(Private locked) God is an Iron.
I don't get to be jealous of some things. I get that, I made my choice, and I don't regret that choice, not for an instant, and I'd make it again.
I'm not really happy for him, but I'm trying to be, it's the smart choice, the right choice, the one that's going to help him stop hurting soonest, and I want that for him, because he's my best friend and I don't want him to hurt, not ever, and I hate that I hurt him.
This doesn't change the fact that Ian's in New York with Lucy and I can't go to sleep imagining his arms around me when I know who they're really around, and this is all stupid soap opera bullshit, and I hate it, and I'm stuck with it because I gave my word and I can't go back on my word. All a person has is their integrity, really. Just because it's easier for me to know Ian's with someone else if I have the option doesn't mean I take back my promise because someone took my option away. Suck it up, Jane, suck it up.
I spent most of last night in the lounge, writing music. I don't have a very early class tomorrow, so tonight, I'm taking a sleeping pill.
Oddly, I am glad Doyle's sleeping with Ann. If nothing else, that does prove to me who I really want to be with. I miss Doyle already, but it's Ian where I keep listening to this one song, over and over. I believe I shall be annoying hell out of Omar, today. Good. Fucker deserves to be annoyed, breaking into my room, scaring Frankie, and not having the sense to just express his concerns to me about the book instead of lying to me about a translator. I shall spare myself writing down lyrics, it's a little too juvenile and I'm already behaving like a five year old, at least in my head.