Day of the Cunty Love Duck

Posted on March 10, 2010


After writing my post yesterday, I sat in my bed, half lotus, with hands resting gently on my knees. Palms to the sky. I asked for my tendency to focus on the negative when I’m surrounded by so much positive to be removed, I pleaded with something greater than myself to take away the desire to be liked and loved by all, begged to have the need to control what others think of me shot from my fingertips like rays of light. I want to be useful. I want to have purpose. I don’t want to lash out at one silly comment when there are so many beautiful things unfolding here right before my very eyes.

I woke this morning, and felt a little better. Still off kilter, but better than last night. I received a text from an old friend who’s been having all his mail sent here, asking if I’d be around tonight. Perhaps I should give some back story…

I few months ago, a friend asked if he could have his mail sent to my house because it doesn’t seem to get to him at his PO box. I agreed, figuring I see him often enough that his mail will still be delivered in a timely fashion. I really agreed because I feel guilty. We’ve been friends going on 5 years, and he’s always tried his best to help me. And I always did my best to help him. Sometimes, the help I was able to give did not equal the help he gave me. But we continued in this manner and our friendship grew. We’d have sleepovers, non sexual, just sit in bed watching Whale Wars and eating froyo. We’d go for hikes. I’d watch his dog when he left and he’d watch mine. Right before he asked to reroute his mail to my house, I told him I wouldn’t be spending the night anymore. I felt it was prohibiting me from being okay with my “aloneness” and decided if I am going to lay my head next to someone, I want to be 100% intimate with them. He asked if I was falling in love with him. I laughed and said I’m afraid I won’t be able to fall in love with anybody else. Shortly after that, the mail situation started happening, and over this past weekend, he decided after a week and a half of not getting his mail, he wanted to come by and pick it up but I was out at Mr. Mans in snuggletown and hiding from the Oscars.

The whole situation was more drama than I wanted. This morning, when Mr. Mail text me asking if I’d be around tonight, the conversation turned very passive aggressive, and I told him we should talk like adults instead of 13 year olds with our thumbs. I started talking about boundaries and how I’m trying to maintain healthy ones, and don’t have transportation to get him his mail, and blahblahblahblahblah. And then it hit me.

Aside from the fact that I am experiencing some new feelings (PMS? I don’t know, I’ve always smoked pot so this whole period without weed to chill me out is new), I realized I’m participating in some old habits. Like not maintaining healthy boundaries with random people on the internet who may or may not be a professor. That I’m participating in a drama club I know is unhealthy for recovery. Instead of lashing out at this random person I could have said “Thank you for that information. It is not my own personal truth, but I appreciate your desire to communicate how you feel and am glad it works for you.” When Mr. Mail text me “Great attitude” and I responded “I enjoy yours as well,” I could have said “Thank you I’ll see you at 7.” Instead I chose to open this whole can of shit and spray it at everything I could. And instead of sitting here writing about what I could have done instead I could be writing about what a lovely day I had hiking and painting. Neither of which I did because I was too busy feeling cunty.

I told Mr. Man I’m feeling cunty and he said I’m a cunty love duck. Which made me smile. I bought some yogurt from Famima and the clerk called me “my sweet” and that made me smile. I saw Alice in Wonderland with Angel and another homie, and they both made me smile. It took over half the day for me to remember I can choose to be happy and smile just like I can choose to be a cunty love duck. Every day I’m alive there are millions of choices to be made, and each choice will design my happiness. I design my own happiness. Just like I design my own misery… I think tomorrow I’ll just be a little love duck.

Posted in: Good Days