Home

Though I am on vacation, ironically I’m also at home. Referring to where I am now as ‘home’ however, feels forced. I’m inclined to employ purgatorial vocabulary and metaphors  to explain the phenomenon. Both hometown and college town feel like home, so I don’t know which would be the heaven and which the hell were I to truly execute the metaphor.  

Bound

I wish to be freed from the mental shackle of men—keeping me bound to myself and causing more calamity than I thought possible. When the cycles and waves in my mind, patterns of my soul, and movements of my body loafe together in balance, I may then share these internal and external forces with one another set them to song. But, my trinity is unable to hum let alone sing, and only solitude may aid in their harmony. 

Hale-Bop

I had a lovely conversation with a comet earlier this evening. A dazzling and breathtaking comet at that. Before we encountered one another, I had one hundred million tense muscles—each bearing a small pulse, beating, haunting me through my skin. After our exchange, I felt without bones let alone muscles.

Perhaps I healed myself, but this recovery is often sought and rarely found. My star spangle in the sky simultaneously inspired welcome words to my mind and heart. The gas and dust of the comet has cleared my mind, and even stranger, increased my appreciation for whatever falls below it. 

Changes

One such day could ruin the rest. The one when you realize there’s no way to change the things about you that you’d like to change. To live in the course of nature and accept things is far too simple…and absurd. Simpleton notions are ones I need to breathe in like the spores of a pollinating flower. This is me, who I am, what I say and how I live. I need to accept that these aspects may be unattractive but beautiful, as is their bearer. 

Bittersweet

Goodbyes are so bittersweet no matter what the circumstance. I use ‘sweet’ only under which the context of goodbyes should be put; I use ‘bitter’ for what they actually are. Whether short and sweet or endless and tear-bearing, the hurt creates a piercable and meek shield around me, which I try to strengthen but unfortunately know of its weaknesses. I feel like these awkward embraces are slowly becoming less awkward, only because I know it’s not really goodbye. 

Elm St.

I’ve realized many things in the past—and upon discovery, threw them in a box, never considering to uncover their details. Tonight one such realization occurred to me, ancient yet important. The one of my happiness—or whatever closest to it I can attain—disappearing for no good reason when in the mode of ‘crush’. I fall apart only because I am undoing the seams and lose my voice because I thrown all my dongs into the sea. All of this is in my hands. The hopelessness of it torturing me then, and partially now, can die through the hands of its possessor. I am the girl who killed the dream and replaced it with a nightmare. I sleep now to face this. 

Splicing

There are nights I miss him more than others. Tonight is one such night. The brooding, or shall I say longing, began earlier this evening when a friend asked if he was my "first true love." I stumble when trying to answer such Romantic questions, often posed by little girls...but it's a real question. I'll try to answer it attributing a separate concept to each word in the trilogy.


"First": So ideal and childish. Why does order matter so much for lovers? Does the first really indicate the primary? Does it imply the truer and more special love than any i will [hopefully] ever have in the future?

And "Love": Pregnant. I, as a lover, don't know what it means or symbolizes. Many languages don't even have a word--implying its surreal nature (word?). I can't grasp the poetry or the science of it. Emotion and pragmatism lie buried under a dirty heap of ignorance. It is a question fit for the great scholars and philosophers at the time when fat women reigned. These philosophers would only answer questions with more questions, in the form of hyperbolic syllogisms. Further giving their audience of lovers more to muse.



"True": Is not as childish as the prior term when it pertains to love, but a source of pressure for the lover. How can one ever affirm that it's real? As if it's a home appliance or a mountain. Lovers cannot tangibly see or manipulate, only feel and think. With the overabundance of peril and unknowing contained in those last two acts, how can one judge anything based on them?

So, while standing in front of a pool table, with a Bud Light in hand--for it was not to be taken outside--and a cigarette between my unmanicured fingertips, it was difficult to answer my friend's question. I stalled while trying though, assuming that perhaps an acute moment of bravado may appear and bring wisdom with it...allowing me to answer. But I just replied with "yeah," because the latter would have taken too long.
X

Away We Go!

Friends and myself=group. I despise groups=self-ostracism. There is, however, one personal goal which is challenged by my feelings towards people: I wish to be good. How can I expect to exercise…or even contain virtue when the idea of intermingling with the people repulses me? This aggressively independent one: trapped between herself and what she wants.

Being alone doesn’t mean lonely, but it’s starting to. Holding hands with oneself loses that element of spontaneity, and one tires of laughing at her own jokes. So…do I change? Overrated. Acceptance? I’m too jaded. Normalcy? Invisible. Honestly, answers are boring when the question isn’t interesting. 

Just Enjoying the Sunshine

My life has become so easy to live that it makes me sick. I’ve realized the futility of lists and declarations, while self-loathing has failed to provide a stimulus. I have reached a point of deep, deep lowness. I think of doing nothing interesting while the days are filled [in an attempt to pass time] [only to do the same thing tomorrow] with TV, food, booze and cigarettes. Somewhere in that mix I squeeze in some phone calls. And that’s literally all I do. I can’t make another list preparing for such things as sobriety, exercise, sewing, and early slumber. But I also can’t continue like this. I will seriously die. Either from depression, substance, boredom or all three. 

Letter-Writing is a Dead Art No More

Dear Farrah,

One drink is never one drink. You are not able to live that lifestyle—no matter how much you want it. It’s not because you’re weak, but because you’re human and all humans have imperfections. I don’t want yours to be where you put a shotgun to your head.

It was boring sober, but it was livable, feasible, and functional. Besides to be totally honest, you were happier too. If anything, everything feels so much worse right now. 

Last Page of My Diary

In the spirit of total disclosure: I feel no interest in filling this page. While packing my home in this dusty desert town, I came across this book and thought it fit to fill what I assumed was the last page with thoughts, fears, trepidations and hopes of the future. These include Wisconsin to learn Turkish, Turkey to research, Tucson to collect belongings, back to CA to return car, DC to write dissertation, and London to continue on with lovely and incredible man named J*. 

Running with Scissors--review

Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Has anyone ever noticed the prominence of incest and fellatio which manages to slither into creative non-fiction pieces set in the 1970s? What is that?

And why is every girl in these stories pregnant with such incredible urgency and quirkiness? It's fucking exhausting.


View all my reviews

Getting Turked

I am cognizant of the fact that upon its perusal in coming years, the following sentence will be met with disappointment and a devilish grin, but I will still write it: I have to go to Istanbul in five weeks and I’m scared to death.

The anxiety stems from lack of language/knowledge of culture, having to find somewhere to live for a month, and—ever so frightful—being by myself. Although there will be a friend living there and a girl travelling with me part of the time, I feel helpless and without any sense of control.

Again, I’m sure it will be fine. And I hope (maybe tomorrow?) to start looking at this as an adventure rather than the scary monster haunting my head and disturbing my wake.

Rainbows and Dragons

I embarked in a grand gesture of hope today: to start the pill after you meet someone. Today it’s a 33 year old handsome Midwesterner. I still carry around the possibility that I’m cursed. A few months ago I realized that I’m actually just a bitch. So, I stopped being a bitch. Then I met him. 

It’s not going to stop/till you wise up

I don’t know where to start. Maybe a list:

Family: Two grandmothers and my favorite uncle have died in the last two months. I miss my mom and have suddenly become conscious of my dad’s mortality. I’m fairly convinced that my sister thinks I’m the worst.

Friends: I want a buddy.

School: I may go to Turkey to study the Iranian trans community. For fear of governmental repercussions opted out of Iran. In all honesty though, I want to drop out. I’m suddenly aware of how futile this is and can’t help from asking myself “who cares”?

Boys: I’ve been waiting for a boy to call me since my early 20s. I’m bored and defeated. Today is a casual and dirty boy named Dan.

Me: Great, but slightly jaded from all this. 

My Ex-boyfriend's Baby

Strange to be in Tucson again sometimes. I’ve been overly conscious of my loneliness lately. If only to have a companion. At this time last year, Will and I were preparing for Vegas. His baby will be born any day now. He seems a million miles ago. I miss the friend not the boyfriend. We hated the same people and found absurdity in the same things. That’s friendship to me. That’s what I miss. 

The Owl's Graduation Cap

There are milestones that represent metamorphosis and growth, and one reaches such a stance that causes their recluse. I am at such a point. Reality is irritating me. My friends depress me. Their small lives and small dreams bore me. I refuse to admit the comparison being made between them and me, but I don’t admit something rotten is going on. I am Denmark.

My academic career is fascinating me lately; is the most acute case of a love-hate relationship. I want to drop out of the doctoral program but that presents itself as the most nauseating and rancid thing I could ever do. Where the hell would I go and why? Some people are destined or made for it. And I am not. Education is my field, and I will undergo all the steps it takes to reach my scholarly pursuits, I set them and will continue to learn every step of the way. 

Beauty in All This

summer as a season is still with us. Summer as a vacation has excused itself and I am happy to say that I sodomized the fucker. After a notorious battle resulting in self-defeat (I was bound to win or lose the fight against myself), I realize that my ammunition and artillery of wine, cigarettes and unrealistic romantic expectations was illogical. So, I went to CA. it would be more appropriate to describe the departure as getting the hell out of Tucson. The past six weeks in SJ were a mish-mash of sobriety, an intense isogenix cleanse, exercise, friends and dad.

Luckily, the good habits followed me back to Tucson. I guess what they say about 30 days to create a habit is true. I’m exercising every day, eating well, drinking only on weekends and most importantly, deal with the boredom which used to lead to my excessive drinking by remember Jung’s statement that “neurosis stems from man’s attempt to escape life’s legitimate suffering”. So, I finally realize, this is as good as it gets. And I’m finally trying to settle in and make the most of it. 

Copperstar

I live in Tucson again. In a condo that comes equipped with a gym, two parking spots and fun neighbors. What I brought from Monterey was two dogs, some clothes, a car and a drinking problem. It is the last which I wish to discuss now.

My every night is entangled and enmeshed and enraptured with drink. This has resulted in a complete lack of productivity and confidence.  Consequently, I have received an Incomplete for film class and played mistress with an engaged man. A friend reminded me of my abilities and my potential to triumph. She said to have faith in myself. Now it’s the girl in the mirror I need to convince. 

Balding Ivy

I forgot the year earlier today. How tacky would it be to write “that is so me”? For the sake of remaining original, I digress. Life is a strange kind of topsy-turvy. I just realized that I’m really silly, but I get so serious. Or maybe I’m just serious and I sometimes get silly. Hmmm.

Grad school research has taken me on an interesting path the past few days. It originated as a search for schools/profs, but resulted in my current murky mire: scouting out a new topic. Khayyam apparently wasn’t cutting the scholarly cheese. It’s overdone and boring. I have a Princeton prof. sending me untouched material in the canons of Persian literature. How cheesy to shop buy in reality I did jump to the Rubaiyaat without considering any other works. My reasoning was that I’d read so much of the works in Hagigi’s class that I’d “been there, done that” (how horrible). But, I was really just being an asshole. An assuming (assumptive?) asshole. I didn’t research my research field. I took the first idea that was offered. Usually it is a wonderful and instinctive quality that draws one to that sort of thing, but it was just laziness and ignorance. I took, at first what I was given and Romanticized it. Hopefully, Princeton will tickle my fancy, even though he’s bald and lives in Jersey. 

Hailstorm

We broke up. This seems less than surprising, and I am less than impressed with his or my behavior. He claimed to no longer be ‘stoked’ as his 23 year-old mentality is wont to do and I finally had to face the fact that it hasn’t been good for months. The handsomeness and party kept me entangled in his mess. I realize now that it is not enough. 

Just the Facts, Ma'am

I will not focus on the things I neglect. I will not abuse myself for the things I ‘don’t do’ which I believe may make me happier. I will instead post facts:

1-     I am dating a 23 year old man.

2-     He acts 23

3-     I am 32 years-old

4-     I am moving to AZ in two months and will, consequently, be apart from him

5-     My faith is shaken by relationships past

6-     I have received discouraging words from friends

7-     Taking away someone’s hope is tragic and unfair

So, what to do? This boy can’t handle a woman. He’s not a man yet, and I’m not interested in being the one who teaches him how to be one…or to wait until he is. At this point I wonder why I even bother; most of the relationship is a disappointment and I’m exhausted from feeling second best—to his friends. I am SO available because I don’t know how else to be. 

What it was like: Monterey & Tucson

 8 September 2008

I have quit drinking during the week and all it took was some mild brain-washing from a life coach neighbor—former NYPD. Somehow, while speaking with him, something clicked and I realized that I am a slave to my desires and ignore intelligent forces within. And last weekend, I drank like a normal person. I never needed Dumbo’s feather. It’s within me.

13 October 2008
Something strange has taken over. I can be honest about the pervasive loneliness of my days and nights—but honestly it makes me feel defeated. As a single, successful 31 year-old woman I’m supposed to bask in my achievements in independence, or so the magazines tell me, but instead I find myself reliving moments with men who eventually chose anything but to have me in their lives. It’s easy to feel sorry for myself, but it’s just as easy to declare a change. Either effort is futily exerted effort. 

21 October 2008
Last night I made out with four boys. Tonight I am alone and incredibly sad. Of the four it is the one who seems to show the least interest to which I have taken a shine. Of course. 

11 November 2008
Farrah: I’m gonna get you to tell me your secret.
Alex: I’m in love with you. 

And that was that. 

23 February 2009
Much time has passed since my last entry. Probably because I spend most of it with a wonderful man who fulfills me. There are no complaints—except one, from him: my drinking. This has resurfaced into a potential detriment to a relationship. He told me to fix it or he would leave. It wasn’t as so much a threat as it was a testament to what he is able to tolerate. I appreciate his honesty and wonder why I am so reluctant to undergo this change that I so badly want myself. 

21 May 2009
I will not focus on the things I neglect. I will not abuse myself for the things I ‘don’t do’ which I believe may make me happier. I will instead post facts:

1. I am dating a 23 year old man. 

2. He acts 23

3. I am 32 years-old

4. I am moving to AZ in two months and will, consequently, be apart from him

5. My faith is shaken by relationships past

6. I have received discouraging words from friends

7. Taking away someone’s hope is tragic and unfair

So, what to do? This boy can’t handle a woman. He’s not a man yet, and I’m not interested in being the one who teaches him how to be one…or to wait until he is. At this point I wonder why I even bother; most of the relationship is a disappointment and I’m exhausted from feeling second best—to his friends. I am SO available because I don’t know how else to be. 

10 June 2009
We broke up. This seems less than surprising, and I am less than impressed with his or my behavior. He claimed to no longer be ‘stoked’ as his 23 year-old mentality is wont to do and I finally had to face the fact that it hasn’t been good for months. The handsomeness and party kept me entangled in his mess. I realize now that it is not enough. 

25 June 2009
Last night would have marked our 10 months. And in the big picture, what does that mean? Ten months of misery, cheating, questioning every text message. He was a bad guy. Still is. Yet I keep him around sexually. It’s a balance that I’m trying to establish. It will most definitely end in tears and destruction. 

1 December 2009
I live in Tucson again. In a condo that comes equipped with a gym, two parking spots and interesting neighbors. What I brought from Monterey was two dogs, some clothes, a car and a drinking problem. It is the last which I wish to discuss now. 

My every night is entangled and enmeshed and enraptured with drink. This has resulted in a complete lack of productivity and confidence.  Consequently, I have received an Incomplete for film class and played mistress with an engaged man. A friend reminded me of my abilities and my potential to triumph. She said to have faith in myself. Now it’s the girl in the mirror I need to convince. 

3 December 2009
I am mad at myself for getting involved with an unavailable man. It hurts to let him go because I will never meet such a person who made me laugh ever again. Although Dave made me laugh…so I’ve met this person in theory twice. Hmmm. 

I really dislike Will's reaction to all this. He has purposely isolated himself from me because of potential sex—even though sex wasn’t a prevalent part of our relationship—he remains scared of the potential. But that just sums it all up when it comes to all things Will: fear motivated every decision he made. Why should he stop now?  

23 February 2010
He’s like the sad silence
immediately following masturbation
That moment when the warmth and intensity
quickly escape (where do they go?)
And you’re suddenly aware—on your back, vulnerable—
Just how alone and pathetic you are.

I’m also raw to the touch, saturated
in thoughts of him,
Mentally fighting the same face
the one that delivered so much pleasure seconds prior.

He is no longer welcome in my thoughts. I’ve gotten what I needed.
Punching him in the mouth with my thoughts
Trying to escape his tortuous gaze,
His cruel smile
His light eyes…blinding sparkle causing unrest.
Now he rests uneasily upon me—
that barren silence only interrupted
by the space heater on the nightstand—
still perfectly aligned to my breasts,
but failing to serve its masturbatory purposes of sound and sensation,
It’s just a space heater. On my naked chest. That’s the thing after masturbation:
When you’re done,
Things go back
to what they are. 

25 February 2010
It wasn’t the words of an old friend who helped me tonight, but what I realized after he’d said them: I could never comfortably date Will because he did a very bad thing to his fiancée. And as much as I’d like to revel in the fact that his infidelity was not as bad because it wasn’t with a different girl from a different bar every night, but with one girl, it was still deceptive and easy. That’s the gross part. It was all too easy for him. 

19 June 2010
“I am blue and unwell”
-J. Newsom

now it’s done. A boy. Don’t meet them at bars. I have to accept the fact that I’m cursed. I should stop trying. Three dates, sex once. Dinner, cocktails and the realization that he’s ‘just not that into me’. I am not upset that we won’t be moving forward—he was a baby-carrot dick who spit all the time and interrupted me constantly. I’m upset that I fucked it up by my aggressive behavior. He says my bossiness was the deal breaker. Is it time to change now? I really don’t want to. I genuinely like myself. But let’s face facts. Something needs to happen because whatever I’m doing isn’t working; perhaps tweaking some dating behavior wouldn’t be so bad…actually…No.  Now that I’ve come to think of it, I’ve had plenty of men in my life who loved my personality. He’s just an over-sensitive pussy. 

24 August 2010
Beauty in all this

Summer as a season is still with us. Summer as a vacation has excused itself and I am happy to say that I sodomized the fucker. After a notorious battle resulting in self-defeat (I was bound to win or lose the fight against myself), I realize that my ammunition and artillery of wine, cigarettes and unrealistic romantic expectations was illogical. So, I went to CA. it would be more appropriate to describe the departure as getting the hell out of Tucson. The past six weeks in SJ were a mish-mash of sobriety, an intense isogenix cleanse, exercise, friends and dad. 

Luckily, the good habits followed me back to Tucson. I guess what they say about 30 days to create a habit is true. I’m exercising every day, eating well, drinking only on weekends and most importantly, deal with the boredom which used to lead to my excessive drinking by remember Jung’s statement that “neurosis stems from man’s attempt to escape life’s legitimate suffering”. So, I finally realize, this is as good as it gets. And I’m finally trying to settle in and make the most of it. 

27 October 2010
Strange to be in Tucson again sometimes. I’ve been overly conscious of my loneliness lately. If only to have a companion. At this time last year, Will and I were preparing for Vegas. His baby will be born any day now. He seems a million miles ago. I miss the friend, not the boyfriend. We hated the same people. We found absurdity in the same things. That’s friendship to me. That’s what I miss. 

21 February 2011
It’s not going to stop/till you wise up
-Aimee Mann

I don’t know where to start. Maybe a list:

Family: Two grandmothers and my favorite uncle have died in the last two months. I miss my mom and have suddenly become conscious of my dad’s mortality. I’m fairly convinced that my sister thinks I’m the worst. 

Friends: I want a buddy. 

School: I may go to Turkey to study the Iranian trans community. For fear of governmental repercussions opted out of Iran. In all honesty though, I want to drop out. I’m suddenly aware of how futile this is and can’t help from asking myself “who cares”?

Boys: I’ve been waiting for a boy to call me since my early 20s. I’m bored and defeated. Today is a casual and dirty boy named Dan. 

Me: Great, but slightly jaded from all this. 

10 March 2011
My new philosophy on dating: do what you want, just don’t overstay your welcome. 

5 April 2011
The grand gesture of hope: start the pill after you meet someone. Today it’s a 33 year old handsome Midwesterner. I still carry around the possibility that I’m cursed. A few months ago I realized that I’m actually just a bitch. So, I stopped being a bitch. Then I met him. 

19 April 2011
The past two weeks would tell the story of a girl trying to get through the day—and in-between the times he’s calling or texting, she squeezes in the mundane and petty activities she had formerly known as ‘her life’. These include working out, drinking water, not boozing during the week, tanning, school, playing with dog, avoiding annoying roommate, cleaning/thinking about cleaning my room, teaching, working at the curriculum development place, smelling good, and keeping up with friends back home. These are the things I ‘fill my time up with’ in the between his texts and calls which occur about every two days. 

It’s gotten better than it was in the past. I’m maintaining my sense of self. Making him not the whole pie but just a few pieces. Now to reduce the size of his pie in my life--If only to live life based on the realization that that catalogue of activities is what gives my meaning, value, color and purpose. 

2 May 2011
I scared off another one and currently berating myself for my incessant need to know what’s going on. Instant replays, flashbacks, split seconds and detailed play-by-plays are what drive me to the brink of asking this question. For fear of being led on and the fact that I’m super confused and it took this guy 9 texts to ask me out, I asked. 

Instead of berating myself for my inability to ‘go with the flow’ I must accept instead the fact that I will never be able to ‘go with the flow’ and the only time I’ve ever come close is when I have the assurance of his interest. Ten years with this book and I just figured it out…yet I still feel that I know nothing. 

5 May 2011
I am cognizant of the fact that upon its perusal in the coming years, the following sentence will be met with disappointment and a devilish grin, but I will still write it: I have to go to Istanbul in five weeks and I’m scared to death. 

The anxiety stems from lack of language/knowledge of culture, having to find somewhere to live for a month, and—ever so frightful—being by myself. Although there will be a friend living there and a girl travelling with me part of the time, I feel helpless and without any sense of control. 

Again, I’m sure it will be fine. And I hope (maybe tomorrow?) to start looking at this as an adventure rather than the scary monster haunting my head and disturbing my wake.

13 June 2012
In the spirit of total disclosure: I feel no interest in filling this page. While packing my home in this dusty desert town, I came across this book and thought it fit to fill what I assumed was the last page with thoughts, fears, trepidations and hopes of the future. this includes Wisconsin to learn Turkish, Turkey to research, Tucson to collect belongings, back to CA to return car, DC to write dissertation, and London to continue on with a lovely and incredible man named Johann. 

But this wasn’t the last page, so I’ll leave it. 

Sep 4, 2012
One drink is never one drink. You are not able to live that lifestyle—no matter how much you want it. It’s not because you’re weak, but because you’re human and all humans have imperfections. I don’t want yours to be where you put a shotgun to your head.

It was boring sober, but it was livable, feasible, and functional. Besides to be totally honest, you were happier too. If anything, everything feels so much worse right now. 

The Opposite of Love

I’m a bit stronger today than I was yesterday and I can only hope that this trend will continue into tomorrow. My feelings towards the Capt grow microscopically more indifferent every day. And that’s all I can ask for. Indifference.  Not hate.

I know one day the idea of him won’t make me sad, but for now I accept this iota of gloom. At least it also brings with it feeling of disgust, sympathy, and anger. Hopefully these will all coalesce into that wonderful monster of indifference. 

German for a Whale's Vagina

A vacuum, a joke text, a girlfriend discovering correspondence, a dumping of the Capt by said girlfriend all led to my discovery of how toxic this guy really is. I feel strange about it though. He called to tell me the seriousness of their relationship and how he was in the car driving to San Diego to see her. Maybe I should have been stronger—more direct, less available—but I can’t blame myself. He lies, he cheats and he smiles as he does it. There is absolutely nothing to gain from a friendship with him. Begin phone fade out. 

*2 months sober

There are many different things happening right now. I'm preparing for grad school by diligently studying for the GRE and getting application materials together. 

Assuming I don’t get accepted, my plans consist of going to China for a month or getting a real estate license. Either way, I’m quitting my job. I hate my job. In the smaller picture I play with my dog quite a bit and try to find ways to get her to stop humping my leg. I also drink a lot of tea.

I am mourning/celebrating the end of this arduous journey with the Captain, as he will be deployed soon...probably never to be seen again by my eyeballs. For the sake of relinquishing bravado and being totally candid for a second—and as much as I hate to admit it, I will really miss him.

A Woman Scorned

Last night the Capt. stopped by and everything was said, then we had sex., both the conversation and the sex were cathartic; I was glad to return to our old shenanigans. He is a funny and ridiculous person, while at the same time being a lying, cheating snake. He confessed that I pushed him into the arms of this other woman due to my alcoholic bulimia—which he triggered. Every night. Not to blame him, but he was part of it. He said it confused him. I called him a coward and replied that a real man would have just ended it clean. He thought that would have made me sicker—all the while not knowing, because he’s stupid, that it was the indifference towards the relationship what destroyed me the most. That was that for talking.

The sex was vengeful, selfish, calculated and sweaty—all on my part. I couldn’t care less about his. I wanted him to cheat on the woman with whom he used to cheat on me. Hell hath no fury, indeed.  

Girl Talk

I received an irritating call from the captain’s insecure girlfriend, which confirmed a few things:

1.     He was cheating on me towards the end of our relationship

2.     He is drama

3.     His new relationship reeks of karma and he will be miserable in the end

4.     I want nothing more to do with him

I was mistaken to put up with so much for so long, but there is no one to blame but myself. I tolerated his behavior and allowed him to treat me according to his own will. 

He Cums and Goes in Waves

Yesterday’s much feared upon yet welcome bit of closure took a nose dive into the bog of eternal stench. The Capt. Felt brave enough to visit his old teacher, under the guise of ‘looking for a tutor’ for a friend. Bullshit. He simply decided that the timing was right to see me, so he did.

My heart sank when he walked into my office, and fuck him for doing so. We chatted he asked about my health said I looked good, filled him in on my life and how great I’ve been, and then realized I had to go to class. Since we were in the middle of catching up, I said goodbye and ‘if it isn’t weird for you, let’s hang out”. With great hesitation he replied—as if letting me know through a forced pause of silence that he was about to break my goddamn heart “I have a girlfriend and I don’t want her to get jealous’. Wow. I had no idea he had begun considering his girlfriend’s feelings. 

Epistolary Relationships with a Hunk

I received the Captain’s response to the email I send him this morning. It was kind. It reeked of nostalgia, while he [twice] referred to our relationship in the past tense, claimed to ‘look at our time together in a positive light’. We both win as we both apologized for our mistakes and transgressions—or at least merely acknowledged them.

The moral? I don’t know. Another relationship came and went. Nine months wasted? No. I lived through this tumultuous and rocky relationship and can say that at least I know what it’s like to fuck a hunk. And he raised the bar on my conversational expectations in a relationship. Those are the two things I will truly miss. On that note, I am recognizing all experiences with the Captain in the past tense and eliminating notions of the future. Those were just ridiculous. 

Confirm Email:

I wrote the Captain an email, but have yet to send it. I’m scared of his reaction. If he’s mean, my heart won’t maintain fortitude, nor my mind the clarity and serenity it has worked so hard to attain.  So, my job is to decide what I want out of the contact—friendship? Closure? Revenge? Ego boost that he didn’t get the final word? I have more thinking to do. An email shouldn’t hold as much weigh as I’ve made it—but he can be very cruel.

Memory Bins

The Captain and I broke up. I haven’t drank since June 21. I haven’t thrown up since then either. I suppose things are going well. I miss him, though. His place in the living room is empty.

When we last spoke he was incredibly cold and uninterested, so I got the hint. He also told me that he’s ‘moving on’. I got that hint as well. It’s strange that I awaited the summer throughout our relationship so as to actualize his departure, yet I am sad upon its arrival.  Closure is missing. The break-up was so quick and on the phone. But what do I need? A face to face ‘fuck you’? And what to make of the expectation that he will walk up my driveway wanting to talk and patch things up? That he remembers telling me that he loves me, that I had him wrapped around my finger, r that I could call him in a year, no matter where I am, and that he’d come for me? Do I throw all that away? Where do I put all those memories? 

Secrets Only Everyone Knows

I have turned 31 years-old. I have reignited my eating disorder from the ashes into which it crumbled. I have affirmed to no one but myself, that I have a drinking problem. And in the midst of this chaos, I began applying to Ph.D. programs. Perhaps doing something different will disturb this stasis in darkness, the perfectly explained Plathian expression which has become my everyday. 

I like the Word "Mate" but after that, You Got Me

Tonight the Captain told me that I am his soul mate. He realized this amid a candid conversation with an old friend, wherein the friend, in describing his wife, declared he has no soul mate, and if he did, it is not her. and then the kind Captain reflected and put himself first in the situation—as he is wont to do—and mused on his soul mate, ultimately deciding on me. After asking him why, he answered that he’s never connected to anyone the way he does to  me. I told him, as I still think is true, that it’s one of the nicest things I’ve ever heard. 

Realistic Expectations

The New Year has brought with it new problems. As I am wont to do, I refuse to focus on these and instead focus on solutions. Unfortunately, my problems—centering around Dave—have no solution, vivid from the fact that he described our relationship as ‘doomed’. I don’t know what to do and feel helpless trying to fix this thing which is totally out of my control. I only want him to prioritize me….over everything else. That’s all. 

Emotional Masturbation

For what feels like months, although it’s been weeks, I’ve avoided writing in this for its sheer potential destruction. About two months ago I decided to make a Marine officer fall in love with me—not because I particularly care for him or longed for his love and affections, but because I wanted to see if I could. It was a game and I proved the victor.

And now I am seated in a very confused state because this man’s love has created a set of genuine emotions I didn’t anticipate and from which I must suffer. He no longer wishes to spend time with me, basing this decision on self-preservation; he has seceded from my union for no other reason than what’s best for him. I suppose that’s respectable, but respect is hardly what I would choose to exert to this individual. 

He's a Major Now

“I hope you weren’t planning on breaking up with your boyfriend for me, because that would have been a really bad idea.”
-Captain

And that said it all. The confusion with which I have been battling concerning these men has finally subsided. The truth is that I don’t want to break up with Dave for this guy. Dave is forever. This guy will be just another guy in two years time.