Klitz @ramblingsofthedeluded - Tumblr Blog

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I just want things to settle down

I played you a song about the town that I was from

While Dan played "Casey" while sipping on a Mickey's

We drank to forget that our lives were a wreck

That's when I realized you were the only pretty thing left

#Youtube

inkskinned

at ten, i make my my little sister sit through hours of “school.” she and i on the back porch, on a single easel blackboard, going over my bad understanding of fractions.

you need to pay attention to this stuff, i say. it’s important.

i miss the age for american girl dolls - something about their eyes freak me out - but on a trip to new york, we wander in the store together, letting her pick out just-the-right-one. cell phones aren’t popular yet. she follows me while we touch each little dress.

she makes me do her english homework, but i steal all of her sweaters.

both of us come home from college at the same time. we leave our stuff in the front hall. we have bought the same shirt without realizing it. we are waiting for a series of pies to be done and haven’t seen each other in a month. we sit in a corner of the house on her dying laptop, watching mad max: fury road until three in the morning.

at twenty-three, a boy punches me in the stomach. the next weekend, when she comes for a party, she hunts him down, crosses her arms over her chest. she is taller than i am, taller than he is. i heard you like hitting girls, she says. i heard you hit my sister. he is flabbergasted. i am cackling.

usually, during october, we would be watching our movie together, planning halloween. we have a family tradition of overzealous addiction to the pageantry.

i type up a confession - i wasn’t good to you, always. i lost my mind for a long time, and you are a lot of the reason i got it back. i didn’t treat you right. it was probably hard for a while, having me in your life.

i delete it before i hit send. i send a meme instead. i don’t think i need to say. we share the same tattoo.

i am prone to fainting. she catches me before i realize i’m falling. she holds my hand before i go in to the hospital.

i hold her back. she doesn’t need to tell me, either. i pay attention.

after all, it’s important.

desolation-moonlight

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You can lean into me if you ain’t been in love for a while.

coltre

I feel so stupid sometimes because I fantasize too much about the people I like; I invent stories with them, I imagine entire days with them and how nice the future will be with pictures and letters and other tender things that makes a lot of sense in my mind. then the reality turn to be so much different and meaner and maybe the reason why it’s so difficult for me to accept it and letting people go it’s because I just want my future to be happy. in all my stories and castles I build inside of my mind, sadness just does not exist

relationships with mental illness are hard

inkskinned

i tap my pinky finger against a hot glue gun and i burn. this is divine retribution for arts and crafts and for being what an ex called “a joanne fabrics kind of bitch.”

i have been thinking a lot about angry. i have been thinking about what angry gives me. i have been thinking about how rage can be precious. how rage can be justice. i have been thinking about the thin slices of my sister’s apple pie, each overlapping in roses. i have been thinking about knives. i have been thinking about kitchens.

you know what i’ve been thinking about? a man three days ago reached over me while getting something down from a shelf in a walmart. i’ve been thinking about that. how do you have that much confidence. he showed me his entire armpit and i came in unfortunate contact with his hip. how do you touch something without being a part of it? how do you take up space without being aware of it? how do you reach for things without worrying what will stop you from getting it?

once i got concentrated floor cleaner in my eye and burned it completely down to the iris. i didn’t want to be an inconvenience, so i washed it out and waited twelve hours before trying to do something about it. i thought i was being overdramatic.

a doctor didn’t see me for five hours. the emergency room nurse had written “soap in the eye” as my symptom. i was completely blinded. “you must be in a lot of pain,” the optometrist said when he finally got around to it, “that’s your whole cornea gone.” he tells me this is probably one of the worst things i will ever hopefully ever experience; a concentration of nerve endings all melted into nothing. then i said, for no reason either of us understood, “sorry i did this.”

i have been thinking about angry. i have been thinking about fires. i have been thinking about being hungry. i think about the anklet i wear with a little silver cross; i think about hell and who is going. when she kisses me, something splits so loudly that i hear damnation resonating. the priests in my old church all get full pardons and retirement funds. i drop her hand before we get on the bus.

i have been thinking about the color of my lipstick. i have been thinking about the shape of my clothing. i have been thinking about what calm looks like; how peace is commodified. i have been thinking about candles, and witches, and burning.

“bitch!” he leans out of a truck. “don’t fucking walk away when im talking to you! what the fuck are you doing?”

inkskinned

we roll up the rug together. underneath are little bits of construction paper from art projects i never finished cleaning up or i never finished at all. my life is full of these scraps; untidy leavings.

“what would i tell her, even?” i discover in the grooves of the hardwood a single bent ring, try to pick it up with my toes for the added challenge.

you go get a broom. “you tell her the truth. they thought it was something harmless, but it’s looking like it might be serious, and you wanted to reach out because it has given you some clarity.”

“the insurance isn’t cooperating. do you think she could get the insurance to cooperate?” i hold down the metal dust pan on the floor in front of you, gently scooping lint into the pile with my bare hands.

“nobody can get the insurance to cooperate.” you have a trick to getting dirt perfectly into the pan - you somehow never leave one of those little lines behind.

“so i go up and i’m like - hi! we lost touch. i have a heart condition that might kill me and they don’t know what it is. it’s scary! anyway, wanna grab lunch?”

“you could like, offer a specific lunch place.” you gesture for me to open the trash bag, i struggle with finding the correct orientation.

i have to shake it open. “this sound gives me the heebie jeebies and like, i don’t know why. you ever have, like, sound-heebies?”

“like, specifically for metal on teeth. you could start the conversation like that, maybe?” you pour the dust in. i spot a penny in the dinge too late to rescue it. “like - hi, i am afraid of trash bags.”

“not afraid! they’re just too loud and shouty.” i shimmy it gently so it rests at the bottom. i stare at it, penny winking through dust. “what if she hates me? what if she thinks i’m like, super ugly? am i ugly, patrick? what if she hates me and she thinks i’m super ugly?”

you stack your hands at the top of the broom. take a deep breath. “you know, i don’t wanna be that guy to someone with a weak heart, but.” you rest your cheek on the back of your knuckles, grinning. “but maybe you care too much about what people might think about you.”

“i don’t know how to stop caring!”

“yeah, that’s fair.” you close your eyes. “but you chase catastrophe, kind of.”

i stare at my hands. “not on purpose.”

you put the broom against the wall. you take a deep breath. ghost your palms under mine, almost-touching, not-quite-there-yet. like you’ll catch me if i start going, but you trust me enough to keep standing. “you are living in the catastrophe,” you say. “you are already experiencing a worst-case. late-stage capitalism. pandemic. global warming. all of it. there’s no need for you to imagine worst-case situations. you are trying, and you are caring, and you are alive in despite of all of it.”

“yeah, but. i just….” i never stop thinking. the skin of me is full of beetles. i can never rest and i haven’t been sleeping and no matter how much planning i do i never seem to be able to get my life up and running. “… i just. get nervous.”

“it’s okay,” you say. “i’ll be your friend anyway. even if she finds you ugly.”

blushypuff

reblog if its okay to send you cute anons/messages

I'm just

Tired

Life is defined by decisions

You may burn bridges you ain’t got time to mend

You’re too old to be in this condition

You’re too young for the lord to take in

#Youtube

incendavery

wait... how do i know YOU’RE not annoyed with me?

oh fuck

(but not in a bad way)

If I don’t feel love in the places I call home

Can I feel anything in general?

Is it me? Can I get through this?

Is there a way to wash it off, or is this stain permanent?

omnybus

Stu, let me ask you a question: how did you not realize until then that you had too many eggs? Nobody sells eggs in a big cloth-covered basket, so you must have done that yourself. That means you spent god-knows-how-long opening up twelve whole cartons of eggs, carefully placing each egg one-by-one inside a big basket, and then covering it with a big picnic cloth… and at no point- at no point- did you ever stop and think “gee, there might be TOO MANY FUCKING EGGS HERE”

You really have lost control of your life.

omnybus