FML
I hate the FML expression but it is appropriate at this moment in time. I'm living home again and I want to die. Not necessarily BECAUSE i'm living at home but because whatever teenage angst is reverberating in this room has seeped into my brain and I'm now an emotionally immature pubescent zombie. also i'm pretty sure this laptop is going to shit the bed on me and in that case i'll have to revert to unicorn journals and such shit.
I don't know why i'm trying so hard to live in a world I clearly don't belong in. I think this new boy is case in point. He snagged me while I was checked out with Col, in an EMOTIONALLY VULNERABLE STATE GODDAMIT so what the fuck does he expect when three months later I've failed to rise to my feet and have to go crawling away even from him utterly defeated by everything. I want so bad to be the girl who can go three days without thinking about her dude, hit pause and play and be perfectly fine. But I'm just not that. I expect romance at all costs and every turn. I'm watching the movie dammit pay attention. I've failed as an adult, even.
Colin is appropriating the lingering romantic notions I have about this relationship. He gushed over midnight in paris, bought a moveable feast, starting reading the modernists and hemmingway like it's all of a sudden so interesting. YOU WERE WATCHING AMERICAN IDOL EVERYDAY AND DRINKING YOURSELF INTO OBESITY. how, how, how is this happening and why. he is exercising the kindest of tortures. I will not run back to you because you've suddenly discovered me like I was some old book on the shelf that you didn't know you'd never read.
Shahed was my Hemmingway when I first met him, a character from some excitingly unfamiliar realm. I could escape to him and be so happy. I think it all went downhill when started losing at Scrabble. I remember my Washington Square Park victory. The light chill, warm thighs, glowing tents and dueling sax and floutist, the wine in Think coffee cups and the unexpected light saber duel off on the shadowy path away from the Occupiers pouring in around the fountains. And after, the next day, at the Angelica, the cautious movement of hands under garments, the pretzel choco crunch vanilla icecream melting and you resting your head for the first time on my shoulder.
If one could only bottle those beginnings and keep them forever and never expect them to replicate themselves like obedient clones. They would never become tainted by what unavoidably follows.
I am ill at the thought of losing this now after I so patiently allowed myself not to indulge in hope for it all that time. But I must be good and honest with myself and understand that my feelings are valid if only to myself and to stifle them would result in the same. A man never knows a woman's worth until she is gone. I can comfort myself with the knowledge that at least I am not usual and I will at least be amusing to think of.
But maybe I'm getting ahead of myself here I just don't know if this line I've crossed is retraceable. I would rather know immediately as I am not interested in waiting for some verdict as if I were the accused. Or much of anything these days. Except getting back to myself. And, eventually, loving.
I should have been writing this all along. I could have deterred this evening's episode of Self Sabotage. You see how all this is about a man? When I have so much work of my own to do? Love thyself, bitch, please.
It's hard to do when you've got so little to show for yourself.
I don't know why i'm trying so hard to live in a world I clearly don't belong in. I think this new boy is case in point. He snagged me while I was checked out with Col, in an EMOTIONALLY VULNERABLE STATE GODDAMIT so what the fuck does he expect when three months later I've failed to rise to my feet and have to go crawling away even from him utterly defeated by everything. I want so bad to be the girl who can go three days without thinking about her dude, hit pause and play and be perfectly fine. But I'm just not that. I expect romance at all costs and every turn. I'm watching the movie dammit pay attention. I've failed as an adult, even.
Colin is appropriating the lingering romantic notions I have about this relationship. He gushed over midnight in paris, bought a moveable feast, starting reading the modernists and hemmingway like it's all of a sudden so interesting. YOU WERE WATCHING AMERICAN IDOL EVERYDAY AND DRINKING YOURSELF INTO OBESITY. how, how, how is this happening and why. he is exercising the kindest of tortures. I will not run back to you because you've suddenly discovered me like I was some old book on the shelf that you didn't know you'd never read.
Shahed was my Hemmingway when I first met him, a character from some excitingly unfamiliar realm. I could escape to him and be so happy. I think it all went downhill when started losing at Scrabble. I remember my Washington Square Park victory. The light chill, warm thighs, glowing tents and dueling sax and floutist, the wine in Think coffee cups and the unexpected light saber duel off on the shadowy path away from the Occupiers pouring in around the fountains. And after, the next day, at the Angelica, the cautious movement of hands under garments, the pretzel choco crunch vanilla icecream melting and you resting your head for the first time on my shoulder.
If one could only bottle those beginnings and keep them forever and never expect them to replicate themselves like obedient clones. They would never become tainted by what unavoidably follows.
I am ill at the thought of losing this now after I so patiently allowed myself not to indulge in hope for it all that time. But I must be good and honest with myself and understand that my feelings are valid if only to myself and to stifle them would result in the same. A man never knows a woman's worth until she is gone. I can comfort myself with the knowledge that at least I am not usual and I will at least be amusing to think of.
But maybe I'm getting ahead of myself here I just don't know if this line I've crossed is retraceable. I would rather know immediately as I am not interested in waiting for some verdict as if I were the accused. Or much of anything these days. Except getting back to myself. And, eventually, loving.
I should have been writing this all along. I could have deterred this evening's episode of Self Sabotage. You see how all this is about a man? When I have so much work of my own to do? Love thyself, bitch, please.
It's hard to do when you've got so little to show for yourself.