Weekend.
I went home on Saturday night, after having a long crying jag at Tim's house over the prospect of leaving him in August. I hate doing that. It's only happened a couple of times, but it's all been recently, and worse, it's been in front of him. I'll be standing in his arms or curled up next to him in bed and suddenly, tears are just pouring down my face. My whole chest hurts and there's nothing that can stop me. I literally just feel like my heart is being pulled open and overflowing.
So Saturday I packed up a carload of stuff and headed down to my parents house. Sara helped me move everything into the house because my parents weren't around. I had pretty much unpacked when they got home. I went to meet them in the garage and told my dad, "very clever getting out of the house when you know I'm moving stuff home. You're doing a good job of continuing your 'never help Meg move' streak." My dad, in reply, farted on me. Seriously. A grown man farted on his daughter.
We finally had to tell my mom about the fact that I'm going to Toronto on Wednesday to look for apartments. At first she was angry and asked both my dad and I, "how could you lie to me about Meg not getting into grad house?" We both replied that we didn't lie to her, that we were doing it in her best interest. Saving her the stress, as it was. She was still kind of stewing as my parents were getting in bed. Sara and I were sitting with them, chatting (which is my favorite thing ever) and my dad goes, "alright you guys, get lost. I need to fall asleep quick so that I won't be woken up by your mom tossing and turning all night while she thinks about Meg not having an apartment." Har har.
I stayed up on Saturday night reading. I started the new Harry Potter. I also read through the journal that I kept starting the day that Russ and I first broke up. Reading through the entire thing was incredibly powerful, though odd. For one, I don't feel at all connected to the girl I was then. I don't feel nostalgic or sad, I feel frustrated. I kept writing all of this stuff about, "I'm not taking him back, he doesn't deserve me" and then not following up on it. It's difficult to deal with the weakness that was the core of me for so long. It's hard to excuse my crazed behavior. I can only hope that next time, given a similar situation, I'll be able to walk away from it. That sometimes, there are some loves not worth fighting for.
Sunday morning I went to the Twins/Angels game with my family. They crack me up. In the car I farted and then leaned over to let Sara in on the fun. She promptly smacked me and then rolled down her window. At the game, my mom kept yelling "go Scrappy Doo!" at Denny Hocking, who she loves. My parents teased me for the way I used to cry when the Twins would lose. I wanted to cry Sunday because they lost again. Dad says I'm a bad luck charm. There was a baby behind us in a little Twins jersey outfit and even Twins socks. I want my babies to have little Packer and Twin outfits as soon as they're born.
I came home last night to Tim. We went and got dinner, then chilled out at his place. He was working on a lab for about six hours while I read Harry Potter, watched TV and entertained myself. Usually I'm not allowed to sleep over on his school nights (Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday) but last night he let me, because I'm leaving for Toronto in a few days. I was all prepared to be quiet, well behaved girlfriend - that I'd let him study and we'd go to bed early and without sex, so he could get a complete night's rest. However, seeing as he was already up until 2am working on the lab, the lack of sleep wasn't going to matter, and we got it on like wild circus ponies.
I'm more comfortable with him than I've ever been with anyone. I ask for what I want, I'm vocal. I'm not afraid to try things. And it's just weird because it's not like my former partners have been bad at all. And it's not like I wasn't close to them. I mean, Russ and I lost our virginity to each other and then had a year and a half where we had sex almost every day. But somehow, it all pales in comparison. I think part of it is the difference between being 19 and 22 (ok, so I'm not 22 yet, but I might as well be.) I feel much more secure in myself.
We were up until nearly five. He got up at 7.40 to go to class and I continued to sleep for awhile, before getting up to meet him for lunch. We went to a fifties diner on Santa Monica where I totally gluttoned out, and then took a nap at my place. He's never slept on my bed (actually, no one has slept in that bed but me in over a year) and we've never taken a nap together before, so it was nice to just lay down and rest for a little bit. I'm going to spend tonight with him, as I have to drive back down to Orange County tomorrow in preparation for my flight to TO Wednesday morning. I'm thorougly excited, and scared as hell. Part of it is that this is going to be the first big trip I've ever made by myself. I mean, I've flown by myself before, but there's going to be no one to meet me, no one to show me around, no one to help me out. I'll get to be the queen of my own decisions, and there's something delicious and terrifying about that.
So Saturday I packed up a carload of stuff and headed down to my parents house. Sara helped me move everything into the house because my parents weren't around. I had pretty much unpacked when they got home. I went to meet them in the garage and told my dad, "very clever getting out of the house when you know I'm moving stuff home. You're doing a good job of continuing your 'never help Meg move' streak." My dad, in reply, farted on me. Seriously. A grown man farted on his daughter.
We finally had to tell my mom about the fact that I'm going to Toronto on Wednesday to look for apartments. At first she was angry and asked both my dad and I, "how could you lie to me about Meg not getting into grad house?" We both replied that we didn't lie to her, that we were doing it in her best interest. Saving her the stress, as it was. She was still kind of stewing as my parents were getting in bed. Sara and I were sitting with them, chatting (which is my favorite thing ever) and my dad goes, "alright you guys, get lost. I need to fall asleep quick so that I won't be woken up by your mom tossing and turning all night while she thinks about Meg not having an apartment." Har har.
I stayed up on Saturday night reading. I started the new Harry Potter. I also read through the journal that I kept starting the day that Russ and I first broke up. Reading through the entire thing was incredibly powerful, though odd. For one, I don't feel at all connected to the girl I was then. I don't feel nostalgic or sad, I feel frustrated. I kept writing all of this stuff about, "I'm not taking him back, he doesn't deserve me" and then not following up on it. It's difficult to deal with the weakness that was the core of me for so long. It's hard to excuse my crazed behavior. I can only hope that next time, given a similar situation, I'll be able to walk away from it. That sometimes, there are some loves not worth fighting for.
Sunday morning I went to the Twins/Angels game with my family. They crack me up. In the car I farted and then leaned over to let Sara in on the fun. She promptly smacked me and then rolled down her window. At the game, my mom kept yelling "go Scrappy Doo!" at Denny Hocking, who she loves. My parents teased me for the way I used to cry when the Twins would lose. I wanted to cry Sunday because they lost again. Dad says I'm a bad luck charm. There was a baby behind us in a little Twins jersey outfit and even Twins socks. I want my babies to have little Packer and Twin outfits as soon as they're born.
I came home last night to Tim. We went and got dinner, then chilled out at his place. He was working on a lab for about six hours while I read Harry Potter, watched TV and entertained myself. Usually I'm not allowed to sleep over on his school nights (Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday) but last night he let me, because I'm leaving for Toronto in a few days. I was all prepared to be quiet, well behaved girlfriend - that I'd let him study and we'd go to bed early and without sex, so he could get a complete night's rest. However, seeing as he was already up until 2am working on the lab, the lack of sleep wasn't going to matter, and we got it on like wild circus ponies.
I'm more comfortable with him than I've ever been with anyone. I ask for what I want, I'm vocal. I'm not afraid to try things. And it's just weird because it's not like my former partners have been bad at all. And it's not like I wasn't close to them. I mean, Russ and I lost our virginity to each other and then had a year and a half where we had sex almost every day. But somehow, it all pales in comparison. I think part of it is the difference between being 19 and 22 (ok, so I'm not 22 yet, but I might as well be.) I feel much more secure in myself.
We were up until nearly five. He got up at 7.40 to go to class and I continued to sleep for awhile, before getting up to meet him for lunch. We went to a fifties diner on Santa Monica where I totally gluttoned out, and then took a nap at my place. He's never slept on my bed (actually, no one has slept in that bed but me in over a year) and we've never taken a nap together before, so it was nice to just lay down and rest for a little bit. I'm going to spend tonight with him, as I have to drive back down to Orange County tomorrow in preparation for my flight to TO Wednesday morning. I'm thorougly excited, and scared as hell. Part of it is that this is going to be the first big trip I've ever made by myself. I mean, I've flown by myself before, but there's going to be no one to meet me, no one to show me around, no one to help me out. I'll get to be the queen of my own decisions, and there's something delicious and terrifying about that.