sam: So you’re half Korean, huh? Cute. *He put his arm around my waist and turned me towards Dank Ass.* So are you two dating? Engaged? *His eyes flicked to the ring on my finger. Drunk Jess Engaged*

Me: No, we’re not dating. Dank Ass is hung up another girl. And I’m not cute. If I were cute… Things might’ve turned out differently.

I plucked my sunglasses from my hair and shoved them onto my face in case if I started to tear up, spun away from Uncle Sam’s arm, and walked to the end of the dock to let my feet dangle above the waves. Dank Ass joined me a minute later. “He told me that I shouldn’t think about just one girl and I should look at what I have in front of me.” There was a pause, and then we started to laugh our asses off. If something was gonna happen between me and Dank Ass, it would’ve happened a long time ago, and we both know that. We sat on the dock and just… hurt. Christ, misery really does love company… and sun tans.

Fast forward a few hours and we’re all having burgers, hot dogs, chicken legs, chips, corn, anything that could go on a grill. And then we left for my place, fat as fuck. I showered and got ready to go downtown; Dank Ass and I wanted to keep the night going. And then… a text… from someone from a long time ago.

Not to be confused with my ex-boyfriend, Christofucker. I met this Chris way before I started dating the other.

When things ended with Michael, he was the first person I called. He was also the first person I called when I lost my virginity… first person after I had been sexually assaulted. And here he was, telling me he’d be there now.

I left Dank Ass in the bar holding our drinks. “Drink the rest of mine; it’ll loosen you up. I’ve gotta meet someone outside.”

And there he was, motorcycle helmet in his hand, smirk on his face. He hugged me. I felt light. I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol working or being held. I wanted to just stand on the sidewalk like that, but he let go and led me to a table outside the bar. We people watched. We didn’t say much. He didn’t ask about Michael; I didn’t tell. His presence soothed my wounds, as it always has. It was the high point of the evening.

After he went home, the night went downhill. I ordered more drinks until I was broke. And then I started rating girls in the most asshole-ish manner possible; it scored me a few free drinks from the gentlemen sitting next to me; they must’ve thought I was hilarious.

That is violently ugly. Chromosome damage ugly. She could be the poster child for fetal alcohol syndrome.

No amount of weight loss is gonna do shit. It’s just gonna drain her titties into orangutan flapjack bobos.

Oh god, she made me change my standard of ugly.

And then one chick tried to argue with me about the rating I had given her.

Ugly Chick: I’m cute; you’re just a fucking bitter bitch who has no friends.

Me: My friend is in the bathroom right now, but this guy is buying me drinks so I guess he’s my friend too… *drunkenly pats back of the dude beside me* And lemme tell you something. I’m cute too; some guy told me that today! But men aren’t attracted to “cute.” *makes air quotes with fingers* If they were, they’d all own puppies.

I think I blew her mind with that one. It’s something I’ve recently realized myself.

Dank Ass and I got the hell outta dodge after that remark. We walked to the wharf, I kicked off my shoes, and let my feet dangle over the nasty water. We started to yell our frustrations across the harbor.




Oh shit… ducks. Dude, Dank Aaaaaasssssss… Look at the ducks.  I WANNA TELL MICHAEL ABOUT THE DUCKS!

That was the end of the night. We walked back to the car: him in a brooding manner, me dancing in circles around him, singing snippets of songs.

I wonder what all the people passing by thought of us.

Hold Me Closer

My run was rather uneventful last night. No catcalls, no guys following or trying to talk to me, and certainly no one trying to start a fight. Or maybe there were assholes trying to start shit but I just didn’t hear because I had my headphones in my tiny ear canals (seriously, purchasing the right-sized earbuds is a hassle).

Thing is… I was asking for it. I was hoping the big, scary city of Baltimore would bare its teeth and throw me into a Colosseum to fend for my own. Instead I got homeless people leering at me for the paper in my pocket. Joke’s on them; I had none.

This was’t a very perspective aligning exercise (pun intended) at all. At least that’s what I thought until I got to Sam’s house.

I sprinted to Sam’s apartment (because Pigtown is the sort of place you shouldn’t dilly dally) and knocked on the front door like I was the Gestapo looking for Jews. The door swung open and there was Sam. “Get your ass in here, you dumb shit.”

“Hey, I love you too, you douche canoe.”

“Why can’t you be normal and just drink when you have problems?! I’m gonna move to a different apartment in a safer place so you don’t try to kill yourself on the way to my house.”

“I’m not trying to kill myself; I have a gun for that. I drank last night and it was only a temporary fix. Life and death matters tend to put shit in order, but that was a terrible run as far as life and death go. Not a single person took a swing at me. I was expecting more from a city that had riots a few months ago. Besides… who said I had problems?”

“Zach did.”

“That fucker.” I don’t like it when Sam knows about my problems. He immerses himself into them and I feel embarrassed when everything is on parade for him. He’s one of those people that has his shit together and I feel ashamed when he knows just how much I fuck up. But that’s typically how things work out since Sam and Zach are cousins and I shoot the breeze with Zach all the time. “So how much did you hear?”

“A lot of it. However much Zach felt like saying. He liked pointing out the fact that you turn into a little bitch when you’re sad. He said you cried too much over a guy who used you.”

That stung… and then it started to ache. I guess my face showed the hurt. “I shouldn’t have said that. Jess, I’m sorry.” I sat on the floor and started to cry. Zach was right about one thing: I do cry too much. Sam sat next to me and rubbed my shoulder. “I’m so sorry this happened. I know you liked him a lot. He doesn’t know what he missed out on. You’ll find a guy who treats you like one of those fucking lifeguard rings – he won’t let you go.” That made me cry harder. I placed my head on his lap; he patted my back. We stayed like that for a long while before I said I needed a shower and a change of clothes while I washed my sweaty gym duds. I did his laundry too as payment.

“Hey Jess, I don’t want you to think the wrong thing, but you can sleep in my bed if you want. Whenever I break up with a girl, I find that physical contact is pretty nice. I won’t do anything weird; I’ll just pat your back.”

“Well I sure as shit ain’t gonna say no to that.” And that’s how we slept. Both of us in basketball shorts and T-shirts, my back pressed against his chest, one of his arms draped over my rib cage.

It felt nice until I remembered I wasn’t curled up with Michael. I cried some more. Sam’s arm tightened around my chest, pulling me towards him. “You’ll be all right, little one. You’ll be just fine.”

I guess I will be.


Today I am a broken person.

Things ended with Michael. I’m hurt. I feel like I won’t be okay. Everybody keeps saying I’ll get through it, but I’m not sure. I have a hard time letting go of people, and I lost someone great.

You either love someone forever or you never loved him at all.

I told him I’d let him read an old post I had password protected on my blog. I’ll just leave it here:


Password: shard

Today I shattered.