I Eat Poop.

Hello all,

The other day I talked to a friend on the phone and told him that I was talking to Fuckhead again. As with everyone else in my life, he told me that I was stupid for doing it but understood my reasoning, guised in sentiment for something that was already sour.

Well, he and everyone else were right. Although in the beginning of our conversations, Fuckhead was 2% better than he was before it all boiled down to the same thing. He said he would call and he didn’t, it’s been 6 days now, no call. I, in turn, have become a 13 year old girl with my main hobby being making sure his voicemail box is always full so he can’t receive any new messages. I claim that it’s a result of me being annoyed and not mad, but I never was a good liar. The thing is is that I thought I was over this. New Year’s was MY new year. I feel better, I’m excited to move forward, but he still lingers in my head, and not only because he has all my stuff. Arg…

In my second year in college my parents adopted my fourth brother. He was 2 ½ years old and had been rescued from an abusive family; I am talking, of course, of their Boston Terrier, Spike. Now, I love him dearly as well, but they coddle him like a baby with Downs who just scored a perfect SAT score everytime he comes in out of the cold.

My dad looks at him with such pride. Hello? Who scored 3 points in 3 years of middle school basketball? It sure wasn’t him! AND, who became a completely unsuccessful ballet dancer with an $80,000 BFA, huh? Not him! That was ALL me……..maybe he had a point. Every night Spike and my mom wrap themselves up in micro-fleece blankets and doze from 7pm-12am pretending to watch TV until it’s time for bed. Cooing and nudging eachother while I’m left to interpret what’s happening on syndicated Sex and the City. What season is this? How long was Carrie with Aiden? Why is Samantha such a small part? I can answer all of these, but when Spike decides he’s too hot and peeks out of the blanket for air, he’s a genius.

Today I was outside on a potty break with the dogs and as I called for Spike I saw him eating a pile of his poop. I knew he did this because of the way his breath smelled, but actually seeing him eating it was a vivid sight. Why was he eating his poop? Is he trying to clean it up? Does it taste good?

I thought of how disgusted I was at this and I immediately knew why all my friends and family acted the way they did when I told them I was looking at starting things back up with Fuckhead. Why would I do this, AGAIN? Am I trying to make it better? Does it feel good?

My emotional baggage with Fuckhead is my poop and I keep on eating it. I reek of it. All my friends are like, “Ug, here comes Noah with his poop breath.” And trying to appear cool and available at a bar when I have the poop of a 5 ½ year relationship smeared across my face is getting me nowhere. I try talking to new people about my life but inevitably a steaming pile of crap falls out of my mouth and I appear desperate and crazy.

Spike waits for Mom and Dad to come home and feed him, so do I. Mom and Dad yell at Spike when he’s been outside for too long, they yell at me too. He get’s overly excited when new people come to the house, so do I. He struts around the house with a sense of entitlement although he contributes in no way, I don’t either. Maybe my brother from another mother and I aren’t so different after all. I will still yell at him to stop eating his poop, I only wish he could do the same.