It's Sunday...
...and I'm moving in 11 days.
Holy crap, it is going to happen.
It's nice how Worcester people are coming out of the woodwork to make contact with me - I missed so many people, and it's y'all's fault I'm moving back. Well, that and the houses are cheaper. ;)
Funny how someone's assumption that they know you after one date (where you were DJing most of the time) and their naive poems about you can light a fire under your ass.
I may be depressed, I may be inordinately fond of having someone to share my bed (swear to dog, I would be happy with a guy who just wanted to spoon and play house with me without the sex) and talk with when I'm at home and lonely, and I may let things seem overwhelming to me at times, but I haven't lost hope. I would never have gotten this far without hope. Sure, sometimes my hopes are misguided, but they still keep me going until more of them come along.
Yes, I'm pissed at someone who will write that kind of dreck, think he's so much better than I, but can't even accept an olive branch to be friends. I don't want him in "that" way anymore - I resolved a long time ago I didn't want to deal with the man-children anymore, and this experience has taught me that's what he is - and that's fine. I just don't pine after guys like that for relationships anymore. Sorry if I'm being a bit cryptic, but that's the nature of things sometime.
There may be disbelief that I'll ever find someone who can put up with me, that I'll be every man's "good friend" for the rest of my life, but dammit, I'm trying and getting better.
If only I could rent my "coin operated boy" to snuggle with at night, I'd be fine. But I'm still going to make it to the point where I'm healthy emotionally (or at least not totally dysfunctional) and it isn't going to be ten years from now. So THERE.
Can't wait to be home. Can't wait to write more poetry (I feel like I'm waking up again).
See you tomorrow night at the reading. It's nice to know I'm going to be right down the street from there in less than two weeks. *ahhh*
Holy crap, it is going to happen.
It's nice how Worcester people are coming out of the woodwork to make contact with me - I missed so many people, and it's y'all's fault I'm moving back. Well, that and the houses are cheaper. ;)
Funny how someone's assumption that they know you after one date (where you were DJing most of the time) and their naive poems about you can light a fire under your ass.
I may be depressed, I may be inordinately fond of having someone to share my bed (swear to dog, I would be happy with a guy who just wanted to spoon and play house with me without the sex) and talk with when I'm at home and lonely, and I may let things seem overwhelming to me at times, but I haven't lost hope. I would never have gotten this far without hope. Sure, sometimes my hopes are misguided, but they still keep me going until more of them come along.
Yes, I'm pissed at someone who will write that kind of dreck, think he's so much better than I, but can't even accept an olive branch to be friends. I don't want him in "that" way anymore - I resolved a long time ago I didn't want to deal with the man-children anymore, and this experience has taught me that's what he is - and that's fine. I just don't pine after guys like that for relationships anymore. Sorry if I'm being a bit cryptic, but that's the nature of things sometime.
There may be disbelief that I'll ever find someone who can put up with me, that I'll be every man's "good friend" for the rest of my life, but dammit, I'm trying and getting better.
If only I could rent my "coin operated boy" to snuggle with at night, I'd be fine. But I'm still going to make it to the point where I'm healthy emotionally (or at least not totally dysfunctional) and it isn't going to be ten years from now. So THERE.
Can't wait to be home. Can't wait to write more poetry (I feel like I'm waking up again).
See you tomorrow night at the reading. It's nice to know I'm going to be right down the street from there in less than two weeks. *ahhh*