I reckon I’m still not doing enough but fuck me I’m tired. Tired and with a mind racing like a snake. And this is just another form of procrastination, another way to stop doing the actual things that would probably help me sleep other than having a wank, again.
I just watched some porn. She really looked like she was into it, she was enjoying it, and it was difficult for her to come, and when she did it was normal. It was like, wait, did she come? I’m not sure. I think she did. It made me think of our sex and how after every single time we do he asks, “did you come?” And all I can think of is, “fuck, is my fanny that baggy that he can’t even tell if I came?” And then I want to try harder, and I get knotted inside for not being good enough, for never being enough. Which, is a running theme in my life in regards to every, fucking, thing.
I’m starting to wonder if my youngest has ADHD. Then I wonder if I do. Then I think am I on the spectrum? Is he? Are all of my kids? Are we weird? Do I have weird kids and is that because I am weird? I feel weird. I don’t think that’s a prerequisite though, I think most people think they’re a little weird. But do they spend all day every day thinking they’re not good enough at anything? It’s 1.42am and I’m here just thinking I haven’t done any laundry today, the house is a tip, I haven’t sent my first tier rewards out to everyone, despite knowing the delivery date for the other tiers hasn’t passed. I’m thinking my SEO on my new website is something but I don’t know what and I should and I need to look that shit up or watch a youtube video. I’m wondering why I can’t remember what the font was that we agreed upon and why I’m not looking through my emails to figure it out. I’m wondering if anyone will even buy the book, or look at the website, or read a post, or do any thing that would make me feel validated for real. Not just a nice little pat on the back, but some actual cash and some actual sales, or pre-orders or something.
And then I think about how I just made a website from scratch and it took me three or so hours and it’s not great, it’s not the best website in the world. I’ve done something wrong there but what does it matter because I asked him to look at it and he didn’t. He was watching a video of her on the internet. She who the first him had a major crush on. She who got me into online dating when I was in a relationship. She who is doing so majorly good at the career I told her she should do when she didn’t know what to do with her life. She who goes on and on about her anxiety all over facebook as the reason she doesn’t do this or that or the other but there she is, looking fitter than I’ve ever looked in my life, prancing around a stage with more sass and more aggression than I could muster in one of my ragier moods and he’s watching her. Not looking at my website. He snuggled her when he was pissed once. Slept in her bed. I was on the radio too, once. I have songs written about me, not that he wants to be reminded. I’ve done good stuff too. Honest.
Or have I?
It’s because I’m dull. It’s because I’ve become a bore, a fat bore at that. It’s because I’m so fucking weighed down with all of the things that I do that I don’t feel good enough at. Because despite all the self-help books and the motivational videos and the therapy I can’t get riled up with enough self-belief. Either that or I’m actually shit. Or maybe I just worry too much.
I want to be a priority. For someone. For myself even. Is that allowed? With all these children and all these chores and all these desperate attempts at trying to shine in someone’s eyes can I even be a priority? Am I desperate?
I’m fucked that’s what I am. I’m going to order a corset and some knee high fuck me boots. On his account.