RAWR

Is it weird that I thought about sex with one of these things?

time

ticking along. counting milliseconds..can you see them? I can. I feel them in a porous orange peel, in the first citrus smell under my fingernail..how long it takes to make a cut through to the pulp, the heart. how long it takes to forget what you knew..milliseconds. can you feel a millisecond? Does it seem to last hours, days, years, this hope that takes less than a second to root itself into your skin, like some parasitic vine, grasping your limbs as it climbs, taking your heart, suffocating your lungs, killing your breath, till it explodes its life out your mouth in short gasps of vivid blooming desperation?

milliseconds. that's all it took for me to know you. a millennium will pass before one millisecond ends.

It's been quite a while.

What do you say when there is so much to say?

Really I'm just about contemplating how dream like life is. Was it the Hindus or Buddhists that said that life is another dream state? It feels like that, doesn't it? I feel like all the little things are just buzzing bees around my head, I can tune them in or tune them out. What's real is my writing. What's real is whether or not I have a house to live in. What's real is John. And even these things are in a dream state most of the time. John becomes upset about something small, I tell him all that matters is that we are here with each other, at this time in place. It's true yes? Yesterday is a memory and the future hasn't happened.

Still my favorite thing is to think about the future. If you aren't satisfied with who you are in the present, the future dreaming is the favorite pasttime of you. And that's me.  I think I'm too hard on myself, but as I wrote that sentence there my world became small and magnified--as if I caught some truth.

Why am I not happy with myself in the present? What can I do to change that?
Right now, I should be eating an orange, not smoking.
I should be listening to my favorite music
I should be opening windows to the world.
I should be writing.


I just realized I've close myself from myself. But why am I so scared to be who I am?

I'm letting myself die.

Rereading The Stranger by Camus

I have a friend who lives and dies on Camus and also Satre. I'm rereading The Stranger. I have read other things by Albert but I was never impressed with this one book, while she's adamant about the overall strength of it. I must say even this second time around I am not impressed. I'm not moved. I'm not hurt, or loved by it. I'm nothing; it's nothing. I do not get the appeal of something that does nothing to move you.

Another semester starts tomorrow.

Once I have graduated next May (assuming I'm not sabotaged again), I really won't know what identity I own. I've been a student for so long, I can't imagine not being one. At least it will be time to be a teacher again...a role I cherish when I'm abroad.

Indonesia. It's on my mind. I'm almost sold. Must get ESL license to solidify my plans.

Will be publishing some analog photography soon through Amanda.

Somehow I'm managing rent without working. It's very strange.

I'm sure I should look over my shoulder before the bubble bursts.

Something clicked in my mind, or How I Found Sanity Through Prozac.

Think the prozac is working. Things are ordered, hopeful and clear in my mind. I know what I have to do and I'm ready to do it to get the end result that I want. I feel inspired, and I'm feeling much more sane about my relationship.

All good things.

I've decided once I graduate I'm traveling. First, South, if they'll have me. No reason to stay in the same place for long periods of time. I'm free.

Times, they are a changin'.

My best friend is dead.
The girl I love is across the world and suffering.
My ex haunts my mind.
and the only person I want to talk to about it all is not returning my emails.


Life, I tell you. If it doesn't kill you, it kills you anyway.

Ah, my heart is losing it.

She had a miscarriage, after a night of sex bordering on the masochistic. I promised her we would get through it together.


My part:

Be there.
Take a daily tally of things to do and get them done.
Reclaim myself so I'm recognizable when I come out the other end of this in 10 months.
Be there for her.

Randomness

I sit outside on my porch with my taser. 1.8 million volts. I'd rather have a gun. There is a glock in the house but I don't know how to use it. When I get my loans in I'm either getting a min rueger or something in the 9 mm range.

Today another part of my bumper fell off. I hit like 15 4 foot potholes going about 5. But I guess that's what it's for right? To bump things.

Almost done with The Diamond Age by Neal Stephenson. These weeks are flying by. I have to finish some school work that's incomplete from last semester.

Someone hacked into Call of Duty 4 tonight and now it's unplayable. Not right. Tomorrow I fix hopefully.

Sanctuary

I turned away from his side of the bed, clenching my pillow between my legs.

A long time later he comes to bed and wakes me. I stare at him over satin sheets in anger.

Morning came, I wrap my arm around his sleeping body, curled up pharaoh-like in the sheets.

We come together hours later on the brick porch for cigarettes, me with my camels and he with his reds.

       "I'm sorry for being angry," I start. "I wanted to make love, but you never came."

Smoke curls around his upper lip as he exhales into his answer.

              "I can't read your mind.  Why didn't you just tell me?"

I pause.

              "I wanted to be classy."

                                              *              *              *              *               *            

Later on that day he says thanks when he means I'm no help at all.

Afternoon from my bed.

When I look through the window

it seems as if

the fan's wind blows straight through the trees

and afternoon sunlight orchestrates

a shadow play

behind closed eyelids.

It's as if I am caught in a private exchange

light and wind

and I, in soft sheets

wrapped in sinewy cloths of imagination.

The silent things we do not witness 

as we aren't around to look

fills the basin larger than anything

we could add.

Thursday, March 24th

The day reality collapsed for me.

He said that almost every one that he wrote

he wrote for/about me.

• Jul 29, 2006

another season

I found her dying in the snow, her last words reflecting hurt I could never say. In the moonlight I remember when the angel call my name. The killers were coming I knew there was a chance to die again. Like the season raped and bleeding, in time we'll see each other again. She said I don't want this to end, not like this, not with out a kiss, not with out a song from out of the gray. Only in a dream will the sun kill the moon, only through faith will tender love be consume. Another season I found her crying in the rain, if you love say love, but never forget your pain.

End of Days

5 weeks in a box. in a cast. no in a box. 3 weeks in a cast. a month sick with a week's reprise. nothing done. forward movement escapes me. I watch myself function through a mirror. I watch myself reflected. I see my smile; I'm smart enough to play off my reactions, smart enough to give just enough to each person to keep them from thinking I've lost it. I haven't lost it. I never had it. Every moment in life is just a motion that I could have chosen to make differently. Each a section of a play I could have written to change, but still written. NO5THING IS REAL.

nothing is real. A wandering man is never truly happy. I could stop here, or there, or here, or here, or there, or now, or then, or soon, or never, or never, or never, I could start here, or there, or here, or now, or never. or ever. It makes no difference. Each is a still-walk through a motion that I watch through a reflected shield of glass. I stumble and try to live so that no one will bother me. So that no one will bother me. So that no one will bother me. I'm a juggler, I juggle so that no one will bother me. Integrity means nothing. Love means nothing. Hurt is real and so is escape. I avoid hope and live for small moments of pleasure. I am less than the animal. I am already dead.

Things I will do soon. Find a job, so that no one bothers me. Escape or Continue this relationship, depending on how much hurt/bothersome action is involved. Continue or Discontinue another relationship, depending on how much bothersome action is involved. Finish school very late, minimal action. I may get caught up again in it, to the point where I forget about the motions..those are the best times b/c I can act without knowing I'm acting.

I don't want to die. There is nothing to live for except the next scene, because I'm here and there isn't anything else to do.

Cue Action.

Update?

Nothing nothingnothingnothing. Having a broken ankle is not so fun. School is driving me insane..I'm not going and I may fail this stupid programming class...my teacher won't write me back. Scott defriended me on facebook and kicked Shaina out of class like an ass. He chose his side.

Nothingnothing nothingnothing nothing.

I owe the fucking UNO 847 dollars for dropping classes. That means as soon as this cast is off I'm working my ass off.

Fun fun nothingnothingnothing. I'm in love with Ivana. What else is new right.

Black Velvet

is about Elvis.

It's also taken over my thoughts. I didn't need this new rollercoaster, but here it is, at the most inopportune time of my life.

Shit.

Theron,

I left for houma and
I wanted to drive off the road
I thought to write
"Bury me with him" in blood on your floor
Abby licking my wrist wounds.

There is no one who will ever be as important to me as you were.
You were my everything.

The Rush

            The Rush

                                                                                   By Jennifer Tem

There were only two hours between our births. Our mothers were born a month apart. Both of our fathers had died in the war and both of us were the first child born. Both of us were females with a rare birth disorder that left us struggling in the ICU in the first hours of our lives.  We both had names that started with K and ended with IE. How much more of this can I tell before you start to writhe with disbelief? Perhaps I could have gone on for another few sentences, about our matching birthmarks and yellow-gray eyes. But eventually I’m sure you’d call bullshit. And you would be right.

Maddy and I were not born two hours apart. Our mothers were not born a month apart and although both our fathers were dead, Maddy’s was dead from an overdose and mine was just dead to me.  I grew up in the lower Bronx and Maddy grew up in Ohio. It wasn’t until a dim night as an undergraduate that I met her in a dark bar in New Orleans. Somehow the same country loneliness ran through us both, regardless of our different upbringings. Both of us wanted a father we didn’t have, and looked for him in every man. Both of us hated ourselves and the world and only were happy when spinning into a downward spiral, and we weren’t even happy then. Not truly. It’s what brought us together. We needed the company of another failure.

The first time we made love was in a rainstorm in Peru. No, it wasn’t. This isn’t a romance tale. The only time we fucked was a night when both of us were drunk, and I was crying. Maddy was high on coke and so was I but at some point my drunkenness outweighed everything.  I took her home where I lived with my sister and her husband and she held my hand while I cried over the shit pile that was my life.  She left me after a time and came back with bourbon and we took shots and kissed. Her fingers seemed to know exactly where to touch me. I remembered at that moment what a friend had told me about making love to another woman was like making love to yourself. But it wasn’t romantic and it wasn’t love. It was loneliness amplified by the knowledge that we were already two very fucked people. 

We woke up next to each other with the smelliest breath and hangovers from hell. I had to leave; I left her there on my bed like that and called a friend of mine and we had sex, normal sex that you have between a man and a woman. I tried to not think about her but my mind kept wandering back to her lips and her fingers and our deep friendship. When I returned Maddy had left a poem on my pillow from Pablo Neruda.  I held it and thought about her and wondered why everything that happened seemed so far beyond my control.  Later that night she was at the bar. I was already drunk and she was already high. We came together like continents crashing in rushed time.

“You left me”

“I’m sorry..”

“What are you scared of? Don’t we deserve some happiness?”

“Maddy...”

I looked into her eyes and saw everything I was afraid of becoming and at the same time already was. She ran her hands through my hair and I reached up and kissed her deeply, forgetting all my preconceived notions and faults. She could be my PERSON. I WISH I could tell you this story, but I was a coward and I left her at the bar. I didn’t go back the next day, or the next, or the next after that.

Maddy disappeared from my life.  I don’t know what happened to her. Later on I did some traveling,  had my heart broken a few times and  looked for love still. Then I thought about Maddy and how I had left a girl cool enough to leave me Neruda poetry on my pillowcase; a girl who understood me.  I wish I still had that poem but nothing is sacred enough for me not to destroy. There is no happy ending…I’m alone now only without Maddy. Wherever she is, I hope her hell is more forgiving.

Validation

Validation

(Why is it so addictive?)

A world can go from voice filled

to silent in a day

and it's so quiet

there is no one to tell me

how lovely i am

and how they never want to be more than two feet away.

the oxytocin has run out

and I'm dry everywhere,

brittle-

the addiction

needs feeding

but I'm alone,

and it's so quiet here.

I started a journey

that he broke in half

and now I'm two steps back

from where I began

looking for validation again.

the undermath

Just under that layer of smiles
I have to keep rolling
keep talking, keep rolling
so that the iceberg is always showing
and there isn't time to delve beneath
the tip of my persona

I can feel it trying to melt into the deep water
the black of myself
and I roll forward,
as soon as I stop
it will shatter me
it will fill me with despair
I will crumble in tears upon my mattress
and stay that way, contorted until I sleep

But if I keep rolling, keep talking,
never stop,
I can keep it at bay for awhile
until it hits me like a tidal swell
and I am crippled with it
my depression
always just under the surface
and me trying not to fall through the paper-thin floor.

d.u.m.p. ? The Magic Hour. aka FUCK YOU.

Our magic hour does not overlap

Or even coexist

We are separate

You coming first

Hyper and messy

And I trail, picking up the pieces of the wreckage at evening’s dusk.

-A clock that will last for 60 years.

-A calendar that never will be.

-One lost string from a song that wasn’t written.

-My not-tear, wet against my fingers.

But,

You’ve already learned that it’s easy to pretend dreams don’t have faces

You can be selfish

You can be

whatever you want to be, boy, in your dreams.

You haven’t yet learned that life is harder to live in the dust of your boots

Or worse- another’s

No, don’t turn around boy

No need to see me in your wake.

Keep walking

Keep walking

toward your magic hour.

To know you

I know you, slender lips and neck

All rough fingers and supple touch

I know your hands will play want to play with mine

A harpsichord of gentle downward tune

Crescendo into softening eyes and tongue.

A novel on your lips is left unsaid

And I, tracing the pages with hot fingers

Breathing in each word with combined breath

Like brail upon the page your sculpture lies.

To know you is not an answer

But instead a exclamation!

 An ellipses trailing into fading night

Magic hour times the dusk with us in mind.

Tenderly I wonder if to write a poem

If to find a pain that passes

If to hold a man who’s passion

Rare and violet like an orchid

Tumbling headfirst into acid

Is not better in its bloom.

I'm on fucking FIREEEE

Lucid dream

Last night I had a lucid dream. I woke up exhausted mentally. I remember confronting my fears..and reaching to touch them..the bravery it took to do that and the exhilaration..and then finding upon the touch that they were made of air. My hands went right through them. I wish I could remember more...After I broke through them there were other layers of learning...I was floating by the end..full of confidence..

We are many.

We Are Many

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Of the many men whom I am, whom we are, I cannot settle on a single one. They are lost to me under the cover of clothing They have departed for another city. When everything seems to be set to show me off as a man of intelligence, the fool I keep concealed on my person takes over my talk and occupies my mouth. On other occasions, I am dozing in the midst of people of some distinction, and when I summon my courageous self, a coward completely unknown to me swaddles my poor skeleton in a thousand tiny reservations. When a stately home bursts into flames, instead of the fireman I summon, an arsonist bursts on the scene, and he is I. There is nothing I can do. What must I do to distinguish myself? How can I put myself together? All the books I read lionize dazzling hero figures, brimming with self-assurance. I die with envy of them; and, in films where bullets fly on the wind, I am left in envy of the cowboys, left admiring even the horses. But when I call upon my DASHING BEING, out comes the same OLD LAZY SELF, and so I never know just WHO I AM, nor how many I am, nor WHO WE WILL BE BEING. I would like to be able to touch a bell and call up my real self, the truly me, because if I really need my proper self, I must not allow myself to disappear. While I am writing, I am far away; and when I come back, I have already left. I should like to see if the same thing happens to other people as it does to me, to see if as many people are as I am, and if they seem the same way to themselves. When this problem has been thoroughly explored, I am going to school myself so well in things that, when I try to explain my problems, I shall speak, not of self, but of geography.

Lines I love from Jesus' Son

"Where are my women now, with their sweet wet words and ways, and the miraculous balls of hail popping in a green translucence in the yards?" "We put on our clothes, she and I, and walked out into a town flooded ankle-deep with white, buoyant stones. Birth should have been like that."
(Work)

"Sometimes what I wouldn't give to have us sitting in a bar again at 9:00 a.m. telling lies to one another, far from God."

"The virginal sadness wasn't all fake. There was a part of her she hadn't yet allowed to be born because it was too beautiful for this place, that was true."

"In the darkness under the universe it didn't matter that the driver was a blind man. He felt the future with his face."

"It wasn't my life she was after. It was more. She wanted to eat my heart and be lost in the desert with what she'd done, she wanted to fall on her knees and give birth from it, she wanted to hurt me as only a child can be hurt by its mother."

Remember.

Natty, know this here and now and always and anywhere: ever since I met you, I have been thoroughly entranced by you. You are hypnotic and gorgeous, and while this certainly rings true for every photograph of you I have ever seen, I mean it about YOU, not your physical body. You are almost overwhelmingly strong-willed and independent and fierce and formidable. I realize it's hard to see those qualities in yourself, and I have seen you falter sometimes and hide that ferocity behind self-doubt or some delusional thought that you need someone else to validate you for you to be that woman...but even at your worst, I have seen that amazing woman I first saw when I met you, pounding out and showing through the cracks in your insecurities.

You will find that woman again, Natty, because she's right there in you. Just shake off the sand and the grime and you'll find her.

I love you.

gonna try something new..

Be a new person. Class up. I want to be one of those girls that people respect and say, wow..she has her shit together. And she's sweet and nice and fun.

Bout to start making that me.

People suck.

People are sooo disappointing! Shaina always says so but I still give them lots of time to be awesome or at least even a little amazing. Are they all destined to come back into my life two years later after I've already given up on them and pretend to be amazing again? Cause it's too late then, you know really. I need these people to stand up and be amazing NOW. You are in my life now so act like a decent person! If I know you, I probably love you. I love you. I don't turn that on and off and I'm tired of pretending like I do..like I'm some kind of jerk who has an on/off switch. I don't. I don't see how they can. And if they don't love me, and want the best for me, then why the fuck be in my life at all? To use me? Fuck off! Go use someone who has no soul, no heart. I'm too nice for this shit. There are plenty of bitches who won't care. I realize I'm nice and it's easy but what kind of person does that make you? Huh?

A fucking shithead that's what kind.

You make me want a pineapple.

Well, Mardi Gras mardi gras.

Car was towed , wallet stolen...many things happened that are better left unsaid. You make me want a pineapple though. L heart you Mardi Gras. Come back soon.

Keyboard tracker

keyboard tracker, shifty eyelid undulate inward through tapas will.
bound nets web minds untrue
the seeing eye need only roll toward you.

tomorrow is the same red/blue
aging skin holds softer sadness thorough
latent pixels tie the time to you.

ahah

I also had a dream where we were in the swamp, me, chris landry, and another guy. they kept throwing rocks at this giant alligator and guess what? the alligator came to eat us. stupid boys. well we ran and got to a door and i opened it but chris was the last one through and the alligator ate his ass. i closed the door on him. then later opened it and all i saw was blood.

the rest of that dream was interesting but it's lost b/c of the intensity of the one i had right before i woke.

dreams

Last night I dreamt I was on a gondola, and new orleans was like Venice. It was the most beautiful city I've ever seen, so full of color and it was during mardi gras. the parades were to be on the canals, but we were early and were one of the only gondalas passing t hrough the city. but the parade goers were still on the balconies and they would throw us beads as we screamed for them. It was gorgeous and amazing..I wish I could paint b/c I would paint it. I was with my family, well, marion and mom at least.

Our gondala driver led us down a passageway where the houses began to look all alike and there were only women and children sadly and quietly standing on the balconies. then we came to a dark alley where a cop stopped our driver and started investigating his licenses. I realized something was off and he wasn't a real cop, then i noticed the driver dissapeared on a bike and I called him out on it, then his friends came out of the dark and they wanted to rape us and put us in those houses. Something happened though...this one guy was curious about us and he brought us back to this semi-inhabited area and I had to hold my sistser's dying naked body close to me while I backtracked on my ass through a house filled with trash and water to try to get to freedom, all the time him watching me like a specimen, yet I had the feeling that he may let us go eventually if I got there. It was the hardest trek of my life.

In the beginning of the dream, when we were traveling down st. charles on gondala, I asked my sister if she could record with her camera and she said yes, but something was going wrong, some issue she didnt' know aobut and we were coming to the end and I told her nevermind and whipped out my camera phone and recorded this way.

I realized how much like my father I am in those instances...he never had the patience to wait if there was something going on he had to capture it and fast..and I remember feeling a bit...cut off sharply on the other end of that, but he would warm up again as soon as we got there or were in the moment. I realize I do the same thing...and probably hurt people for a moment then capture them again. Wow.

13 very very long days.

when will i see you again?

Click here to create your own painting.

OMG.

SCHOOL why are you being such a badass this semester? I actually have to skip school to do homework for school even though I'm never NOT doing homework. I really hope this shit calms down as the semester progresses.

I'm wishing on stars.

Note to self:

Men who like cute girls are not comfortable with sexy. Probably rooted in their own lack of sexual growth.

what kind of person am I?

What kind of person am I who can change moods with each breath. What is this madness in me? How can I believe and be satisfied in one breath and only moments later feel anxious and scared, then with the next inhale feel disillusioned and frightened? What kind of person changes this way, like a chameleon of feeling, in such a short time?

I am disenchanted and dumbstruck with the randomness of myself.

We were together. I forget the rest.

I'm thinking of getting this tattooed on me...but also, I'm considering getting it as a divorce ring for Turgay. Emily could engrave it for me. I feel like I need closure on a positive note with that relationship in my life. I was such a child.

I'm also thinking of getting some kind of commitment ring for Matt. I would say engagement ring but honestly I'm years away from being ready to get married again. I just want something that says, "I love you, and I'm in this for the long run." I was looking through my old posts on here and in one of them, I said I just wished I could find someone who loved me as much as I loved them, and was good to me. And then the universe provided Matt, or he provided himself, whatever you believe, he's in my life. And he's fucking great to me and loves me in such a healthy and positive way man. I've never been loved like that before. Not desperately, but quietly, deeply.

This break has been rocky for me. I've realized that I cannot function with only one person in my life whom I love. But I think I'm also coming to the realization that I can have friends, good ones, great ones, with whom I can do amazing things without dealing with jealousy from Matt, because he understands that he doesn't fill certain roles in my life. At least I think he understands that...I plan on talking to him about it..nothing ever should go unspoken. He acts like he understands it, and treats me with freedom and respect, for the most part.

Anyway. I read a lot of Pablo Neruda tonight. The man is my new favorite poet.

Things are good.

Bliss

You don't know me. You don't know  me at ALL. And it's not your fault...I can't tell you who I am. I can't tell you. I can't tell you how long I would wait for the sweet pain. You'd think I'm insane.

bliss.



Bliss.

Not that girl anymore

I'm not that girl anymore
The one who trusts unconditionally,
who loves unrealistically
who believes in magic.

The beauty of handwritten letters
is not lost on me.
You even chose pencil
pen would be too harsh
pen would damage the paper
bleed onto your words
and you know that I'd notice.

I'm old now though
I'm old.
I'm ancient.
I'm filled with neither regret nor remorse
but something else
something smoother
medium weight and still
something made of old bones
that doesn't support wishes.

I wish I was that girl
so I could believe in you
So I could turn my face
when they look my way
and say, "that's not your life"
"that's not the life you want"
and I'd put my hands on my ears
and run away, to you.

Sex at Dawn

I want to remember this, even if it is biased.

"To have concluded, as we have, that our species has an innate capacity for love and generosity at least equal to our taste for destruction, for peaceful cooperation as much as coordinated attack, for an open, relaxed sexuality as much as for jealous, passion-smothering possessiveness...to see that both these worlds were open to us,but that around ten thousand years ago a few of our ancestors wandered off the path they'd been on forever into a garden of toil, disease, and conflict where our species has been trapped ever since..."

pg 212.

One last thought from Mark Twain, Letters from the Earth:

Now there you have a sample of man's "reasoning powers," as he calls them. He observes certain facts. For instance, that in all his life he never sees the day that he can satisfy one woman; also, that no woman ever sees the day that she can't overwork, and defeat, and put out of commission any ten masculine plants that can be put to bed to her. He puts those strikingly suggestive and luminous facts together, and from them draws this astonishing conclusion: The Creator intended the woman to be restricted to one man.

I want to have this conversation with the world

People are not good to each other. Not when they are in love, in relationships. How is it loving to put all the pressure of all of your satisfaction and happiness upon one other person and that person only? How is that love?
I used to think it was about loving more than one person..love here, cannot be contained..love there, cannot be limited...and you can still use the word love or you can use labels. I find lately I'm a lot more comfortable with labels. In my life, I need best friends. I need a friend I can laugh with, a friend who expands my mind (or more), a friend who I can party with, a friend who I can dance with, a friend who I can create with, a friend who I can explore with. Sometimes these are rolled up into more than one in one person, and that's lovely. I need a lover. I need a lover who excites me to no end. I need a husband. I need a husband who is supportive, safe, comforting, sweet and non-judgmental. I need sisters to confide in and brothers to protect me and mothers who love me when no one else does. I need all this, and so do you. Do you realize how fucked it is that we expect ONE PERSON to do all of this for us? How can one person be all of this? So you give up, you give in, you trade. You find out which label is the most important to you and you sacrifice the rest in marriage. Why?

Why not have it all? Because of jealousy? What is that??? Because you've been told that "love" is all encompassing...so you will always be disappointed.  You can argue with me now and say, but my husband is all of that, my wife..she's all of that...but is that true or have you just MADE her/him all of that? Did you have a best friend that you stopped calling?  Someone who made you laugh and cry. Did you have a lover that excited you to no end but you gave him/her up for monogamous love?  Or if a lover is your priority in a husband/wife, did you give up someone sweet, a great provider and lovely companion?

I think it's incredibly selfish to expect one person to be all of this for you. They cannot. I can't be all of this for someone. Neither can you. It's impossible; it's a Disney dream we have been force-fed from childhood. There is no prince and you are not Cinderella. There is good news though. Ready?

The good news is that we live on this beautiful, full earth full of complex, interesting people. The good news is that there is someone, or someones out there who fulfill some of your needs. The good news is that if you have the courage, the bravery to see through the schema, you can have it all. And so can he. and she. And I think that's so much more generous than forcing someone to be your end all.

/rant