“I do whatever I want, when I want, how I want.”
I do, too.
He wants to consume me whole, and I want to be consumed by him. Which is why I find myself wrapped up in him with no regards for the consequences.
Which is why I find myself feeling slightly powerless in the face of someone who can’t be controlled. Not that I want to control him, or that I would even know how to control him if I could, but there’s something daunting about the inefficacy of my standard feminine wiles in the face of absolute rudderlessness. It keeps me on my toes, which I guess is a good thing, because I can’t ply him with sex or liquor or my day one street smarts. The only thing that works in this mutual descent into chaos is good, old fashioned, straight forward communication. I also realize that the love I give him has to be bigger and better and stronger than the love I give to anyone else – carbon copies of the affection I had for lesser ex boyfriends simply will not do in this situation, not unless I want to get crushed under the weight of my own emotional inadequacy. There’s no cutting corners here, no sick days, no excuses. So I suit up and get ready for the long haul.
Which might make you wonder: what do people do when they do whatever they want? Me? Well, I’m thoroughly content to sit in my 13″ x 10″ bedroom in Berkeley, California, drink and fuck until I am satisfied. Him? He’ll do the same, with a sneer on his face, and when he’s done he’ll retreat somewhere dark and do what he really wants to do: make me watch while he dies slowly and painfully of a broken heart that the rest of the world gave him.