One of those days...
When you hate everyone and everything.
And I realize that this live journal thang has become a ranting ground for me...but frankly, isn't that what a journal is?
I can't talk to anyone about this. Because what can I say? It's Amanda's birthday today. She's on the beach somewhere. I don't even know where. Ocean City? Virginia Beach? Somewhere in NC? Who the fuck knows. The only details I got are: "I'm going to the beach with folks."
Which I shouldn't care about details anymore. (Hell, asking for details has only ever gotten me into trouble). The details of this past weekend would only make me feel physically ill anyway. So I really don't want to know.
And what to say to Victoria anyway? Yes, I have been "unsoaped" with you for going on four months. Yes, I went and visited Amanda and realized how much that pain is not worth it. Yes, it's all so very very over between us. And, oh by the way, every once in a while my mind slips and refers to Amanda as "my girlfriend" when I think about her. And, by the way, I feel acute heartache today, on her birthday, even though logic tells me I shouldn't give a fuck anymore. And, oh yeah, I want nothing more for than for you to hug me right now and tell me it's okay, and not be mad when right afterward I push you away. And have I told you how fucked up I am lately. Remember: "I'm disaster." That shit hasn't changed.
See, these are conversations that people just don't/can't have.
And I do want to go to Denver with A.P. A weekend of escapism sounds great to me. Hell, I want to pack up and run across the world without looking back. But is it too weird? Probably. Will I go? Doubtful. But it sounds so spontaneous and fun. I miss being spontaneous and fun. There was a time when I would hop a train to South Africa because it sounded like a good idea. When I took off to Monkey Bay because of the name. When reservations, flex-schedule, PTO, and Steve Fucking Pongratz weren't even in my vocabulary.
Time to move to South Africa? New Zealand? Spain?...Well I guess I better learn more Spanish than: "Un cerveza por favor" followed thereafter by: "Donde esta el bano?" (and I don't know how to do an upside down question mark on lj by the way). Maybe I should go back to Zim-Zimma. There's nothing like a repressive homophobic regime to give gay people great house parties.
tora nika yako shamwari.
And I realize that this live journal thang has become a ranting ground for me...but frankly, isn't that what a journal is?
I can't talk to anyone about this. Because what can I say? It's Amanda's birthday today. She's on the beach somewhere. I don't even know where. Ocean City? Virginia Beach? Somewhere in NC? Who the fuck knows. The only details I got are: "I'm going to the beach with folks."
Which I shouldn't care about details anymore. (Hell, asking for details has only ever gotten me into trouble). The details of this past weekend would only make me feel physically ill anyway. So I really don't want to know.
And what to say to Victoria anyway? Yes, I have been "unsoaped" with you for going on four months. Yes, I went and visited Amanda and realized how much that pain is not worth it. Yes, it's all so very very over between us. And, oh by the way, every once in a while my mind slips and refers to Amanda as "my girlfriend" when I think about her. And, by the way, I feel acute heartache today, on her birthday, even though logic tells me I shouldn't give a fuck anymore. And, oh yeah, I want nothing more for than for you to hug me right now and tell me it's okay, and not be mad when right afterward I push you away. And have I told you how fucked up I am lately. Remember: "I'm disaster." That shit hasn't changed.
See, these are conversations that people just don't/can't have.
And I do want to go to Denver with A.P. A weekend of escapism sounds great to me. Hell, I want to pack up and run across the world without looking back. But is it too weird? Probably. Will I go? Doubtful. But it sounds so spontaneous and fun. I miss being spontaneous and fun. There was a time when I would hop a train to South Africa because it sounded like a good idea. When I took off to Monkey Bay because of the name. When reservations, flex-schedule, PTO, and Steve Fucking Pongratz weren't even in my vocabulary.
Time to move to South Africa? New Zealand? Spain?...Well I guess I better learn more Spanish than: "Un cerveza por favor" followed thereafter by: "Donde esta el bano?" (and I don't know how to do an upside down question mark on lj by the way). Maybe I should go back to Zim-Zimma. There's nothing like a repressive homophobic regime to give gay people great house parties.
tora nika yako shamwari.