Sussex - Week 5 (+Ireland)
Since there were three measly days between Paris and Ireland that consisted mostly of preparation for my class final, I did not bother to update on week 4. But to be brief, I did manage my time to see a production of Twelfth Night which featured X-men's Professor Xavier (Patrick Stewart) as Malvolio. Also, I am pulled to say that I failed at yet another trivia quiz last Monday - my team received dead last... again. And that is the reason why I drowned myself in three rounds of beer pong afterward.
So Ireland - yup, I went. There really is not much more to say than that. For some reason or another, I was in a bad mood through most of the trip - and I do not believe I made a good impression on the people I was with. Maybe it was because I was rushed to board a train immediately after I turned in my final, maybe the people I was with did not complement my personality, or maybe it was due to the waste of time and money spent on hotels. That last one is what irked me (and my wallet) the most; our venturing basically took up three days, but we stayed for four nights. Two nights would have been much more practical. Plus, upon getting to Ireland, everyone was perplexed about how those three days would be spent. *Sigh* I just feel that everything would have been less costly and frustrating if my decisive and orderly skills were simply utilized by everyone else - I should have been the one to organize the trip.
In my last entry I said I wished I had more than just the two days in Paris - I lied. Not to say that I would not have liked to soak up the culture a bit longer, but if you are an American who is going to a foreign city purely for tourist attractions, no more than two days are needed to get yourself around to everything. Tour through this castle, pictures of that cathedral/ruins, boom you're done. I did enjoy the sites of Ireland (I did, after-all, purchase the new Harry Potter book there), but, as I said, there was just so much grievance that went into getting to those sites that the amount of time there could have been reduced without pain. Alas, in all the time spent in Ireland, I did not make it to Cork to see the Blarney Castle and lay my puckers on the Blarney Stone - no Irish luck for me. FYI: I am not at all Irish. Do not let my green eyes and dyed red hair fool you.
Since my return, a new session has begun, people have left and people have come. The class I am taking now is "Politics on the European Union." How dull as compared to my Shakespeare class - there's no field trip this time around. *Sigh* My major is becoming less and less interesting.
While avoiding reading, this week I went karaoking and plubbing (pubbing + clubbing). However, during all the acts of making a fool of myself - drinking, singing, dancing, etc. - I felt something, or someone, was missing, preventing me from smiling ear to ear.
My Max. I miss him too much. But it is not just Max the person I miss, but Max the boyfriend I miss - the boyfriend who hugs me, holds me, kisses me, treats me, and who simply pays me the attention that I need. And I suppose it is this hole in me that has caused a bit of trouble. In case any of you, my readers, read my most recent Facebook note, the confusion it set in you will be cleared here.
For the past couple of weeks there has been this male Sussexer who had been filling my empty void for attention. The day I met him was the day I began to smile over here. During group outings we would eyeball each other, he would ask me to dance, he would buy me a drink, and we would just talk. At no point did I mention to him I had a boyfriend. I never know when is the most proper time to bring up Max. Most of the female romanticists here, who usually turn out to be single, have asked if I have a boyfriend - but no guy has asked me, so I haven't told them. I suppose that caused me to lead on said Sussexer, for I think I have been accused of being a flirt by my female comrades.
I led him straight to my room (well, he escorted me when I was feeling more-than-tipsy one evening) and it was not until the last possible second that I professed my loyalty to my Max and my inability to engage in illicit action. How much strength that took, especially considering my implied intoxicated state. I am usually not one to say no, so I was proud of myself for doing so (he, on the other hand, was quite disappointed). However, saying no had an odd effect on me: while it ended his pursuit of me, it seemed to enfuel mine of him. Though I knew this guy would be leaving after session 1, to only be seen again by slim chance, my mind was overrun by the thought of him: what would have happened if I had not said no? The loss of his attention caused this question to replay in my mind over and over. I would still have had male companionship if I played things differently. How desperate and obesessed I seemed to be. How could I have fallen so hard?
Such thoughts made me feel guilty, of course. Two days after the what-almost-happened I finally called my Max with tears falling so hard that they could be heard through the receiver. I relayed the whole story to him, yet he did not say anything but "Oh, well, no more boys." He did not seem to care much... and that made me feel better. It became clear that my feelings for this guy were not real and I should, therefore, not be bothered by him. I have only been lonely, practically starving from having gone from being with my Max everyday to not at all. It is nice to have attention, but I need to learn to not get carried away by it.
Well that was a week of self awareness.