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.