Collin and I have never talked much about the past. I went into this not wanting to know because sometimes I believe ignorance is bliss.
We’ve never discussed past lovers. We went to high school together so we had a ton of mutual friends. I don’t know who he’s had sex with. He’s probably had sex with a few people he still hangs out with and knowing who and when would drive me crazy. I don’t know the number of girls he’s slept with. He doesn’t know those things about me either.
I don’t know. I think things like that should be left alone. My brother and his girlfriend argue constantly because she told him she’s had over 15 partners, because she said her best friend’s boyfriend tried to fuck her (in the past), because she had sex with this guy and that guy, because she had sex with a guy who works at this bar so they can’t go there.
To each his own I guess but what good could come out of telling your significant other those things?
Last night I thought I kissed the loneliness from out your belly button. I thought I did, but later you sat up, all bones and restless hands, and told me there is a knot in your body that I cannot undo. I never know what to say to these things. “It’s okay.” “Come back to bed.” “Please don’t go away again.” Sometimes you are gone for days at a time and it is all I can do not to call the police, file a missing person’s report, even though you are right there, still sleeping next to me in bed. But your eyes are like an empty house in winter: lights left on to scare away intruders. Except in this case I am the intruder and you are already locked up so tight that no one could possibly jimmy their way in. Last night I thought I gave you a reason not to be so sad when I held your body like a high note and we both trembled from the effort.
Some people, though, are sad against all reason, all sensibility, all love. I know better now. I know what to say to the things you admit to me in the dark, all bones and restless hands. “It’s okay.” “You can stay in bed.” “Please come back to me again.
This is so sad and incredibly relavant.
I made the homemade fried rice I reblogged earlier. I don’t think anyone loves fried rice more than I do.
It is so mother fucking good. Collin said it’s the best fried rice he’s ever had.
I always feel like I’m walking on egg shells with my mom. She expects so much out of me. I make decisions based on whether or not she would be accepting of them which is a blessing and a curse.
I was sick to my stomach over telling her that I failed a class because I knew she would be devastated. She is. She cried. She was still crying today when I finally called her back after ignoring her all day.
She’s so disappointed in me. Why does she have to put that guilt on me? Comforting words would be a lot more helpful. Maybe even an ounce of understanding.
I’m almost 24 years old. I live on my own. She does not provide for me in any way. She does not pay for my schooling. Why does she care so much? Why do I care so much about her disappointment?
I am feeling a tiny bit relieved.
I calmed down enough to talk to my teacher. She said since I am so far in the program, my options are better. If I decide that I want to finish out and get my degree I just need to re-apply in April and will be placed in the same semester I just finished and will only have to complete two semesters before graduating.
Which isn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be because usually you are required to start the program over. But still, I have to wait almost a whole year to start again and I don’t know if I care to do that.
We’ll see. I guess I have time to make a decision.
I wonder if phlebotomy school would be worth it. It’s only 6 weeks and $650. I wonder if the job market is any good. Any thoughts?
I don’t want to go back to my call center job. I need something though because I’m feeling like major shit about everything.
I rearranged the living room and hate it. It took like an hour though so I don’t feel like moving anything back. Ugh