Sleep

I've had about five hours in the last fifty. I'm half-flirting with a couple of men that I'm maybe but probably not interested in. I'm still fucking sick and absolutely exhausted and I've got one day to write a seven-page paper in German that I haven't begun. I was feeling fairly successful re: the five-page, and turns out the response is skeptical. But! At least the six-page (on my favorite fucking book ever) shouldn't be difficult. Oh my god I'm going to die. This semester is going to kill me. I have already died and this is hell. Except.

Brecht did not believe in Hell. Brecht was an argumentative atheist, and would call Bullshit on me for making a comment like that. Shit. I really hope I wasn't this out of it when I was writing my essay.

Personal Problems

I online shop at six in the morning because I want to feel that I'm not alone in the world.
I read advice columns a handful at a time because I'm afraid of making bad decisions.
I make bad decisions, and I tell the world, because I feel like I should be shamed.
I'm bad, I'm wrong, and I've fucked up. Rejection is the worst thing because it's a confirmation of my greatest fear - that in the end, I'll the butt of every joke. And I hate the world for being mean. And I want them to love me. And, most of all, only ever admitted at six-in-the-mornings, I want them to understand me.

I'm a writer because I can't accept that they'll never get it.

Dear Me, tomorrow:

You're focused too much on how this man makes you feel, in order to escape the tedium of your life alone. He may be afraid of a relationship, but you're afraid of being alone. You become so defensive because you worry it might be true -- that you're just in it or the warm in bed beside you. This silence frightens you because it means you might actually have to evaluate where this is or isn't going... and you're afraid it's going nowhere, and that no-one will ever love you, once they get to know you. Accept this. Figure it out, and move on. Get a life.

The world is stupid.

Maybe I'm getting pulled along. Maybe they're all helping. Fuck it, but I don't even feel like I'm in a sortof-relationship with him. This is all some Dear Couple clusterfuck, and.


Talking to Dear Husband today, some things I said:

AGH. I'm frustrated, because I don't want to justify my attraction, my interest, my WHATEVER to anyone except him. And I don't even want to fucking justify it to him, I just want him to accept it! And I've heard a great explanation for his jackassery a half-dozen times from you and Dear Wife, but I don't intend to be in a relationship with you or Dear Wife.

OBVIOUSLY there's a trust issue, and I'm sure it's justified.

But nothing can come 'with time' if he isn't talking to me.
And right now? I'm okay with him not talking.
We're not together.
We're acting as two separate individuals with fucked-up stressed lives who need to work things out before we can start communicating in a meaningful way.

It's...I'm there.
I'm focusing on me right now. I'm doing hw and writing papers and whatever else.
But whenever he gets around to asking, I'm there.
But I'm tired of talking about waiting, or about how things did or didn't go or how they might or might not continue.

This conversation is missing a big chunk of him giving his opinions, and it's not fair for me to even guess at what things might look like until he does.
It's great to hear about him through you, but I can't base anything on that.
In the end it just drives me crazy.

So. Sorry for flipping out. I just feel like, when asked to examine my feelings, I'm going to end up entertaining thoughts that really will just end up getting me burned again.
He hasn't even made it clear if he wants to pursue anything.
Rather, he's made it VERY clear that he isn't comfortable with a relationship right now.
So as much as I'd like to go ON AND ON about the way I fill with bubbles and all my muscles go taut and I want to grab his hand when he's around just to get some grounding --
Sorry, but I put myself out there once already.

And I can't fucking entertain those thoughts right now.

Anyway. I've put myself out there. I made it clear I was interested, I pursued him.
I chased and chased and clarified that whatever he wanted, I was interested in it.
And fuck if I still don't know what he wants.
Except 'space'.
So that's what he's getting and I'm keeping my feelings under wraps, 'cos they haven't done me any good so far.

So that's how I feel. It's a lot more head-over-heels than I expected, and I feel like he should hear it, and it frustrates me that he WON'T FUCKING LISTEN.

Y'know, it's not even fair. He obviously doesn't know who I am, or -- he shouldn't be afraid of me. Except maybe of pissing me off. But there's no reason to be scared. And I can't imagine that he actually cares about me. The way he's acted. He hasn't asked once what I want. And y'know what? I do want! I have thoughts and opinions and if I'm gonna fucking compromise does he really think he's gonna act like I'm not even compromising? This isn't easy for me! Why am I making all these concessions? And he won't even exchange fucking small talk? Tell me how his day's been? What's his problem? How about he call me up sometime, and get over himself?

Illness

I am out of it. I keep popping expired nasal decongestants and hoping it will all just fade away. I am. Maybe? Am I? Am I just faking it all? Even so, does that mean I don't exist? WHO AM I? My dad died a year and a half ago, last week. It's weird. I had just turned nineteen. Twenty-odd days. Twenty-three? He sent me flowers just before my birthday, and I took them to my father's bedside. Cut off the nose to spite the face, no. Cut off the nose to stop this DEATHLY STUFFINESS? Perhaps.

99 Problems, but a Dick Ain't One

If I've got one worst problem, it'd be that I'm too optimistic, too willing to forgive and make good. This guy. I keep hearing how interested, focused on me he is, and then all he wants is me far far away. Y'know, I'm not sure I can handle that. What the hell. It's resolved, and I'm moving on with my life. This really isn't going to work unless he does a whole lot of manning up, so I'm just gonna call it good and that'll be that.

He needs space? He can have *all* the frickin' space. Now, if only I could find something enjoyable to keep myself distracted for the time being.

Getting Over

I am not focusing on you. You are just a guy -- who makes me feel happy and optimistic, sure. WHo makes me feel important and useful -- and I like that. I like. Hm. I don't know why I've gotten so attached. I guess I hadn't really moved on, if a couple words could pull me back. I guess I like the chase -- huh. You pissed me off because you made me question myself, and I feel redeemed, because now I can say that my thoughts at the time were accurate. I guess it's all about my ego, 'cos with Arch I had to accept that it wasn't going to happen so I tell myself that it was never going to happen, and you -- you admit that maybe you actually want this, and I jump at the idea, regardless of whether you're ready, and. I want to try this. Like an exotic alcohol, I got a sip once at a party and I'd like to own a bottle, even if I have to wait for it to come back in stock -- and fuck it but my metaphors are awesom. So. Maybe it turns out the aftertaste is nasty. Maybe it just won't be something I like. But I was upset because I thought I'd get the opportunity to find out, and then didn't. But. If I were waiting for curiosity to come back, I wouldn't dwell on that. Am I actually attracted to you, or just attached to an idea? Things wrong with you: vices, lack of communication/openness/trust -- let's write a letter.

Turkic,
I am giving you space right now. My brain is also running three hundred miles per minute on Nyquil, and you're the topic to be picked apart. It's that or the bags under Angela Merkel's eyes. So I wish you'd admit that I'm not some china doll that's gonna shatter and slice you up if you gave me some baggage to handle. Fuck it I guess it's not easy for you to trust -- which is weird. I'm...overt.

I don't even think I can share with you to help this trust thing along, because it's not as hard for me as it is for you. If I'm gonna prove that I can do the hard thing, probably leaving you be is the best bet. Because I'm no good at this. I mean, it's been twelve hours and I'm writing you a letter. 'Course, I won't send it. Probably. If you're going to open up, I'm around. If you're willing to think of me as something that adds a little happiness to your life rather than as a stressor -- hey, I'm here. Ich möchte dir, mein Kindheiterklären. I had it a lot better than many others. --- and worse than some. I know what hungry is like. I know what lonely is like. I know what rejection, what grief is. I've heard you've waded through more shit. A few months ago my sister went through something stupid, and bad, and I still don't know that she's grown up. Well, she hasn't. I don't know that she will. I wish you'd share a bit of your chaos -- but I guess I'm not in that place yet. I guess you don't know me well enough. It's weird, because I know me. And I'm pretty damn good with first impressions, and I think I get you, for the most part.

Huh. I guess I just want more -- and not more, but better details. I'm curious. I want to know your story. You interest me. You're very very different but somehow it feels like we come from a similar place. I'd like to explore that. I guess it all come back to curiosity. You've piqued my interest. The Nyquil is kicking in. My Deutsch ist wirklich besser, und ich bin sicher, und du bist sexy. Ich weiß nicht warum, weil du dick und älter bist, aber ich interessiere mich über dich. Ich habe interesse für deine Geschichte. Jeder hat eine Geschichte, und deine sofort, es zum wegnehmen, hat my interest piqued. I'm loopy. It's weird, and I didn't do this on purpose. Mrrgh yes I have a thought in the back of my head that sickness ends a break -- a moment without stress -- but I like it. Even unplanned.

Dear you,

You've got great friends, and I'd like to be friends with them, too...and they're building you up, and...agh. I'm pissed off, but.
Later: Fuck if I don't think you're sortof adorable all worn out. And I'm sorry for ranting and not letting you get a word in edgewise. I appreciate how up-front you were about not being ready for a relationship, and I hope this giving-you-space thing works out. Actually, I hope you are reminded daily of how great I am until you're driven crazy with curiosity and call me. ;)
Neither of us is perfect. I hope I've made things clear on my side and you've definitely exhibited your dickishness, but resolution can do wonders. Now I've just got to buckle down and focus on my life right now, and hope you're thinking of me.

Me.

Vent

Well, I got me some resolution, and that's real good. He acknowledged that he was a dick, and I didn't let him talk enough, but he was feeling like crap so maybe that was good. He's got a lot going on in his life right now and isn't ready for a relationship but "can't" tell me to just fuck off, which makes me grin. Anyway, I'm giving him space. No contact unless he calls, but I think I'll survive. He's got a whole lot going on and I don't want to add more to it. Or, I do but won't. Backing off and being satisfied that we're good.

I don't fear alcohol

Because I'm up-front when I'm sober. And I'm over you. I. yes, I was under you. Figuratively and literally. And I've moved on, shrugged it off. I'm prepared to freak out in your direction anytime soon. I think I'm a little out of it from the combination of nasal decongestants and alcohol and antihistamines. And, y'know, the fact that I'm sick as a dog and I really should just eat some more soup.

Nyquil Capslock

I think we were both trying to scare each-other away, and we succeeded. You withdrew, I chased. But. I admitted that I fucked up, and you still haven't? If you're interested, you're going to have to be more than interested. You've got to be willing to put up with me. Bitchy. Frustrated. Crazy. yup, I am. A bit psycho, a whole lotta unapologetic. Short-term, non-committal. Doesn't work for me, unless you admit it up-front. Dear Wife wrote to me:

Heya. Dear Husband and I hung out with Turkic last night and he mentioned that likes you. A lot. You are beautiful, smart, funny. You understand his references, he can have an intellectual conversation with you. He thinks you are “fucking awesome.” And he realizes he screwed up. He doesn’t think he’s worthy enough to have you and that you deserve better. 

But he thinks about you constantly—you are special to him and mean a lot to him. He’s scared because he’s been hurt and he’s hurt you, and he doesn’t want to do that again

He talks about you a lot, and he admits that he made a mistake in breaking up. You’re the first woman that he’s had genuine feelings for in a very long time. His past relationship—he bought his girlfriend an engagement ring, but found out she cheated on him with his best friend. This was about four years ago. He doesn’t do well with affection because he doesn’t want to get hurt. He wants to try again with you, but it will take him time to open up.

He feels horrible for breaking up with you. He’s convinced himself that he’s hurt you, and that he’s a “piece of shit.” He wants to tell you how he feels, but he chickens out because of these things—he’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve you, that he’s a “piece of shit.” He is also very scared and afraid of being hurt. 

He called you from my phone last night because his phone was dead, and because he wanted to tell you everything I have written here, and more. But he didn’t. He didn’t speak to a machine. 

It’s up to you what you do, if you do anything. I just thought you might like to know what he’s feeling and struggling with. 

and it sortof pisses me off, because I can't be with an asshole that only admits his feelings when he's plastered and there are  dozen or more things wrong with you, especially that you act like a dick when you're insecure and yeah, I'm gonna call you on that shit. I am a whole lot more than attractive and intelligent, and a lot of that is negative adjectives and I'm not going to fake it for anybody. This makes me hard to be around, and some people have thinner skins than others. At this point I'm fine. I'm sick as a very very sick dog and pissed off that this scab is being picked at when I'd just moved on, but I'm good. So put on your big boy panties and use your big boy words and tell me what you want. Because I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to make that happen, but I can't work with no plan. 

Heavy Eyelids

End of the night I want to communicate with somebody. Turns out these days it's just me around. Pink went off to the bars and my sister couldn't hold a communication without interrupting with a non sequitur. I called Arch and we chatted a bit. It's very very weird but I'm sure I'm over him and it's really odd but apparently his love life's going in something of the same direction (that is, badly) and I find it really amusing. He talked about some girl and I was curious about her name but only after he asked Turkic's name and then he asked what I honestly thought of him. I said he's a great guy but doesn't know what he wants and needs to be more aggressive in bed. He mentioned he'd tried that and quite liked it. That doesn't make me sad or jealous, just...I find it funny. Amusing, and a little strange. But I'm glad he's found somebody that things worked with? And I'm sorry they didn't work for longer. And he's willing to admit I'm attractive, which I appreciate. I have no interest in dating him again, and am glad we can talk like friends again. My life feels really empty lately, and as much as I'm going to hate the next few weeks (dead week & finals), I think I'm going to hate this summer more. One of my fantastic amazing coworkers is moving far far away and Pink will be at an internship a state away and Arch's going to be out of the country so no chance of us hanging out and Soprana will be at least an hour away at home and working. I just want to do something that doesn't involve me feeling so fucking alone.

Two Acetomenaphin

I am probably the most pleasantly hung-over person you'll ever meet. Yesterday I was all edges - need fights, need sex, need to lose control. Well, I lost control and smoothed my edges out with a diamond file and now. Now I'm worn out and sore and ehh. A lot of Ehh. And I know I smell funny. I'm wearing Pink's shorts and a two-day-old shirt (orange) and I feel like a a whole lotta college student-slash-sorority girl. And I don't fucking need to freak so much out about money - which isn't true, but I want to order a copy of Tiger! Tiger! and a Qdoba brownie.
And I feel sick to my stomach and I've fucked up most things in my life and I want to...achieve momentum. That would be the story I wrote lately that got torn up in workshop but which I still love - particularly the title. oooh. I want Taco Bell. Huh. An hour left of this class and I've achieved unmotivated senior level. I do show up (though it's a challenge every T/R) but work on something else every time.

On the way to poetry

Things don't echo. The moments in a life don't ripple, like they say. If I close my eyes I can't see some pattern - in-out, in-out, and one day when I wasn't around his chest failed to rise again. That's not how life works, though I can describe it that way to those who don't understand. Life just goes on. Grief is when you realise you've forgotten. The scream into nothingness, and the nothingness is waiting for you, too. I can scream and cry and take my grief and swallow it until the acid eats my gut but then...then I am the nothingness.

Red Pen

I am frustrated and pissed off and want to find some man and bit eand climb on top of him and be held down and scream -- it just feels like a lot of rejection all at once, and I should have realized that if a man has infinite psycho exes, at some point he invited that behavior. And I've now (or maybe previously) become that psycho woman. Absofuckinglutely insane - and I hate it! I want to find a big group of folks who'll treat me like an ordinary human being. I feel like I've been rejected over and over and I'm fucking pissed off! And I definitely do not want to be here, or doing this. I want to get in my car and drive and get drunk and get in a fight - I am so fucking pissed off at the world. I like writing in red; I want to take this bloody pen and stab someone with it. I want to go shooting. I want to get drunk. I want to dance and lose control. He's that fucking guy. And it makes sense, I s'pose. Why the hell was I not this fucked up about Arch? Probably because I didn't feel so resoundingly rejected. ASSHOLE. I am pissed off and feeling rejected, and I have NO fucking sympathy for the man who made me this way, and I want to cry and punch somebody. This is miserable. I am ANGRY.

Revelations

I'm back to not knowing how I feel, but I'm a lot more like living the life I expected at fifteen. I've had some bad sex, some decent sex, some great sex. I've enjoyed the time of a couple men, and expet to enjoy others... But I dunno. . I feel like --fuck. I deserve attention. That's how I feel. ASS. That's not right at all. Fuck. I'm a manipulative bitch. I would rather have some nice guy who adores me, provides an ego stroke, than... I don't know. I guess I'd like something like that. Where I do't have to go out and search for a grin, don't have to worry about being in a serious relationship, wrap my emotions up in all this shit... Why can't I have a fucking booty call? I'll be fine not staying over or making breakfast. Just - ARGH. Googling "How to set up a booty call" next.

Insignificance

I don't fucking understand how someone who's not interested in having any of a half-dozen men has a half-dozen men dogging her ankles. She got so trashed she couldn't walk, and had two men carrying her. Then there's me, who's relatively cute and knows what she wants and scares every fucking man away.

I just... I don't know if there's something wrong with me (I really don't want this to be the case!) or if there actually are men out there who have the balls to hold their own with me. Fuck, and I don't want to wait two years to find another guy who speaks German. This is just --- HELL. It pisses me off. Why can't men be as fucking up-front and suave as they pretend to be? Or why can't they just say, "Yes, I'd like a sexual relationship but I'm not really good with something emotional right now." Because fuck if I couldn't put up with that. But I'd like to *know* one way or the other.

AGH. I'm tempted to attempt a booty call, but I need to pick up and move on with my life.

Statistics

How do I feel? Disappointed. But good. I made a comment that this guy (don't mind labeling him as a rebound, now that it's over) showed me that there are smart, witty, sexy and interesting men out there - well, now I've met two of them. I've met two of three billion and I'm complaining? Ha! Mkay. English speakers - make that 500 million. Call it a tenth, for age's sake? Or a fifth? 25 million. And intelligence? 250,000. Even if I keep cutting, let's say there are two-hundred and fifty men that could be exactly what I'm looking for. Well, fuck. And if I'm gonna find one of those two-fifty I've got to date something like a thousand. Fuck. Better get started. :)

Life is good.

I should stop thinking that every man is The One, but rather focusing my time on determining if he's even one of thousands that could make me happy. And this guy probably wasn't, but even if he was and I fucked it up, I've got plenty of options.

Screwed the Pooch

Fuck facebook chat. I'm sad for what could have been, because this guy's amazing. I feel like I fucked it up, yes, but no communication, no indication that he was busy or --

I led with my vinegar, but he didn't tell me he wasn't a fly. Or some fuck. I'm upset. I still really like him but he's made it clear he's not interested. Hell. Shit. Buggery fuck.

Why do these things always happen on Tuesday mornings? Fuck Tuesday Morning.

AGGHJ

He is driving me crazy!!! Just frickin' message me already, you insane obnoxious man! Honestly, we could clear this up with a two-sentence conversation. Also, my work keyboard is acting up, so every time I push the H key it types HJ. HJHJHJHJHJHJHJ. ARGHJ.

Frustration

Frustrated and confused and a number of words that aren't tags. Music makes me think of him, even if it doesn't line up exactly. I'm grumpy, and hope he's what I hope he is.

Agh. I'm probably fucking things up. How the hell do I be a good partner without sacrificing myself?!

Sunday

I'm tempted to give him a call, say "Y'know what, I don't like this at all, sorry. It's not going to work." but I'm waiting 'til Tuesday. I'm giving him space, extending the moment for him to figure himself out, as well as waiting in case he needs time to sort out communication. I promised such things to friends, and I guess I'll wait it out. Still. Tuesday. Things have been weird since Friday, and I don't feel like I've gotten any real sort of explanation, and...I dunno. I don't like it. I hope he'll get back to me soon.

Through the Night

Approx. 1 a.m
I am hiding in the basement of CLB, hanging out with a bunch of grad students, ignoring Turkic. Trying to ignore him. Will I be broken up if we don't get along, don't work out? Mm...maybe. But I'm me, and I'm brilliant and beautiful and I'm surrounded by folks I like, so I'm sure I'll survive.
On an unrelated note, both Pink & Soprana are late. So, pregnancy test party? Seems pretty dang exciting.

...I don't know where that thought was going. I guess I'm just tired, and thinking of him. But I'm not going to call or text or chat. I'll let him get around to it. ARGH.

Approx. 4 a.m.
Need to get renter's insurance. Call insurance tomorrow. Speaking of calling, I changed my plan so I'm paying maybe $20 more per month, but shouldn't have to worry about overages. Took a bit of a nap. Still tired but much less so. Drinking Coke Zero. Planning to purchase: bread. Bumblebee Ready-to-Eat. A mattress (memory foam, 10"). A new computer (tablet + keyboard?). Renter's insurance. I really don't have the cash for extraneous purchases. But those bras & panties should come in next week, and I'm gonna flaunt them, whether or not Turkic & I have sorted our shit out. I dunno how I feel about his appearance. I've got no issue being out with him, or with Soprana. I guess I just know that Pink is shallow, and I don't want to have to defend him to my friends based on Facebook photos. I guess I'd prefer she see him in person and judge from the look on my face.

Approx. 4:30 a.m.
Why not just be single? Well, because I'm attracted to and enjoy the company of a particular kind of intelligent, compassionate man.

5:00 a.m.
I want to call him, but won't. I am going to distract myself for one more day, probably by sleeping, and then I'll survive Monday somehow. I'm allowed to give him a call Tuesday evening if he hasn't communicated before then. Hell. I really want this to work out.

To: You

I want to make bad decisions with you, and I want to enjoy it. I want to be able to say whatever the fuck without feeling like I'm tip-toeing over potato chips. I'm probably just going to succeed at freaking you out and coming on too strong. The hell with it. If there's one thing I've figured out lately it's that there are great men out there, who are smart and witty and sweet and sexy. I didn't even believe they existed before, but I'm smarter than Captain Ahab and I'm not going to bend my entire life around something that's never going to work.

So I'm the kind of girl that is on her way home at one a.m. and gives you a call because it'll make her smile, and not because she has anything useful to say.
I'm the kind of girl who hears you're drunk and has the impulse to ask what you really think of her, because fuck it but men are enigmas, and what the hell do you mean by "take things slower"?
I'm the kind of girl who says "I like you" a dozen times until it sounds like it's a lie, but mostly she's just surprised every time she realizes it and really doesn't want you to forget it, because just maybe it'll make you smile and that'd be worth it.
I'm the kind of girl who reads mattress reviews at three a.m. and then right when she's about to go to bed decides, "What the hell?" and even though she's tired and knows it's a bad idea, she likes to make bad decisions, and she likes it.
Because I don't know about you, but when I say I want open communication I mean I'm going to be up-front.
I know how to kiss you, and how to climb on top of you and sometimes I think I know how to make you come, though that still eludes me sometimes. I know how to have conversation across a room while working on homework. I know how to (badly) cook for you. I sortof know how to handle restaurant dates. I have no idea what else "take things slower" might entail, and I'm willing to try, but you've got to suggest something. I really don't know how to make this work.

And this - this undefined thing we've got going on? Undefined? Because I guess I misunderstood when I heard you say you thought the word 'girlfriend' was apt, and I just figured since we weren't having sex with anyone else and you were tossing around 'girlfriend' that that meant dating.

Which isn't a big deal, honestly. Labels are names, and you can call me 'Shirley' if we're both happy, but this example of confusion pisses me off. Where else am I running ahead of you, confusing things, mixing them up? I'm not the perfect woman. I'm irrational and stubborn and sometimes an insomniac and I've known you a week and am falling asleep typing this.

So let me know if you don't think you can handle it, or let me know what

"I feel dumb for calling you at one-fifteen."
"You shouldn't."
"Why not?"
"If I were sober I'd explain."

this conversation meant, because I'm curious. And whichever you pick, I'm sure I'll be happy and myself; hope you'll stay the same.

I have no idea how I feel about this.

I know that for anything resembling this to work in the long term I need to be able to take criticism. But this isn't criticism. Or, at least, it isn't packaged like criticism. It's packaged like "Wow you're the perfect woman. We should take this slower. I need to get my head on straight."

WHAT.

I guess it makes sense. I guess...I don't know. Less sex, which he's been rather good about. And impartial third-party atmospheres, which we've started to include more of. Slower. I don't know how the hell to do slower, but I really like "you're the perfect woman". Gotta hold onto those moments.

Dating?

So we've gotten to the point where he sends me a text at 8:48AM.

You should stay over tonight. A bed without you just kind of ...sucks.

And then for an unrelated reason we go to grab drive-through lunch, then we're talking and I say, hey. It's National Grilled Cheese Day. How would you feel about me cooking dinner tonight?

And so really we've spent the whole day together. And it's weird and fantastic and look at this Dalek gif he sent me: http://i.imgur.com/eJbvq.gif

In other news, I called Arch today. I can't really explain it, but I wanted to let him know that I wasn't caught up on him anymore, that he didn't need to worry about me going crazy, because actually I'm doing really well, and thanks for having the guts to end something that wasn't working. I guess I just felt it was necessary to let him know that, even though it's taken me a bit, I finally get what he was talking about. And I am so much happier now. Wow.

It's crazy to imagine that I was so unhappy and didn't even realise it. But here's to life!

Thoughts In Class

Y'know, I need to figure out how I feel about this. Thee parts of a relationship: platonic, romantic, and sexual. We went to dinner and ice cream yesterday and I was very engaged in conversation the whole time, so that's the first. The last is clear - but what about 'romantic'? The emotional bit? Would I be okay with that? Because I know I like him; I get along well with him, but when does that bit come along? Will I be alright without it? Am I still in love with Arch? On the last bit, I don't think so? I spent a lot of time thinking he was the only one, and maybe that's what I was holding onto? But when I know there's something better for me out there - I feel thankful. That I didn't attach myself to him for the next eighty years...

Scholarships

Just figured out how much my scholarships'll be for the next academic year -- woo ha! That's one way to put a smile on my face. Another way to put a smile on my face:

So I was at the 'wall tonight, hanging out with --- and ---, and a girl comes up and is talking to me, and I was kindof a dick to her. I said, "Sorry. There's the girl who's way more attractive than you, and I like her a lot."

Now, that's really terribly paraphrased, but it's a thing he said that made me grin. And today we got a really early dinner and ice cream and walked and talked and it was really nice. A bit awkward, but a lot like a real date. Mmm.

On the Artificial Constraints

 On the artificial constraint of relationships in boy-meets-girl movies: First they meet and must separate, even through Boy wants to ask Girl out, and he doesn't get her number, and then they meet again and THEN they go to bed. "Except usually not that fast in real life." And...that's actually how that happened.

Lily Allen

I am way too cheerful! He thinks German grammar is hot, and seems at least to be receptive to my taste in music; he likes Don McLean. And I like him. I like that I was all on him last night and he kept his self-control -- laudible. "Ich mag ihn." And I think we're both pretty bad at lip-reading. I'll have to ask what he was saying. Er ist mein Freund, that's how I'll das erklären.

Wow. Less than a week, and I'm already getting my moments confused.
Thursday. Red Lobster. Gladiator. Rum.
Saturday. Dear Couple. Star Trek II. Cognac.
Sunday. Homework. Game of Thrones. Tuna sandwich.
Monday. Corset. One really great round, then breakfast.
Tuesday. Dear Couple. Star Trek III. WWI. Pineau des Chanteres.
And then I went home.

That's a pretty big deal. First time since our first date that I've kissed him and nothing else. I was running my feet up and down his leg all night, imagining kissing him against the wall in the hope he'd catch on, and in general making myself a big ball of sexy, but he didn't react. Much. He touched me back, very deliberately, a few times. And we were able to separate the games we played above the table with the games we played under the table. Although I do think I accidentally stroked Dear Husband's foot once. Whupps.

So it is odd, the question of whether or not I find him attractive. He shaved, which makes him look like a "man baby" (his term). And still. He looks a little odd with his glasses on; I guess I"m too used to his face close to mine, with no need for glasses, but I do find him attractive. I am definitely attracted to him with my body, who's a bit of a whore and really likes how he makes her feel, and my brain, who can be a total bitch and yet is enamored with this man. My eyes are 'eh' but the other two hardly ever agree, and they're saying "Fuck you!" really loud at the eyes.

Also, I feel super dumb, but I think I've songed us. "Who'd Have Known" from Lily Allen. Yupp. In just over an hour we're grabbing indeterminate Asian food. Maybe I can get a whole record's worth from him. Ha!

Genetics is a Bitch

Convinced a coworker to try on my bifocals. Aside from the hilarity of the walls wiggling, I convinced him that being "the only person in my family without glasses" was not a boon, but evidence of inevitability.

Many things about me - my figure, skin color and texture, eyesight and so so much more, are genetically determined. Other items, such as diet, sexual prolectivities, taste in music, etc. are some combination of nurture and personality.

I eat my cantaloupe and cashews and crackers and listen to Matt Nathanson and imagine the look on Turkic's face when he reaches up his hands and holds me down. Oh!

First in Four

Days that I haven't stayed over at his house, by the way. And I don't like it much, particularly since I become rather affectionate (his word, though not specifically re: this situation) when toasty, and I drank quite a bit tonight. Mm. I miss him. And that's weird. But he's lovely and sweet and intelligent and funny and not hesitant in the slightest to be himself.

He smokes. He doesn't lie or apologize for it, but he does his best not to kiss me with smoker mouth, because I made it clear I don't like that.

He makes crude jokes. He knows they're crude, but he doesn't intend to change himself to please me - and isn't going to fake it, either. How the hell did I find this man?

Whatever-the-Fuck

Well, I'm officially (though not FBO, thank god) his whatever-the-fuck, and I really think I like it that way. But is he my ---? I had a frickin' strange dream where I was admitting my feelings to a panel of female judges, and I half-awoke and thought I'd said something "incriminating", such as "I'm thinking of being back with..." so I told him, "I'm really glad I'm not with asshole," which I realise now was exactly the wrong thing to say. Or at least it would have been, if I'd been on the receiving end. Anyway, so we're going to cool it off a bit, unrelated to me being an idiot, and I'm going to try to sort myself out. The thing is? I really like this guy. And yes, I made breakfast again. He really seemed to enjoy it, and was rather excited at the prospect of French Toast. I'll need to check recipes to make sure I can make it without any significant fuck-ups. Mkay. Seems clear enough. Whooooo.

By the way, he has no objection to the word "girlfriend," if I don't. And I probably don't, but maybe I don't know.

Why???

Three dates and I wonder if it's already gotten weird. Apparently I said "I love you" after sex, which seems really frickin' weird but totally possible, but maybe he really did just mishear me. Fuuuuuuu... Anyway, so we had sex twice this morning and I made breakfast naked and drove him to work, but still. Weird. BUT ALSO. He asked me what I liked, besides German.

And then we were talking again, about real things but also flirting, and I asked if it were weird and he said hell no, so.

Fuuuuuuuuck. I think I really like him.

Plus Four Plus One

This is some sort of fucking record, I'm sure. Definitely for me, but I'd like to know what Guinness says. Alright, so this time there was cognac rather than rum involved, but we discussed kinks, pet peeves, numbers (he seemed just a bit uncomfortable to be number two), and "What is this?"

Which was a stumbling block of confusion, but I think the eventual conclusion was that we both liked a combination of conversation and sex, and maybe we'll spend some time outside of the bedroom doing things. Tonight, for example, we're supposed to be in the same place, working on our respective obligations. Apparently I make very nice eye candy, and! Maybe my favorite thing so far, he said he might just call me his historiography, so that he could feel productive. He'd be thinking about his historiography, doing his historiography...ha! Imagining his historiography naked?

Oh, and five is his count, not mine. I absolutely lost count sometime in the first four. Also, KY was a FUCKING FANTASTIC investment. And yes, this sounds an awful lot like a purely sexual relationship, because the sex is so great, but there are definitely other things going on there. The conversations are excellent, interesting. There just wasn't much of that last night because we jumped into bed as soon as the friends left. Ha! (And I think they knew it.)

Oh, but back to the top at hand --- he said my name. I haven't, yet; still sounds weird on my tongue. But..mm. I'll make more of an effort.

Grins

The guy who hit on me last weekend ("Wanna have some fun?") is back, hanging out with my roommates, and I almost wish he'd knock on the door so I could tell him I'm with someone. And while I'm fairly certain we're exclusive ("I'm a one-woman-at-a-time kind of man.") I really don't know what to call us. And. I told my brother everything pertinent (alcohol, smoking, navy, age, everything I could think might be a con -- everything prior to the halfway point of Gladiator) and he seems to approve. Basically, he could think of no reason to tell me not to go for it. And. Mmm. I have gone for it, and it was amazing. Thinking about it makes my body go all warm and squeamish, and I really am attracted to him. I'm excited and scared and completely blown away by the parts that really matter - him.

Eeeeu. My eyes are losing focus, and it's 4AM, so I'll end there, but wow. I really am excited at the prospect of a second date.

One Night

A hundred revelations. Mmm. I like waking up next to him. He's got a scary high alcohol tolerance. He spoons - as the big spoon. He likes to kiss. He likes to touch me. His priority is my pleasure. He's open and conversational. He's accepting. He appreciates me. He has a padded headboard - for a reason. He has so many pillows. His bed is very comfortable. He knows how to use it. He is so fucking confident. He can throw me around. I have to stand on my tip-toes to kiss him standing up. He can hold me up. His hair is thick, and I like to pull it. Don't know if he minds. I need to take up yoga. He's so much of a gentleman. He likes both the give and take. He likes to be scratched. He likes to be warm, and wants to warm my cold hands. He'll sleep naked. He's not ticklish. He doesn't care that I pop my toes. He likes my body. He prefers intelligence. He makes decisions, and goes for what he wants. He's not as forward as he thinks. He likes the black underwear.

There's a third of them. Let's tag this one 'men, so fucking happy can't stop grinning, don't miss the ex one fucking bit'.

Feels like a dream. I slept great, by the way.

Preparation

I am so excited.
Need: black headband. black clutch/danglet(??), black hose. I think I have black hose, but...ahhhhhahahah. I'm freaking right out.
Y'know, my other first date I wore a Pizza Hut uniform. I think I prefer the tummywobbles to ambivelant teenagerhood.

Anticipation

Sevenish tomorrow. I am not much of a primper but imagine I might anyway. Gosh, this guy. I think this might be the definition of moving too fast, because we've talked every day this week and seen each other twice (with other folks around, for short moments). He calls me 'killer' and I like it. I remember I've been this giddy before, but it's been a long while. It's really opened my eyes, at least. I can't believe I wanted to be with an asshole like that. This guy hardly knows me but he seems to really like what he knows and I feel *wanted*.

I wonder how it'll go.

Limbo

That's very odd. I feel like a giddy seventeen-year-old texting back and forth, and it's all good, and then in person I become awkward and shy and can't make eye contact and I don't know what to do with that. I suppose I've got him shaped a bit differently in my mind's eye. But I really do think I like him. Well. I like the words, the laughs. I like the written communication.

It's really odd. I was seventeen last time I thought of things like this, and it's all a bit odd.

So, how 'bout that?

Agh. This might just be rebound giggles, but flirting is a ton of fun. He's older, I'm not positive by how much. MA student. He LIKES me. I have no idea why. I like how up-front he is, how he makes me laugh, and really seems to be interested in me, though I don't know how much of that is politeness. Eh. Over the next little while I'll learn something about him, and we'll see from there. Hm. Saying that a lot lately, but not often with an enormous grin on my face.

Hypothetical Police

Tonight would have been a very bad night to be pulled over.

Firstly, I was wearing a dress, heels, and a beret.

Secondly, I'm twenty, and my breath would have smelled like beer.

Thirdly, there were three open bottles of hard liquor in my backseat. (Open as in unsealed. They all had tops on.)

Fourthly, there was a .22 pistol (unloaded) and three clips (loaded) under the driver's seat.

Fifthly, there was a bag of nine grapefruits and a game of Scrabble in the passenger seat.

You know what all this adds up to?

A REALLY great night.

DISCLAIMER: No, I was not engaging in drunk driving. I had had one beer, over about four hours, in addition to a glass of water and a large meal. That's about as far from drunk driving as one can get.

Also, men are starting to hit on me again. It's weird, but very flattering. I think I may be able to stop calling him now. Two days sober. We'll see.