The Exploding Plastic Inevitable
Life is zany, especially when you’re a nomad. Just after moving out of Angela’s loft I found out that the man I have spent the last two years blindly loving was sleeping with other people. Can’t say that I’m surprised, I guess. I mean, I did the whole girl thing and started shaking when I found out. I sent crazy text messages. I screamed. I cried. I asked, “Why?” I threw things. I threw down. I threw up. But then I calmed down and felt a feeling so strange that I don’t think I’m going to even try to put it into words. All I’ll say is that something changed in a big way.
I turned down a promotion at work a while back. I turned it down partly because I wasn’t cool with what my new commute would be like had I taken the job, and mostly because I don’t want to be stuck in retail forever. Turning down a higher paying job doesn’t exactly jive with the plan to make as much money as possible this summer, but I did it anyway.
A month ago I started seeing a guy who makes me want to rip out all of my hair and glue it to my forehead, if that even makes any sense. He’s shorter than I like them and really fucking combative, but I entertained the situation long enough to get entertained back, and now his attachment to me is like a rope wound so tightly around my neck that it’s making my eyeballs bulge out of their sockets. I’d like that to sound less mean than it probably does to you, but there’s just no other way to put it.
Seventeen days ago I turned 23, and was subsequently told by my dentist that I may need a root canal, and by the person mentioned in the paragraph above that I’m the kind of chick who gets off on making guys like me just so I can dump them and watch them writhe. Needless to say we’re not seeing each other anymore, but some of the things he said really stuck with me and have filtered their way so deep into my brain that I came back to this web log after two months and published a post about f-ing goats. How weak is that? If 23 is all about dental damnation (take a second to laugh at dental dam) and snide remarks from people who don’t even know me, then please, take me back to 22 immediately.
Last week I started casually re-seeing the ex-factor who cheated on me, and the way that I feel about it is kind of like the way I feel about funerals. I’ve never had to go to one, but I like to think to myself that I’d prefer not to go when it comes down to the people in my life that I love the most. Not because I don’t want to pay my last respects, but because I don’t want my last visual memory of them to be a cold body in a casket. The way it is between the ex and I now is a way that I hoped it would never be. It’s tainted. Sometimes I can’t look at him without wondering where he stuck It the night before, even if I know for a fact that he was alone. Part of me wishes that when we broke the first time that it could have just stayed like that, because now I know him intimately as a liar and a cheat, and when I’m alone to think, I feel like an idiot for allowing that.
Who knows what kind of drama this is going to lead to, but I feel like it’s something I have to just go with, even if I end up bruised and broken… again. I know there's no way to go back, but I'm hoping there's a way to go forward and rebuild.
My last semester of college starts in August. Hopefully by then I’ll have a place to live… all of this hopping around amidst the insanity that is my life just seems to enhance the drama. Don’t be surprised if the next thing I blog about is my newly purchased rhinoplasty and wig.