hey fightin' tigers
I can hear the band playing in my head now...
Football starts in two days, and I couldn't be more excited. Perhaps it's shallow, perhaps it's barbaric, but man, if college football isn't the best thing to ever happen to academia, I don't know what is. I get to eat and drink all day and then go stand for four hours with 90,000 other drunk people and scream maniacally at a bunch of guys chasing each other around on the grass. It's awesome.
Football is
huge at LSU. Huger than huge. Football is life in the fall. I remember last year, being
so excited about the first game, and then Katrina hit. No game, no class, our campus was too busy being used as a triage hospital and media hub. For two weeks it was like that. Finally, classes started again, but most of the students, including me, were still housing family members indefinitely. A lot of people still didn't even know if their childhood homes were still there; they hadn't been able to go back in yet. Nothing was normal.
Finally, three weeks after we had expected, we had our first home game. Now this may seem trivial, but we
needed to have that game. Our lives and our campus had been turned on their heads. Walking down that hill towards the stadium, I saw a sea of purple and gold, and remembered what it means to be a Louisianian. That game was a little bit of normalcy for us; and even though it was on a fucking MONDAY, even though we blew a 21 point lead at halftime to lose by a field goal in overtime (I'd like to think that little fiasco was a tribute to the Saints), it was medicinal, recuperative, necessary, for us to have that game.
It's like they say...we really do drink at funerals, and we really did need a reason to celebrate. Win or lose, we're always there for our team, and always up for a party. I'm really looking forward to this season, and I'm very grateful for many things in my life right now. My family's all alive, my hometown's coming back together, and so far the Gulf has been quiet. This is my last season at LSU, and barring any natural disasters, I plan on enjoying every minute of it.
...and keep the goal in view, victory for LSUUUUU!
because this says it so perfectly...
"We dance even if there's no radio.. We drink at funerals. We talk too much and laugh too loud and live too large and, frankly, we're suspicious of others who don't... When you meet us now and you look into our eyes, you will see the saddest story ever told. Our hearts are broken into a thousand pieces. But don't pity us. We're gonna make it. We're resilient. After all, we've been rooting for the Saints for 35 years. That's got to count for something." - Chris Rose, Times-Picayune Columnist
a cathartic recollection of events, or, a vomiting of my memories
Yeah sorry about yesterday's little rant, guys. I was a bit grouchy.
Now on to another not-so-cheery topic...
A year ago today Katrina slammed into the Gulf Coast. Maybe you're sick of hearing about it, maybe you're not. I don't know how people see it from the outside, but I'm gonna talk about it.
My parents don't evacuate. Call it stupid, call it stubborn, call it what you want. They just never have. It's not such a rare sentiment in the New Orleans area. You hear year after year for forty years that "this is the big one," and nothing ever really happens, you stop taking it seriously. It's like the boy who called wolf. People figure they're better off staying behind to make sure if anything does get damaged they can start fixing it immediately and get to avoid dealing with the traffic and finding a hotel room. I've lived in Louisiana my entire life and always thought hurricanes were terribly exciting. We got to stay home from school and watch the storm. The worst thing that ever happened was having to spend three days with no electricity once.
I was more scared this time than I had been before, but my parents still insisted on staying. I resigned myself to that fact and began work on my own plans for hurricane preparedness, which mostly consisted of purchasing lots of non-perishable junk food and alcohol. We decided to ride out the storm at my friend Taylor's luxury apartment, and I basically ate marshmallows and played drinking games all day. I talked to my mom around 8 am or so, and she told me there was water in the yard and they thought it might come in. I was worried and pissed, but there was nothing I could do, so I decided to just get drunk and wait.
When the winds died down and the power came back on, I went back to my apartment and turned on the TV. The rest of the next several weeks are really a blur. I couldn't get in touch with my family. Best Friend Roomate's parents and grandparents were staying with us, so our two bedroom apartment was very crowded, but I was grateful for the company. I spent almost all day, every day, planted in front of the TV. Local news had begun broadcasting 24 hours a day, and I would just sit there, waiting for some kind of information. Nothing was coming out of St. Tammany parish at all. Horrifying pictures of New Orleans were everywhere. There was one video clip shot from a helicopter flying over Lake Ponchartrain. The twinspan, the section of I-10 that crosses the lake to connect my hometown to New Orleans, was nearly destroyed, missing huge sections of road. The camera panned the lakeshore on the St. Tammany side, and I could see my grandparents' neighborhood was devastated.
The area I live in is made up of cheap apartments inhabited almost completely by students, but suddenly there were families everywhere. Almost everyone was housing at least one relative, if not ten. You couldn't get anywhere in Baton Rouge for the crowds. Traffic was horrible, restaurants and stores were packed, gas was ridiculous. The nonprofit I work for runs an information and referral hotline, and our number was being broadcast on TV and radio as a resource for information or to volunteer. Our phones were ringing off the hook. LSU turned the PMAC, our basketball arena, into a triage center, and the Fieldhouse into a special needs shelter. Helicopters were constantly flying back and forth over neighborhood. I went to volunteer at the Special Needs Shelter--I thought it would be good for me to do something to help instead of sitting home freaking out. Imagine an indoor track converted into a makeshift nursing home. There were several hundred beds, each one home to a scared, dirty, elderly or disabled person. Most of them were alone; the very lucky ones had caregivers with them. I met a man in his 70's who had stayed behind at his Lakeview home. He was wheelchair bound, and so when the water came in he pulled himself up his attic stairs with his arms. He had somehow been rescued, he didn't seem to remember the details of how it happened. His arms and back were covered in bandages, and he was bruised all over, but I was amazed at his resilience. I fed him lunch and sat and talked with him for some time. He was making jokes and telling me about his grandkids. He said he didn't know how to contact his kids, and I wondered how terrified they must have been after seeing the pictures of Lakeview on the news.
I asked some of the National Guard who were working at the shelter if they knew anything about Slidell, and they said all the knew was that it was bad. No communication was going in or out. Sometime later that week, my boyfriend's parents heard that they were letting residents into St. Tammany to check on their property, as long as they didn't stay, and offered to go see if my parents were okay while they were there.
My parents and sister hadn't seen anyone but the neighbors in days. They had about four feet of water in the first floor, which is really more like a daylight basement consisting of a garage, rec room, laundry room, and my dad's office. The neighbors' house is only one story, so when the water began to rise they came over to my parents' with the dog and a garbage bag full of clothes in a boat. When they saw Bryan's parents come walking up the driveway, my sister, Shannon, ran straight up to her room and started packing a bag. My mom wrote a letter to me apologizing for scaring me and asking me to call my Dad's boss and the insurance companies, get them some supplies, etc. My sister came back to Baton Rouge with Bryan's parents, and began calling family as soon as she got cell phone service. My mom's entire extended family was at my aunt's house in Georgia, and they all started crying when they heard her voice. My dad's dad, who was in Texas, apparently had to pass the phone onto his wife because he was too emotional. I have never been so happy to see my sister before in my life. She's only a year younger than me and we had always fought, but I cried when we hugged, and even though my mom had given directions to send Shannon to Georgia to live with my aunt, we decided we wanted to stay together. We got her an air mattress and a sheet to hang from the ceiling for privacy, and she lived in my dining room for the next two months.
A few days later, I went down to Slidell myself, to see my parents and to bring them supplies. It was like a nightmare. The town I had been raised in looked nothing like I remembered. I don't feel like recounting the details. Boats and mud everywhere. We went to check on my grandparents' house, climbing in through a back window that had already been broken by the National Guard searching for survivors and bodies. I held onto scattered pieces of wet furniture, my flip flops sliding in the mud. Five feet of water, everything was ruined. Muddy bootprints up the stairs, numbers spraypainted on the front of the house, symbolizing that rescuers had been here before us. My cousin has some
pictures. Blogger beta won't let me upload any.
I've gotten all into remembering and I lost track of where I was going with this. I'm overwhelmed with random details--like seeing the busses FINALLY driving up I-10 through Baton Rouge, taking all of those people who had been stuck at the Superdome and Convention Center to shelters. Things are starting to get back to normal, kind of. My extended family is gradually moving back into their homes. It's overcrowded on the Northshore, everything still closes early, debris and FEMA trailers still line many of the streets. New Orleans is a mess. My parents have lived in Slidell since they were both kids, and for the first time in their lives are considering moving out. They're disillusioned with the recovery and rebuilding process and want to get out before the economy gets worse. As much as I hate the idea, I can't say I blame them.
I don't rant at you people often
I got in a huge argument with a drunken whore of a bank teller on Friday afternoon. I'm poor, I need money. I wanted to make sure the check I was depositing would clear before my electric bill came out of my account. She repeatedly assured me that nothing would come out until midnight on Monday and then everything would be gravy. I didn't believe her. She asked me what my major was and told me I should have gone pre-law...I think that was her polite way of calling me a bitch. Saturday, I get my loan check in the mail and wait with anxious anticipation for Monday morning, when the Gods of Financial Freedom will have smiled on me and I will have money for gas and food and cigarettes.
I get off of work this morning (that's right, guys, I work overnight on Sunday nights. I've been up since yesterday morning) and head to the bank, only to have the drive-thru teller oh-so-discreetly send out a balance statement just to let me know that my account is overdrawn, like $80 bucks,
before their ridiculous overdraft charges have kicked in. WTF dude. I'm so pissed. I tell her about the whole fiasco with the teller on Friday, and she asks to see my receipt. I send it in to her, and her big attempt at mitigating my frustration is to tell me that teller is someone who doesn't usually work there. Oh yes, I feel much better.
So fuck those bitches, I went to the store and bought my food anyway, and just wrote a check.
Whatever, I'm irritated. I haven't slept, I'm broke as fuck until these checks clear, and classes start today. I'm not even in all of the classes I need to be in. Please tell me how I'm a fucking senior and can't get into the classes that I need without begging a professor to squeeze me in. Maybe it's because they fired 30 English instructors to hire a third as many PhD's to teach half as many classes, all in the name of improving our U.S. News ranking. Fuckers.
pleased all around
It's been a good week for me.
Ya know, everyone goes through phases in their lives--personally, professionally, emotionally. There have been times when I was down. Right now I'm up, way up.
I've gotten the GRE out of the way, and I'm happy with my score. I've got the schools picked out which I want to apply to, and I've made up a checklist of what I need to do between now and December to complete my applications. I'm applying for early decision to allow room for panic if things don't go quite as I'd planned. If worst comes to worst, I'll still have time to apply to my alma mater (God forbid). Six months from now, hopefully, I'll know where I'll be getting my MSW from.
Adding to my happiness, I. Love. My. Job. I swear to God, I could not be happier with my current employment. Not only is it getting me great experience for my future career, but it's actually fun and fulfilling for me. And I'm good at it, if I do say so myself. I have opportunities to develop my leadership potential, affirming and competent coworkers and supervisors, and intrinsic altruistic benefits inherently associated with the line of work. I've worked for and with a number of nonprofits in the Baton Rouge area, and I've never encountered one as well run as this. I love it.
We had a fundraiser for the Volunteer Advisory Council at work today, and I, being the President of the VAC, was a little stressed about making sure it was a success. It occurred to me about halfway through that I, being by far the youngest person involved, had been responsible for coordinating the entire thing, and it was rolling right along quite smoothly. A year ago, I was finishing up my term of service in AmeriCorps, working for another nonprofit in Baton Rouge. Again, I was significantly younger than many of my colleagues. I remember feeling frustrated because I knew that I was young and inexperienced, and by the very nature of that fact was quite often less effective and competent than many of the people around me. It sucks to suck and know that you suck. What doesn't suck, is to look around and realize how much you've grown and matured. I feel very good about where I'm at right now.
Emotionally, I don't think I even need to explain. I'm happy. Happier than I was for a long time. And no, I'm not happy because there's a boy in my life. I have a great guy in my life
because I'm happy, stable and confident. No one really talks about it much, but emotional stability doesn't exactly run rampant in my family (come on Mom, you can't get pissed for that, it's totally true). I was a bit crazy as a teenager, and well into college. I've invested a lot of time and energy into learning to manage my emotions, and it's paid off. I feel fanastic.
And
finally, I got my loan check in the mail today, about ten days later than I'd expected it. Now I can stop begging people to feed me. The first day of my last year of undergrad starts Monday. I'm in the home stretch, people, and I'm lovin it.
taller, darker, stronger, smarter, nicer, better
Once upon a time, someone who was not nearly as intelligent, motivated, physically attractive, or financially stable as I am dumped me. Someone whose idea of a step towards advancing his career is taking "time off" from school to work up the ranks of a quick-service restaurant chain. Someone who would rather be with a fellow college dropout food service junkie trying to
find herself than someone who actually has a plan, and goals, and interests outside of chicken fingers and ecstacy. Someone who didn't know what he had right in front of him.
I contemplated revenge for some time. I had been fucked, in my opinion. I wasted three years of my life waiting for him to grow up, and all I got was a lesson and a heartache. He held on too long and moved on too soon, and somewhere in the middle managed to spend two years treating me like shit. I acknowledge responsibility for staying in the relationship long enough to let that happen. You live and you learn. Nevertheless, I was pissed.
After careful consideration, I decided that for me, the best revenge is living well, which in this case isn't hard. I'm right on track to accomplishing all the goals I've had all along. I picked up the pieces of my social life after our breakup and managed to branch out beyond our group of mutual friends rather successfully. I'm happier now than I had been for a long time before he broke my heart. When it comes down to it, he did me a favor. No matter how bad it got, I would have sat in a parasitic relationship until it ate me alive, rather than saying "peace the fuck out" and moving on with my life. He ended it for me, and I'm healthy now. Mostly.
What it comes down to is that the newest component of "living well" is the entry of a new man into my life. Someone who's many of the great things that he was, as well as all of the wonderful things that he most certainly wasn't. And you know, a lot of the reasons I think he's so much better don't matter at all when it comes down to it, like the fact that he's so irresistibly hott I'm seriously pinching myself. However, a lot of these things really do matter--like the fact that he's
nice to me, and is actually graduating this semester, and doesn't consider recreational drug use a valid excuse to cancel plans with me. This is like
Ari with the guy who put a promise on paper. Assholes condition you to be easily pleased.
As immature and vindictive as this is (yes, I'm aware. Baby steps here) I've been patiently awaiting the moment when I can somehow say to him, "Look. Look at how much better I am without you." And I'm ashamed of myself for thinking this, but I'm screaming on the inside, "Look at how much better I am than you and your nasty strung out girlfriend, who pretended to be my friend yet had no qualms about hooking up with you before our relationship was cold in its grave. Suck it bitches."
His roommate invited me to a party at their place tomorrow. I'm going, and I'm bringing my new guy. I'll introduce them, they'll shake hands, the ex will be polite and accomodating. His composure won't waver for even a moment. That's not the point. Somewhere between delusionally convincing myself that no matter what, he's gonna be freaking out on the inside, and the sheer personal satisfaction of showing off my new guy to his friends (the same friends who asked me why I stayed with such a loser for so long in the first place), I'm going to leave this party satisfied and vindicated. And I'm going to hell in a handbasket for my tenacious grip on this grudge.
the deluge
The rain seems to be just falling from the sky tonight. It reminds me of another time, about a year ago, when the rain fell and fell and fell from the sky all day long in Baton Rouge. Southeast of here, in my hometown, it rained as well, and the waters just kept rising. It came from the sky, from the sea, everywhere. Bayous and canals overflowed into streets and homes. Boats and fish and mud were all left in places where they most certainly did not belong. It's scary to think about, what the town I grew up in must have looked like under that much water. There were no media crews on the Northshore documenting the floods. The pictures are only of the results--piles of splintered wood and paralyzed vessels lining the streets of South Slidell. Dark, wet houses. Terrified people. People like my parents, frightened and disoriented, shocked that "The Big One" had finally come.
We've been so far lucky this year; I'm grateful.
mcdreamy
Have you ever dated someone who you found to be almost uncomfortably attractive? Like, every time you look at him, you think, "Oh my God, he is so hott," kind of attractive. Like,
that guy in high school kind of attractive. Not the asshole hott guy from high school, but the one who starred on the basketball team and dated all the popular girls and was still just so
nice. The kind of guy I would've drooled over, but who would have totally thought of me as just a random girl.
I'm trying not to get too caught up in the whole, "you were popular, I was not," kind of mindset, because it's just not healthy. I'm working to shake the self-identity that was ingrained in me through years of Gifted classes, vision impairment, frizzy hair and friends in ROTC. He doesn't seem to pay any mind to the divergent social strata we hail from. I guess it's easier to disregard when you were always near the top.
High school's over, we're grown-ups now. It's just strange to me to wonder if six years ago, he would have looked at me twice. You spend most of high school trying to figure out who you are, and he and I were most certainly different people. I've never placed much value on looks; I spent three years with someone who had a nose so big his friends called him "Gonzo." But I loved him, it didn't matter. I've dated hott guys, not so hott guys, regular guys, whatever. I've just never had a guy like this fall in love with me before. I keep wondering if he thinks of me the same way I thought of my ex...If he thinks he's better looking, and just doesn't care. That's not how I want it to be. I don't want to be the lucky one. I don't think he feels that way, I'm sure my mind is just getting all paranoid and self-destructive, filling my head with self-doubt and reviving a negative body image I thought I'd left behind long ago. I have to let go of this fixation with adolescent social dynamics, because it's no longer relevant. He's hott, he's nice, he's smart. I'm happy, and I'm just gonna revel in it.
done!
I am
done with the GRE. I had to reschedule it for today after realizing I'd messed up my dates when I scheduled it origininally. Nonetheless, I'm happy to announce that I exceeded my target score and I am
ecstatic with the outcome. I'm so glad it's over with, I'm very happy with my score, and now I'm gonna go get drunk. I'm drinking André Peach Champagne, straight out the bottle, real white trash like, just how I like it.
go forth and save the world, and watch out for snow
I'm no good at goodbyes.
With the return of Best Friend Roommate from the glamorous world of Internal Auditing, another close friend is off to save the world through Policy Reform. I'm happy for her, ecstatic. She got a great scholarship at a highly ranked school, and she deserves it. I just can't shake this feeling of sadness.
I met her through
AmeriCorps. I had two different site placements during my term of service, and we were together at both of them. She inspired me to begin volunteering at the crisis hotline, and now we're both staff. We've worked together almost every day for the past two years, at three different organizations, besides participating in a ridiculous amount of other volunteer activities together, and I've loved every minute.
She's one of my very best friends. We've seen each other laugh, cry, get ridiculously drunk, and work our asses off. We've built a friendship through serving our community together. Ten years my senior, she's something like a mentor to me. I've grown up a lot since the day we met, and she's been there to offer advice and support every step of the way. She's often told me I'm the little sister she never had. She and my real sister actually have the same name, an interesting coincidence. It's going to be very strange to not have her around anymore. She's off to a faraway place that's very cold and full of liberals. I hope she finds happiness and success, and that we're able to keep in touch.
Best Friend Roommate and I have already pretty much decided that we're boycotting goodbyes in favor of just staying in close proximity to one another. With any luck, we'll be chasing different dreams in the same state--she in Atlanta, and me in Athens. She already got her full time offer for next year, and the test I'm taking next week will decide whether I have a shot of being able to afford UGA. This future thing, it's exciting, but scary at the same time. I love my life the way it is
now, and while I know that we can't stay here forever, I've just always had trouble letting go.
testing
I scheduled myself to take the GRE today. To say I work well under pressure is a bit of an understatement--I basically get nothing done until I've got a deadline breathing down my neck. With that in mind, I'm taking it next Wednesday. I'm quite a bit nervous. I've always tested well (and yes, I'm aware that that's not really an accurate measure of intelligence), but this one somehow seems more important than any other standardized test I've ever taken. The ACT and SAT for one reason or another seemed almost like they were just for fun to me. I think I was more curious as to how I would do in comparison to my friends than concerned about how the results would affect my future. I was already pretty much guaranteed admission and free tuition at LSU due to various circumstances that would be complicated to explain here, so it was really just a matter of a bunch of seventeen year olds asking each other how they scored in order to guage who's smarter than who. The social dynamics of nerdy high school kids are kind of interesting.
So anyway, the point is that it's important to me to do well on this test, because while I'm not worried about getting
into the school of my choice, paying for it is another matter altogether. Grad school is fucking expensive, and I've already got a ridiculous amount of student loans. No assistantship, no school. So I'm studying my ass off for the next week in the hopes of convincing some admissions official in Georgia that I'm capable of memorizing mathematical formulas and vocabulary words under the pretense that that will somehow make me a successful social worker. I don't really see the connection, but you do what you gotta do.
smitten
This is the girl who said she wasn't ready for a relationship, who said she was hell bent on staying single well into grad school, who said he was nothing more than a good time and a meal ticket. This is the girl who dated twelve guys in six months and didn't let a single one get close enough to even
think about uttering the words "I love you." And now, now everything's changing, and I never thought I'd say this, but I'm
excited about it. I'm excited about football season and tickle fights and squeezing each other in between class and work and friends, about watching him graduate this semester, making plans for the future...building a relationship out of the stuff college life is made of. I'm turning what started out as a horrible night in a crowded bar into something worthy of mentioning to my grandparents.
In a way it feels like déjà vu, getting back into all those same couple routines less than a year after the last one ended. But I know that this boy's different, and I'm different, and I'll never let myself get back to where I used to be. I remind myself to remember my mistakes, and never let that happen to me again.
And I know this is stupid, but I'm not even holding my breath, waiting for disaster. I'm sick of being too scared to jump. I'm trusting myself, and him. And it feels so good.
they don't own a rebel flag, and they're not rednecks
No you can’t go out with a black boy because it’s just not what we do. This is the South, don’t you know that? This is New Orleans, but no, not New Orleans, this is the suburb all the white people ran away to when the public schools were integrated. No, you can’t go out with a black boy because what if someone saw you? Look at what you’re doing to your father; you’re slapping him in the face. Don’t you know that your grandfather still washes his hands every time he shakes hands with a black man?
It’s best if we all just stick to our own people. We’re not racist, no we’re not racist, we just don’t like black people much, unless they act like us. It’s a cultural thing, you see. No you can’t go out with a black boy because our cultures are too different. I don’t
care if he wears J. Crew and sings in the choir, his skin is too fucking dark.
Don’t question it, no don’t question it. Why do you always ask so many fucking questions when I’m talking to you? Just take it; I know what I’m talking about. I’ve got
life experience, and it’s better than any shit you think you’ve learned in school. There are some things in life you can’t learn from reading books, and someday you’ll understand that. You send these fucking kids off to college and they think they know everything.
so much better
I'm wearing lingerie I bought for you. Lingerie I wore for you many times through the years we spent together. As I put it on, I had a brief flash, a moment...I was back in your room at that goddamn apartment. We'd been fighting, I was crying. When you hugged me you realized I'd come over wearing it under my shorts and t-shirt. How typical, that I'd come over wanting to make you happy, and before you even realized it I was crying because of yet another stupid fucking fight.
I'm wearing it for somebody else now, and I'm happy about it. And you can go to hell.
bittersweet
I’m a big fan of growing and learning. I’ve been told my entire life that I had potential. My test scores indicated from an early age that I had above average intelligence, for whatever that’s worth. I was put in
Gifted classes and encouraged to think critically, and in retrospect I can acknowledge that the seeds of my liberalism were planted in those very classrooms.
I went on to college, as expected, and pursued an education in the liberal arts. I started following politics, and volunteering, and learning about things like
Lacan and
the Other and gender roles. I got out of my comfort zone. I worked in an inner city school for a year. I sat and talked with homeless people. I participated in race dialogues in which I analyzed how my upbringing had influenced my perception of ethnicity and culture. I learned that perhaps my religion was not inherently superior, or even the one that most closely matched my personal views, and renounced my Christianity in exchange for
Deism. I learned about
Nonviolent Communication and began working as a crisis intervention counselor. I made friends of all ages who stimulated me intellectually. I have friends old enough to have been my grandparents, my parents, or my babysitter. I grew, I developed, I changed. And I liked it.
But with each knew impartation of knowledge I was moving further and further away from the girl I used to be—further from my hometown, my high school boyfriend, my family. We were all changing, but in different directions. It seems that this has caused a rift in some of my relationships. The things I care or know about, I’m not able to share with them. If I want to talk about things that I’ve learned, I’m accused of thinking I’m better than them. I don’t know what to talk to them about. I’m not their little girl anymore. It seems that we have very little left in common, and they’re not willing to show an interest in any of the things I’ve learned or experienced. With every new experience I have, it seems that we grow further and further apart.
They both stayed in the hometown after high school, got married instead of going to college and started a family. That’s fine, that’s great, that’s what brought me into this world, but it’s not me. They put me in classes to learn to think critically, they encouraged me to go to a major university and helped make it happen financially, but it’s like I’m supposed to hide who I am from them, pretend I stayed at home and went to community college. Pretend that I never experienced anything beyond what they taught me, pretend that I don’t have any knowledge or opinions they didn’t give me. I can’t do that. I can’t change who I am. It’s just sad to me that they don’t seem to like the person who they’ve helped me to become.
just breathe
It's all been chronicled in blog posts.
We met about a month ago, on the 28th of June. He was drunk, I hated him. I vowed never to answer his phone calls. But then, about a week later,
I got hungry. I called him to take me out to eat, with the sole intention of using him for food and oral sex. I was successful for several dates, but I was very bitter. I thought he was only nice to me because
he wanted to fuck me. I thought he didn't listen to anything I said. I was wrong. Very wrong.
A week after writing that post, I had started to actually like him, and I accidentally made him sexual partner number
four. Oops. On the 20th, I came to terms with his
toothbrush. On the 25th, I shared with you my
neuroticism over getting into another relationship. On the 27th, He brought
wine and pie, and we had a dance party. And I knew then that he'd been listening to me the entire time.
And last night, he told me he was falling in love with me. And I didn't freak out, because I think I'm falling in love with him too.
