Bohemian Like You

I had this dream last night where I was being chased by a group of Dementors and when I finally cast my patronus it was a hot dog; it was really weird and it woke me up.

It was 5:30 a.m. so I decided that I'd start working instead of attempting to fall back asleep. I just started a new job as the beverage director at a popular establishment in midtown Houston and I'm pretty eager to assert myself in this position, so away I typed on my laptop. I wrote 864 words before 6:30 a.m. and I was far from done, but it's nice to have something to focus on aside from my shitty broken heart. I know its getting old and you're tired of reading about it.

I've been going at this whole management position with unbridled fever, so I'm on the upside of anger for the most part. 

A few nights ago I lapsed a bit; after a long hard day I came home and started fucking around on the internet, because every stupid fucking purchase I make happens under the influence of  a whiskey or two on the rocks. Like, a month prior to my breakup I purchased a cake sampler from Momofuku Milk Bar in New York City, because it was my favorite comfort bakery in all of the city and I wanted Tim to have something special for Valentines Day. It arrived to my mothers house and sat in the freezer so that it would be good when I finally had the chance to give it to Tim. It sat and sat, time passing because our lives had become bogged down with work and extracurricular bullshit. Then Tim broke up with me and the world exploded. I ate the cake sampler. All of it. Every morsel consumed between hot tears and episodes of House M.D. I felt like a recovering addict, relapsing on a three day bender. All the lows were felt.

I stared at the website, every neuron firing simultaneously and dancing with the sweet burbon coursing through my blood, riding high on that whiskey horse. I stared a bit more, and then I decided that I'd do what I wanted to do initially and send it to Tim, because rational thinking is not a thing in my life. I input the payment information with care, proofreading the credit card number, the address, the date of delivery. Two more clicks and boom, off to the interwebular tangle of information my order was sent.

That cake sampler is not fucking cheap.

I woke in the morning a bit hazy. I leave for New York in two days and I'm what one would call "strapped for cash". I lay and reflect: what's the worse that can happen? He throws it away? He hates me for sending him cake? Like, please.

I forget what the note said verbatim but I remember including "please never date someone cooler than I am. Love from 1636 miles away"

Back to the present.

Tim went on a river trip- I only know this because I saw some photos he was tagged in by a mutual friend. I saw the photos and my first thought was "where are his glasses?" then "he's wearing shorts." and finally "he's smiling." I thought about it for a minute; in January we'd spent time at Hamilton pool and dreamed up plans for the summer, a summer where everything was good and we were happy.  My heart began to ache. I watched a video where he was standing in the middle of a lake and plopped into the water in a pseudo baptism. I cried for a few minutes.

He'll probably never eat the cake.

Thank God for my job, it keeps me busy and I enjoy it thus far. I'll talk to you guys when I'm done healing up in NYC, and I'll have some fun shit to share with you.

Thanks for listening, stay cool.

Sight For Sore Eyes

I spent this morning on a good note; I woke early, showered, prepared breakfast, and watched a documentary on Netflix. In the history of good starts from 1 to 10, I'd say this was like, I dunno, a strong 8. 
I applied for a job at Gawker today, totally rad. I'm not sure if they'll even take a look at me but I'll share the email I sent them with you:

 Attached is a resume, a photo of a cat, and a link to my current blog where you will find all the writing samples you could ever want. I would love the opportunity to work for a publication in which I could utilize my liberal arts degree and finally confirm that the thousands of dollars spent on formal education was in fact not all for naught. Should you decide to pass on me, no hard feelings, but I pray thee finds me at the very least a serious contender.

Best regards,

Elle Kay

Attached was this photo

Tabby Cat is Tabby

I don't know what'll happen, but I've got to keep trying.

As the day wore on, the air thickened with moisture and the sky greyed, a prototypical omen of omens.

I was on my way to work when I spotted Tim sitting outside the bar he works at smoking a cigarette and talking to a girl I'd recognized for the last time he and I had spoken. I could feel the ball of ice in my stomach reach critical temperature, I was growing increasingly unstable, and my mother rambled on, and on making me beyond nauseous. This girl in the black skirt and the black shirt with brunette hair liked Tim and I could see that he too was at least quasi-interested (mind you this was like, a mere 35 second observation). I want to kill her, and all the other "her's" that might look his way, but especially her.

I tried my best to maintain composure, attempting to subdue the tremendous fire of jealousy and unabashed full on ire, and it worked for approximately 10 minutes. I found my way to work, walked into the backroom, sat on an empty cooler, and began to sob. I shook with fury and the thoughts flooded:

How could he move on so soon? Why does he not love me? What did I do to ruin this? Why did he forget about me? 

I thought about how I'd visit him at work before we dated and I wondered if she was doing what I'd done only 6 months prior. Perhaps this girl and I weren't so different. I proceeded to do the most asinine thing one could do in a situation like this and had a full blown text message breakdown. 

i divulged every emotion as it simultaneously ran through my entire body, I voiced the anger I feel, because to say "felt" would suggest that I am not angry anymore and that just isn't so,  not my finest moment. I finished with this

I guess I'm just not ready

And I know this to be true, but I also know that time heals all wounds, but it just does it excruciatingly slow. 

Whatever, time. 

I'll stop talking about this soon, but I'm still not over it and I need to say the things in my head lest I act foolishly.

God help me see this through.

Ok Stupid

Tonight I went on a date with a guy I met via OkCupid, and while I anticipated something close to the 10th circle of hell, it was actually pretty great.

I ran into Tim, he ignored me, I died a little, and that was the end of that.

We had a few beers, I drank a topo chico.

My date did not get to come upstairs because I can't imagine being close to anyone just yet but at least I know that I can get back on the horse that tried to kill me.

Poor guy was so bummed.

My neighbor is drunk and asleep on the couch in the foyer;

and I still miss Tim and my heart is still broken.

Waning Moon

The First Time I Met You

Our Relationship (I remember you saying you played a show with them and it made me like you like, 100 times more)

Happy Together

Making fun of Everyone Else

In and Out of Love

It's really over, isn't it?

Smell ya later