Things are good

Things have been great as of late and I find it disturbing that I can't really appreciate how great everything is.

I've been really depressed and it's almost a joke how I'm feeling. I actually laugh about it sometimes,
how sad I am. I can't really tell you why, because I'm not really sure, but you know, I'm not afraid to tell others, because I feel like there are a lot of people who can relate.

I have these manic episodes, where I'm really riding a high, and I can't tell if it's real or if its a result of drinking too much coffee or listening to uptempo music, but I really like it when this happens. I get more done.

But those don't happen as much as the other days happen.

My alarm is set to go off at 8:40 am every morning, and I wake up, and I silence the alarm and I just lie there. Sometimes I fall back asleep, but most times I just think about all the things I want to do with my day, and how long it will take me to do them, but then I just lie there.

Hour after hour passes, and I just lie there. I feel like I am stuck to the sheets.

I lie here and I feel morose and I really wish I could get out of bed but I just can't.

There's a touch of irony I guess, in feeling this way because I have nothing to really complain about, but it all feels so empty and I feel so sad that I can't be happy.

I was accepted to grad school this year, and I'll be moving in July, but I can't really accept that this is happening, because I ought to feel happy.

I know I won't always feel like this, but today I do.

I listened to Daniel Johnston and it made me feel a little better and I cried for a minute and that also helped.

Do people still use this thing? Are you there God?

House arrest: an autobiography

I don't remember when exactly I started to feel this way, but it happened after I turned 27. I recalled the months prior, and the vows I'd made to myself. I was going to be healthy again. I was that person, I am still her, but different.

At first I made excuses, I said that I could do whatever was on my agenda tomorrow and I didn't think twice about it. Then I just stopped going to the gym, I figured that if I just watched what I ate and worked a decent amount that I would just maintain my current weight. It was like this for a couple of months, but then the headaches started. And they kept coming. And soon I just didn't get out of bed.

Literally.

I just layed there, my mind active and my conscious floating above me, staring at the atrophied puppet I'd become.
I was upset to say the least, I wanted to be the girl I was before, who played roller derby and hung out with friends, confidence abound. I had done something to her, I'd never felt so strange.

Should I be an earthquake I'd barely register, I'd be the hurricane who never made landfall. Why this struggle?

I wake up in the mornings, early enough I believe, and then I just lay there. I'm tired for whatever reason, and my head hurts, not terribly but enough to nag. I am worried about myself.

I have used every morning since I felt this way to think about what ails me. Is it my thyroid? Is it TMJ? Is it cancer?

I think about the last thing, the very last thing that I want it to be.

Am I depressed?

No. I can't be depressed. I am mentally well, I mean, sure I have OCD issues, but they're under control.

I cannot be depressed. That would make me a hypocrite. I have been coaching several friends struggling through darkness onto the path of recovery.

No it's impossible.

Elle,  you have to get a grip.

You, the girl who supouts uplifting mantras to her friends. I, who spreads the gospel of therapy.

I simply cannot be depressed.

And then it hits like a 10 ton train.

2016 4:42 AM

First hours of the first day of the year and here I am,

Awake. Reluctant. Aroused.

It's the conversations I have with myself that worry me; I can't decide if they're healthy or a sign of what's to come.

I have these fantasies, perhaps delusions of grandeur, that keep me awake- I feel sick but all together I feel...normal?

Who the fuck knows.

I wan't weak men to stop leaning on me for support, I can't help you. I don't want to help you.

I'm freaking out. I'm freaking out?

In between the lucid dreams I manipulate in which we are in close quarters I imagine touching the live wires in the fuse box. Between the conversations of what is on the menu and whatever the fuck you're doing in your own fucking life I google "exit bag" and dream up ways I can go without putting up too much of a fuss.

In the act of suicide does one become painfully aware of the boredom that's drawn them there?

When does the panic set in?

For the record I'm not suicidal, I'm just bored.

And morbidly curious.

When I was young my mother told me never to touch a lightbulb when I was wet. When I was young I deliberately touched a lightbulb when I was wet, When I was young I was electrocuted.

Here I am.

Frustrated, frantic, furious.

 I didn't imagine this, you fuck.

You fucking piece of mind fucking shit fuck. I hate you, I want to hate you. Please hate me too.

I'm ridden with guilty feelings tinged with jealousy. I am mad at myself for even thinking, dreaming, inventing scenarios that would not, could not materialize.

More so I'm off put by my own aversion to long term commitment, largely due to a pattern of disappointment by innumerable faceless suitors. All first names, identified by an article of clothing or choice of music, just a file in a cabinet- collecting dust.

god dammit.

At least there's porn.

Ides of March

The last time I spoke to Matt was March 27th. We'd hung out the night before and me being the gale force wind I am, felt it necessary to express how pissed off I was for him inviting me to be some bullshit third wheel on his fucked up date.

What the fuck, dude?

He fired off [what felt like] some half-assed apology in a text message for things not panning out better, and because I am crazy and bad at life, decided that he would need to apologize in person.

In hindsight it may have helped if I had actually said "you need to apologize in person" but you know what? I didn't. That was the last time I spoke to Matt and I wish that it had been different.

I saw him 3 days ago in front of a bar, looking the same as he always does.

Fucker.

I walked along the side of the charity bar next door to my job, talking to my friend Chris about virtually nothing it seems when I looked over to the people on the patio and I made eye contact with Matt. In my brain the only thing that made sense was to smile and wave which then started taking place as my synapses began to fire in order, but to my absolute dismay this motherfucker looked away.

I could literally hear what little ego I had just evaporate. 

I fucking went into a coma. I used every brain cell I had to think back on every conversation we'd ever had. Was I really so terrible that instead of greeting each other like friends do, he'd actively avoid engagement? I was raising my hand to wave and had even fashioned a smile when he quickly averted his eyes to nothing. LITERALLY NOTHING. or his friends or what, but I prefer to believe that it was in fact, nothing.
My heart raced so fast I could only recall one other occasion in which my heart literally pounded so hard, I was at this shitty carnival with my grandmother and took a ride on some what had to have been illegally operating tilt-a-whirl because I almost flew off the ride in mid air. Terrifying.

I tried my best to "charge that shit to the game" but it's consumed me recently and it's keeping me up at night. I really miss talking to him, which aggravates me because I know that is such a little bitch thing to say, but it's fucking true. Matt is smart and I miss our banter.

Anyway, I just want to know why you didn't say hi, and I miss you. You know, which isn't weird.

See ya later.

My Longest Relationship

It was the best summer of my young adult life; I lived in a duplex in the Heights that basically came out of my fucking dreams and manifested on the most storybook street in all of the world. I was a slight 17 year old girl who lived by herself in an apartment that once housed the loving duo that once inhabited this space but whose relationship had crashed and burned earlier that fateful year, it was also the year that I got my first cat, Benny.

What a year.

It was also the first year I purchased my first couch.

9 years ago I met my BEDDINGE LOVAS, the cheap futon I purchased because I had absolutely no furniture after my boyfriend dumped me for some old bitch he met at a party.

Anyway.

There she was, flat grey metal frame with what I can only assume was a mattress/cushion fashioned of cheap fabric, hairballs, and particle board the way all IKEA furniture is made, she was 250 bucks of perfection and I knew right then and there, she was the one.

Into the cab of my 1994 Toyota Tercel she went, haphazardly obstructing my view of traffic, but fuck it, this was a milestone for me, I was blossoming into a responsible carbon based life form with a place for sitting.

Onto my floor I laid her skeleton, carefully articulating, several times incorrectly, her body until she was put together. Were there screws missing? Sure. Did I have a sofa cover? No. But there she was, ready for a cushion and a guest to cradle. Carefully I secured the mattress to her frame according to cryptic the instructions provided by IKEA, finally she was complete.

My couch, covered in the stains of nearly a decade of life, my longest lasting relationship.

I write this today because our time together is drawing to a close, and while it is just a couch, I am reminded of the time we've spent together.

Countless butts, a handful of relationships, a few breakups, 3 major moves, and a place for my groceries while I put them away. You served your purpose and you did it exceptionally well.


I am going to miss you, couch and I'll think of you fondly.


Please don't tell my parents what you know.

Keep Your Memories Safe

We only met once, 3 years ago at the shittiest bar in Houston, Texas. Andrew sat at a table with the rest of his family and his new sister-in-law, my dear friend Rebecca. I sat and quickly introduced myself, not feeling for a moment self-conscious because they were the most inviting group of people I have ever encountered, and maybe that’s because they were british, but I digress. I sat next to Andrew, and soon we were enveloped in conversation; I attempted a weak English accent and we talked about the differences of life in the states vs life in England.

We were quick friends.

Andrew went home to England and I stayed stateside but it never mattered because in the thick of it all we corresponded. We’d catch up on occasion and he often waxed poetic about the fact that he never kissed me the first time we met. Oceans apart, I cared for Andrew the way I care for the people I see daily. 

Three days ago Andrew was killed in an auto-pedestrian accident on his way home from watching a football game. 

Today I am crushed, I am crying, and I am thinking about him. There are great injustices in this world and the loss of a person like Andrew is one of them. To the friends who knew him, his extended family, they lost someone who radiated joy and made life a blast, to his immediate family they lost a brother and a son and condolences seem like barely enough.

We are going to miss you, Andrew, all of us, everyone you ever spoke to and anyone who had the incredible fortune of meeting you. I’m sorry that I never gave you that kiss, and it seems that fate in all her cruelty will have us wait just a bit longer for it to happen, but I assure you that you are first on the list.

Sleep well, sweet Griff, at least you have your father to keep you company, I’ll see you soon enough.

xx 

Choose Your Own Adventure

9 months ago Tim broke up with me, and I reflect on that and think about what has changed since that day in March. I'm feeling vulnerable lately, not something I particularly favor feeling but something I cannot change; it's quite cold today.

I was awakened by building inspectors this morning, they knocked on my door with authority as I shot up out of bed and scrambled to find the nearest article of clothing that one could conceivably pass off as "pants". I answered the door with eyes still blurry making their best attempt at adjusting to the daylight that breached my patio doors "Hi! We're building inspectors, did you know we were coming?!" what in the literal fuck is happening right now? "No, sorry, please give me a few minutes to get my shit together, you can come in when I come to" said I to the Inspector. Hurried I picked up things from the floor, tied up trash bags and consolidated what mess I could gather, "good Lord, I'm not ready for this shit but hey, fuck it, whatever" and with that the Inspector entered.

He made his way around, flipping switches, checking the stove, judging me. "I'm just making sure everything is in working order" he said to which I could only reply "well, my AC is broken so if you don't mind mentioning that to my landlord that would be doing me a solid" he assured me that he'd mention it but added that it probably would not provoke my landlord into actually fixing it. The inspector checked the heater "does it ever really get warm in here?"

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA...is that a real question?

 I looked at him and with a straight face I told him that between the huge gaps in the patio doors and high as fuck ceilings I was lucky if I could keep the temperature between 69-70 degrees. He used this little ray gun type device to check the temperature of the air blowing from the ducts "well, the heater only blows air that is about 70 degrees so there's no way it gets too warm in here".

No fucking shit.

Alas came the end of his tour and before his exit he opened the oven to reveal the fucking plastic cake plate that was in my oven, melting because he turned on the god damned oven before he walked all over my fucking apartment. "Uhhh. is that plastic?" he muttered "Don't touch that right now, it's hot as hell." Seriously, dude? For fucks sake, not only did you wake me up and proceed to jostle my life around but you melted my fucking cake plate and almost started a chemical fire?

Okay, cool.

I stepped outside and spoke to my landlord for like, a millisecond "hey, did you happen to leave me a copy of the new lease agreement?" you'v really done it now, Elle. "I'll bring it tomorrow; will you have the rent?" deafening 30 second pause "Yup, just need to go to the bank"


I don't have rent because I'm poor and can't really afford to live here anymore, so you know, your rent is always late.

Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

happy new year I am losing my mind. 

If you're up there, Lord, please I could use a break right about now. Anything. Real estate market crash? New fabulous job that includes a benefits package and 65k a year? Armageddon? I'll take it all, man.


Also, if you're listening still, I'd like to fall in love again, you know, maybe for real this time? Or whatever, no big deal.

Okay, well, KIT, see you at temple. <3 p="">

In Summation

January: I was dating Tim, we celebrated the new year with a small intimate gathering at my downtown loft and I felt like this would be a great year.

February: I wrote a poem to my boyfriend for valentine's day, we had dinner, and I felt loved.

March: Winter's bitterness stuck around and I felt a rift in time and space.

April: Spring's beauty was all but lost on me, I stayed in bed and let the time pass

May: I bought some plants in hopes of growing something, I vacuumed my apartment, I felt lost.

June: The summer's heat wore on me and my AC ran non stop

July: Electric bill exceeded 200 dollars and I began to wonder what in the fuck I was doing

August: New job, new love, hope regained momentum 

September: Not my favorite, but I met Matt and that was great.

October: Completely over it, but still trying

November: Many beards, not ready for love

December: Sitting in my dirty apartment, hanging with the cats, reminiscing on the high's and low's, shedding a few tears, and hoping for next year's kindness  

What did you do this year?

People are people

A few weeks ago at a meeting held by the committee of people who own Okra Charity Bar the establishment I work at was scrutinized for letting homeless people walk in and use the bathroom and or purchase things.

Its hard to address this ugly topic.

 Homelessness.

So I wont, but I'll tell you the result of the meeting was that we were no longer allowed to serve homeless patrons or let them use the facilities.

Okay.

Today a homeless man wandered into the cafe, looking up at the ceiling, then down at the floor, repeating this several times before he settled into the darkest corner table and sat. He smelled of unwashed clothing and his eyes were glassy and vacant, but neither of those things bothered me as much as what he was wearing.

It rained today, the bottom of the sky fell out and soon the cool winter air was back with a quickness.

I looked at the man, he wore a brilliant red t shirt, dark colored long shorts, and the only thing covering his feet were open-toed sandals; it is cold outside. I ran over to my apartment to grab an old coat returning quickly. I approached the man

"Sir, I have to ask you to leave, but this is a coat for you, it's cold outside so you can keep it, it's yours now"

I handed him the coat and a hot chocolate in a to-go cup and then asked him to leave.

I don't have the things I want, and I don't have the money I'd like to have, but I do have a coat to keep me warm and now so does the homeless man trying to keep warm on a cold and wet winter's night in Houston, Texas.

The Great Revise

Cleaned up my OkCupid profile today:

now I just have to wait for prince charming,

he should be here any minute.

Tonight, tonight

Downtown has a distinct chill about it this evening.  In the wake of things unjust and unfair, it's bustling with warm bodies and first dates...

And I'm at La Carafe like "dbl IPA please."

Style

I'm rereading Murakami's "South of the border,  West of the sun" and it's giving me really weird dreams about Japanese teenagers, it is also, however,  reminding me of why I love his books so much: style.

It's all about style.

I was upset to see that I had all but forgotten the contents of its pages,  but the first couple of pages down and soon I was in rural Japan and omniscient observer of the events unfolding letter by letter. The progression in this novel is quick, and before you know it you've reared a child into an adult bearing witness to first relationships and awkward sexual encounters.  And that's just he first four chapters. Murakami's use of specific diction is captivating,  harboring the perfect climate for forcing readers to engage their imagination.  It's mastery epitomized.

It's more interesting still to see that a book, sentences and ideas penned on paper in 1992, are excepted from age.  You could read this book 20 years from now and it would still (hopefully) evoke the same feelings that someone who read it 20 years prior experienced. Timelessness is not inherent but a skill developed painstakingly over countless revision, the indicative quality of a good writer. But that's my opinion.  While his work is likened more to contemporaries like Palanuik, he is unique in the respect that his narrator's perspective breaks away from motif of the "unreliable" concept of post mordenist authors. His characters are real,  relatable and suffer the human condition honestly.

I hope one day,  as my writing matures and I continue to refine my style and identity as a writer,  that I too will learn to captivate and engage in a similar manner.; I believe that I'm not alone in this respect, either that or I'm suffering from blind sense of unintentional hubris. 

Guess I've got time to figure that one out.

Lunch

Be jealous.

More often than not

There are days when I feel like I could conquer the world, there is no feat too small, no idea too grandiose; I'm unsure of how I feel about today.

Let me tell you about my weekend.

Saturday night was a typical in the best sense, the bar was alive with a familiar faces and I was enjoying being at my home away from home, Grand Prize. Darkwave 80's tracks satiated the crowds need to dance and created a sense of community that was the close-knit family of the upstairs bar; familiar melodies of eighties classics became the lasso that held our members together and time seemed to cease existing. Soon the hour of power approached but the feeling of influenced elation was quickly replaced with that of sirens, flashing lights, and an eerie sense of alarm.

Emergencies are the be all end all of character judgement, truly. Here I was,  Saturday night,  staring at the body of a boy who drew no breath and heart had arrest. The paramedics arrived promptly and without haste compressed and intubated,  feverishly working to revive the boy. 45 minutes into eternity and finally a faint pulse, a glimmer of hope for the angel - faced boy,  without haste he went to the hospital.

I prayed for the boy .

He was a slight 21 and I could tell by the looks of distress awash in a sea faces of inebriation and morbid curiosity that he was loved. Saturday night should have been Saturday night and nothing more. I pondered about the concept of mortal coil, for I had just witnessed it unfurl with the greatest ease. He waltzed through the door and bid for a drink,  unexceptional, but in between the mad dash before last call and the blaring jukebox,  he'd found his way into the photo booth to rest his head and quietly slip away.

I'd seen death before,  and as frantic as the environment became, the only emotion i could conjure was sympathy because i knew that he'd leave us and with his departure there'd be a void in the lives of those who remain. 4 am drew near and we (a fellow bartender and myself) sat in the waiting room of the ICU with his mother,  father,  and boyfriend recalling every detail, providing first hand accounts and phone numbers so that we could facilitate the gathering of information and attempt to piece together a timeline of events.

His poor mother.

I sat with her and while I could sense she was overwhelmed with emotion but inexplicably stoic and calm in her demeanor,  and i found myself in awe of her strength. He looked so much like his mother. I clasped her hand once more and without words I relayed that she need not hesitate to ask anything of us and took my leave.

More often than not we place great emphasis on the why of things but that seems inappropriate now,  perhaps that's a product of our pop culture saturated society, but to his friends and family they considered not why he was there but just that he was there and they wanted him to know that there was no judgement.

In the early hours of Monday he passed, surrounded by people who loved him.

What a week.

I suppose this is a good place to close, see you next week.

Phase 1

Today I got a number and this is what it felt like:

And the planets aligned

Things are looking up

Today, IRL

You guys, I have pneumonia and it fucking sucks, but now I'm really good at spelling "pneumonia" and will never again struggle with "is it 'pne' or 'pen'", it's "pne" stupid. I've been on antibiotics and bed rest for the last four days and its been nothing short of what-did-I-do-to-make-you-hate-me-lord? I also have not showered in what seems like eternity, but who's counting?

Let's get to the real, real, y'all.

As I perused the internets this afternoon I noticed a link from Slate.com; I subscribed to slate.com on facebook when I was dating my exboyfriend Tim, he enjoyed some of the articles on the website and I wanted to be able to talk to him about things I too had read. The headline for this piece read as followed "Dear Prudie: Help! I'm too embarrassed to tell people I go to Harvard!" and then the internet unraveled and fell on the floor and then my poor meatball rolled out of the door...

no wait, nvrm.

I sat there staring at my computer screen trying to make the words in the headline make any kind of sense but alas they did not. I went on to read the article (regrettably) and the gist of this piece was that a Harvard student felt alienated by other non-harvard-going students/peers for being accepted into one of the best schools in the country.

What in the actual fuck?

I must have read this person's sob story about 800 times and every time it became more and more like something you'd read on The Onion.

You are feeling alienated because you got into an amazing school and people around you are curious about how you got in, what you're studying, and their presumption of your intelligence? 

HOW DEBILITATING.

It perhaps would have been a more interesting read had the question been presented:

 "Dear Prudie: I am burdened with the incredible privilege of attending an Ivy league school but carry some inane feelings of guilt because my friends/peers/people in my general vicinity do not go to Harvard. Can you please give me tips on how to still tell people I go to Harvard but get them to leave it at that and create an air of  humility?"

If you do something awesome, like I don't know, go to Harvard, graduate from college, teach your cats to NOT PISS ON YOUR BED, then you should fucking tell the world man, fuck humility***!

Seriously, 9.9 times out of 10 people prod because they're curious and hey, you got accepted and currently attend a school that is notoriously difficult to get into, so yeah, you're 'cool' build a bridge and get the fuck over it, because you're a junior in college and the real world is waiting to eat you alive.

Next fucking question.





***Humility is actually a very important attribute and one should work hard to attain it, but in this instance it is nothing but smoke up a tail pipe. Like, for real.

Cheer up, Buttercup

It's a funny thing depression; I grew up thinking that I'd never struggle with it because I was a happy child and content adolescent. I never anticipated that I'd feel like I've been hit by a bus or drowned and resuscitated in a tortuous never ending loop, but maybe I was too naive to know better or in denial because well adjusted educated adults don't suffer this way, right?

 It's hitting me hard lately, and I've never felt this severe.

My body hurts all over, food is an afterthought, and on the days I don't work I struggle with leaving my bed. Before yesterday I hadn't showered in a week. I don't know what to do here. Admittedly there are so many people who struggle with this very same disease and in that respect I'm just like them, just like the rest, by no means special, but I am lucky in regards to having the friends and family that I do, the ones who can see that I am in "a place" and call to check in, invite me to dinner, give me a hug, and tell me that if I need to talk they're there to listen.

What do you say to someone who has no idea where you're coming from? How do you get them to see that you want to get better, you want to be happy, but you simply don't know how?

I am trying.

I've taken up skating again, although I'm quite critical of myself because my endurance and skills have decreased since my long hiatus, but I push anyway. I've gone to the gym a few times for long durations to try and focus on other things. I am writing more, applying for jobs at publications in hopes that I land my dream job and my life becomes the fairy tale I imagined as a girl. I'm browsing the dating websites, nothing serious, just a video game where I go back to 5th grade and I'm passing an internet note that reads "do you like me circle "yes" or "no". It's too soon to open up again, but I keep the faith.

Listening to a lot of indie rock lately- trying to cheer myself up, regain momentum, clean my fucking apartment because "squalor" is not a good look for anyone.

Brad has become this intrusive entity in my dreams; I can't stop recanting the moments where in between work and play there was a closeness, an intimacy that I found came easy. I'm saddened still that it's over, but I am proud of myself for being more honest this time- I was candid with the fact that I am insecure and that I need things that perhaps present themselves as a task that is not easily tackled, to care for a person who is suffering from an illness that renders them impossibly resigned.

Unfair perhaps.

I know better, I know there is a light at the end of this tunnel, and I know that there is help out there but I'm weary on this journey and I'm loosing speed. Gotta keep the faith, have to pray harder, have to see a therapist, need to get well.

Somethings gotta give, right?

Thanks for listening, smell ya later.

It's always darkest before the dawn

I am unsure of a lot of things, and I'm pretty scared to admit most things, but what I'm most afraid of is falling in love with someone who cannot stand to love me back.
,
Maybe I'm making up stories in my head, and maybe these scenarios don't actually exist, but I'm so out of control lately I can't tell which end is up and I just got pulled under a rapid. I find myself praying more, evoking the Lord, asking for his(her?) help. This is not the place for theological discussion; I'm just a girl who feels in over her head.

I just don't want it to be over yet, okay?

Playing Fast and Loose

I want to fall in love, and I want to do it with you.

Every day I'm floating further and further away, so close to the stratosphere and closer still to the sun and I'm afraid I'm going to get burned. It's a feeling of unbridled joy and impending doom, how is it that the human condition is capable of this, these multifaceted feelings? I'm 200 dollars in at the craps table in a seedy casino and I don't know the rules.

If anything else, I just want to be in your company and share a cheese plate.

I would love nothing more than to share my cheese with you, so let me do it.

And Therein Lies The Problem

I will admit that I am a jealous person, I always have been and I always will be. I am not perfect so I feel like it's okay to have a fault that so many other posses and while I struggle with keeping it under control, I think I do a pretty good job at not letting my jealousy get the best of me in a female-male dynamic.

I have been extremely jealous as of late.

There are a lot of factors playing into this feeling, for one, I haven't established a ground with my casual partner whom for this post and future posts I will refer to as "Mr. Kite", I should do this, I should have that conversation that I really don't want to have, I should come to terms with that fact that ultimately I cannot force him to not see other people, and I should understand that if he can't keep himself from sleeping with other women, no matter how much I like him, he is not the one for me and I'll have to do what's best for me and let it go.

So many grown up decisions.

I am insecure; I haven't skated for a while and that was always what kept my spirits high and made me feel valued and strong. I remember feeling insecure when my ex husband would go to the sports bar down the street from our apartment, and he'd ask me why I hated going there and I'd feel ashamed, sad, and angry all at the same time and reply "because, I don't look like those girls and I never will".  Tim did a lot of things for me, but I never felt was secure, and I know that when it comes down to it, feeling secure in a relationship is really important.

This realization has made me sad, and I cried for like, an hour last night.

Sometimes I see Mr. Kite and I feel great and I get full of a certain feeling, a certain "Je ne sais quoi" if you will; I tell myself to play it cool and pretend that I'm not totally stoked and he's there but then I'm an awkward idiot with two left hands when he's around and its tremendously e
mbarrassing. I looked at him and I knew that he was a ladies man and that if I were going to do this, I'd have to deal with that, what I didn't anticipate was actually enjoying the time we spent together which is really having a strange, adverse effect on my brain. Sometimes (always) he flirts with the cocktail waitresses which like, a month ago was no big deal, but now I have to really concentrate on not turning bright red with fury and she hulking out.

You guys, I'm really freaking out here.


Why, emotions?!

He was drunk the other night and he whispered something like "let's just keep doing what we're doing" which completely mindfucked me and I felt weird and clammy after that.

I've got to get a hold of myself here.

KEEP IT TOGETHER, ELLE.