So, I was in the shower just now...
About six days ago marked the one year anniversary of the day that I was unceremoniously dumped by Some Boy I Knew. ME...DUMPED...by HIM. But today is the one-year anniversary of the day that I pulled myself together and decided to live instead of just giving up and going back to the bad place.
While I can't say that my life is any better since that day, it certainly isn't any worse, and for me, that is a first. Every year of the last decade or so has been pointedly worse than the year before, and this is the first time I can say that even though it was a completely crap year, it was better than the one before...CRAZY.
It's also sort of insane that in about five more days, SBIK will be back in my life in a very real way as he is being transferred back to our area for work. He and I have kept some sort of fake friendship up for the last year, but it's not what I would call a relationship. I'm very nervous about him being more present, but I can assure you that those feelings are gone. I finally got over my anger, and I wanted to have him as a friend even after what he did. He didn't just dump me. He destroyed dreams that we had created together. He took away a future that he helped me plan. HE KILLED OUR UNBORN CHILDREN.
If we weren't such good friends, I think I would hate him.
AHEM, I've also been...erm...celibate for nearly a year. This was my choice. After a period of my life where I went from virginal to practically Whore of Babylon, I decided that the best way to stop my brain from being absolutely CRAY CRAY was to stop those sort of shenanigans. Yes, I realize this was a stupid plan because sometimes the urge to, erm, practice made me so insane I could have eaten the floor tiles.
Speaking of...they are my floor tiles now. I mentioned a few months ago that my mom was moving away, and she did. I've been living alone since one week before my 29th birthday. I plan to live alone at least until I am 30, which HAHAHAHAHA IS SO CLOSE I WANT TO KILL MYSELF SO I NEVER GET THERE JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL. Living alone is...weird. For the first two months, I was convinced that there was someone living in my basement. I found out later that it was my sister BREAKING INTO MY HOUSE, but I digress. I still have anxiety that someone is waiting in my closet to attack me RIGHT as I am getting into the shower, but I think that's a natural fear, right? RIGHT?
I thought I had a point to this rambling when I started, but I'm watching "Star Trek: The Next Generation" from start to finish on Netflix, and freaking Bob Kelso from "Scrubs" just showed up and possibly got killed, so my brain is a little all over the place. I can't get over how much better the uniforms got as the show went on year after year, and I also can't believe how much I still want to bone Commander Riker.
He's just so...manly. I don't even like beards. Also, Patrick Stewart...PHWOAR.
I'll try to make more sense next time. Oh, well, all the best intentions and all that.
After 11 months without sexytimes, I think I would even bone Lt. Worf.
While I can't say that my life is any better since that day, it certainly isn't any worse, and for me, that is a first. Every year of the last decade or so has been pointedly worse than the year before, and this is the first time I can say that even though it was a completely crap year, it was better than the one before...CRAZY.
It's also sort of insane that in about five more days, SBIK will be back in my life in a very real way as he is being transferred back to our area for work. He and I have kept some sort of fake friendship up for the last year, but it's not what I would call a relationship. I'm very nervous about him being more present, but I can assure you that those feelings are gone. I finally got over my anger, and I wanted to have him as a friend even after what he did. He didn't just dump me. He destroyed dreams that we had created together. He took away a future that he helped me plan. HE KILLED OUR UNBORN CHILDREN.
If we weren't such good friends, I think I would hate him.
AHEM, I've also been...erm...celibate for nearly a year. This was my choice. After a period of my life where I went from virginal to practically Whore of Babylon, I decided that the best way to stop my brain from being absolutely CRAY CRAY was to stop those sort of shenanigans. Yes, I realize this was a stupid plan because sometimes the urge to, erm, practice made me so insane I could have eaten the floor tiles.
Speaking of...they are my floor tiles now. I mentioned a few months ago that my mom was moving away, and she did. I've been living alone since one week before my 29th birthday. I plan to live alone at least until I am 30, which HAHAHAHAHA IS SO CLOSE I WANT TO KILL MYSELF SO I NEVER GET THERE JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL. Living alone is...weird. For the first two months, I was convinced that there was someone living in my basement. I found out later that it was my sister BREAKING INTO MY HOUSE, but I digress. I still have anxiety that someone is waiting in my closet to attack me RIGHT as I am getting into the shower, but I think that's a natural fear, right? RIGHT?
I thought I had a point to this rambling when I started, but I'm watching "Star Trek: The Next Generation" from start to finish on Netflix, and freaking Bob Kelso from "Scrubs" just showed up and possibly got killed, so my brain is a little all over the place. I can't get over how much better the uniforms got as the show went on year after year, and I also can't believe how much I still want to bone Commander Riker.
He's just so...manly. I don't even like beards. Also, Patrick Stewart...PHWOAR.
I'll try to make more sense next time. Oh, well, all the best intentions and all that.
After 11 months without sexytimes, I think I would even bone Lt. Worf.