Lesson Learned

   Every. Single. Time. I write you off for good you come surging back, wide eyed and smiling, to coerce me back into us. I'm finished believing you and desperately hoping you'll finally stay for good. Sometimes fantasies need to be dissolved and history dispelled to make room for possibility.

Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

     As previously detailed, there has been much tension and discord lately between Me & Bobby McGee. (I'll admit it, I've been waiting on the edge of my seat- Seat? Have I ever blogged from anywhere besides my bed? Absolutely not. There has to be a better way to phrase that- since the moment I started this blog to use the last four words of that sentence in that order.)  We seem to be on opposite apology schedules, each of us forgoing stubbornness and reaching out only moments after the other's windows for sympathy and forgiveness have closed.  I don't generally think much about it- I tend to ignore things that have a possibility of painful or awkward confrontation in hopes they will miraculously solve themselves without my help- with the exception of a couple of apologetic drunk dials and random texts about Liz Lemon.
   I also told you I moved back home but haven't exactly provided an abundance of details on how it's going.  I've noticed that's a problem I have- I treat my blog like it's a personal celebration of my love of the English language that's happening inside my head.  I'm cryptic and I use way too many words.  I've been meaning to explain my tendency to phrase things as confusingly as possible for months now and haven't gotten around to it.  I will, I promise! 
     Mr. Fantasy (who, retrospectively, should maybe have been called Friend of the Devil) has naturally resumed his infamous disappearing act- his all-time favorite trick- which he proudly performs immediately upon successfully rebuilding our relationship every single fucking time.  I've mostly recovered, though I'm still occasionally overcome with the desire to slam his head into the wall, and may daydream about him having to watch me fall madly in love with a biracial, green-eyed, bearded, mountain-climbing physics major, with a cool name like Tyrese or Tafik who wears impeccably tailored jeans with suit jackets and ties and never falls asleep when he's supposed to call me or forgets my annual Christmas party he promised he'd go to that I reminded him a million times about or goes on nhl.com to check the score of the Bruins game while he's supposed to be listening dutifully to every word I say.  Like I said, that's only an occasional (though, yes, incredibly specific) idea I hardly ever think of.  Roughly every time he updates his facebook status?
     Anyway, upon the realization that our relationship bore similarities to the disaster that is Audrina Patridge and Justin Bobby I decided that enough is enough is enough!  When he reappears, his calls can go straight to voice mail.  And I'm hoping this time I mean it?
     Living with my parents is nice, although I have zero motivation to do anything except lie on the couch and eat chocolates all day and it's unfortunately starting to become obvious in the ever-expanding size of my ass.  Plus going to school part time, being unemployed, single, living with your Mom and Dad and not having a car at 19 is more fail than I'm comfortable with.  I'm working on it, people!  Right after this episode of "What Not To Wear" and this giant bag of cashews.  Nuts are healthy, right?  Hey, there are nuts in the Snickers too!  

Modern Romance

     How is it possible to have so many fucking contradictory thoughts that you mean wholly, 100% at the same time?  It's like I'm so many different people that I can barely keep my sentences straight.

      I want to be that normal, emotionally available girl who doesn't throw up in her mouth when her romantic daydreams come true. 


     I'm only interested in love if it comes with complete control.