I don’t understand couples who have a joint MySpace profile, and then, under each subtitle, have a “his” and “her” section.
Having just freed myself of a relationship in which I lost some sense of self…
It scares me.
*Hides from those people.*
I’ve been cleaning.
Yeah. Me. Cleaning. On purpose.
Not just everyday cleaning, either.
Room shredding cleaning. The kind where you make “donation” and “eBay” and “trash” piles.
And, a “boyfriend box.” I keep finding little things, odds and ends, that belong to him and were mostly left here during the stint that he lived with my parents and me.
I could go into how a little part of me the past two days has wished I could have a reason to hate him, so I wouldn’t miss his smile sometimes. So I could just burn all the stuff I’m finding instead of being what I’d rather not be at the moment, a nice person, and return it to him, and have to look into his eyes. I could be a chicken shit and leave it on his porch, except that he has one of my favorite pair of boots and a DVD from my Netflix account that I want back.
I heard rumors that there’s already a new girlfriend. I hate rumor mills. I stay away from them. But some jackass that I’ve met all of twice went out of his way to make sure he told me. I could talk for quite a while about how ridiculous it is that I feel hurt over the idea, considering I broke up with him. But the feelings are there; no matter how many times I spin violently around with my eyes closed, when I stop, and my senses return, there they are. I’ll get over it shortly, once the sting subsides. Part of me is already seriously happy for him, because if it’s true and if it’s who I think it is, she’s more in line with his life than I ever was and ever would be. The fact that the rumor even exists, and the fact that the girl in question’s vehicle has been at his house the past ten days so much it looks like she moved in, smoothed over the tiniest doubt born of loneliness that I made the right decision when I chose not to go back into that relationship. The body of our four years together isn’t even cool yet, and after dramatizing that I was the only thing on the planet that made him feel anything, less than two weeks later, he’s caught a new fish.
Before me, he dated lots of girls with all different types of personalities. He’s one of those guys who could happily chase almost any female who didn’t get on his nerves. I, on the other hand, am picky, and every guy (and it’s a short list) I have ever been interested in on any level has had a similar core set of characteristics his personality was built upon. I knew he would move on before I did, not only because he’s not as self-aware as I am but also because he just meets people easier than I ever will.
And while I pondering all of this and purging my physical realm of the past, it hit me rather violently:
This is the beginning of the rest of my life. I will be out of my parents’ house by the end of the year, hopefully, in October or so. I’m single, unattached, having survived two semi-serious relationships and being three times the wiser for them. I’m armed with what I feel is a decent amount of knowledge for someone my age and also armed with a handful of great friends. I’m working towards claiming my body. I’ve got a great job that I don’t think is going anywhere in the near future. And I’m terrified and so fucking excited I almost can’t stand it. Anything could happen. In retrospect, it looks as if everything in my life has led me up to this point in time, and here I sit, shedding the past and provoking the future, right on the cusp of my second birth into a world of wild and fey ways.
I’ve been considering those obnoxiously long miscellanea entries a whole lot tonight.
Am I using this blog as a basic communication tool with my friends?
Mmmm. Yeah, it looks like it. If I want to talk that bad, I know you guys will talk to me. So that’s silly.
Maybe it’s an extension of my neurotic behaviors.
Maybe it was just thoughtless babble upon my part.
Either way, it’s dull. To me, it is. I come to this website and all I can think is, man, I wrote all of that, and it wasn’t really entertaining or interesting at all. Where’d my personality run away to hide?
I’m not a boring person, or, I like to think not. I don’t drone on incessantly about minutiae (I love that word!) most of the time.
So consider the habit broken.
… Not that any of you who are reading it have ever complained, ’cause you’re still here reading, bless your gray matters.
But it’s bothering me. It always does after I post one of those awful things. So I’ma stop.
Kthx.
Bye.
I relish the rain. I dance in it as I make my way back to shelter. Every drop feels like a kiss, to me.
And I can’t help but giggle when I see the corporate fluffs, scurrying, umbrellas held overhead at what they guess is the best angle to prevent any errant drops from reaching their perfectly prepared visages. God forbid they get wet! Their paint might run.
I took a few moments for myself in the middle of the unpleasant day and I walked across the street in it to get lunch. Only sugar melts, and I haven’t been made of sugar for years. And I am not covered in a film of watercolor that might dissolve and leave me horrified– no– the rain just kisses the only thing that I am right now– me.
The rain is a gift, even if it has ruined my meteor-watching plans for the night. While I’m seriously disappointed about missing the Perseids, and I’m lonely for the company I almost had tonight, I can’t find it within myself to be angry at the clouds for more than a few minutes at a time.
When it rains and I alone seem to be enjoying it, I always feel like I know something no one else does.
Like a tiny child who has just wrapped her thoughts around what happens to a caterpillar, and cannot believe the adults all around her aren’t struck with awe, too; do they not understand how awesome this is!? Do they not feel wonder? Don’t they SEE how beautiful it is!? Where are their eyes!
Where are your eyes, people!? What have you done to them? How did you lose them!?
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the relationships I have. With family. With friends. And those who are in-between.
And I always come back to the same realization that: I’m lucky.
While I have few people I actually call my friends, each of the ones that I do are absolutely fantastic people. And with each one, I have a slightly different relationship. We have our little things that make us smile. Little moments we shared that were ours alone.
All these amazing people seem to genuinely enjoy my company, even when I feel like I’d rather not exist.
I pushed all of them away while I was with N. I turned down invitations because I knew it would cause drama with him. He used to pout when I’d go out without him. And I let him manipulate me that way because I was a dumb girl. I’m sorry now that things were that way. I missed out on dinners, on festivals. On movie nights. All kinds of things. And it’s not that I regret the time I spent with N., I just wish it hadn’t equaled the loss of time with people who I’ve come to realize are really important to me. Those who love me unselfishly. Those who would be the first ones to my side if I needed a hand.
Since I’ve been single, I’ve actually longed for the company of others. In the past I’ve always been quite an anti-social creature, so this feeling is totally new territory for me. Me? Miss having company? It’s not unheard of, but it’s a rarity.
And I know this loneliness I’m experiencing now is the culmination of all my choices in recent years. So I’m working through it slowly, and looking forward to the planned dates when I get to share space with my friends.
Just know that by the time I get to you, I’ve been feeling like I couldn’t wait to see you for a while.
