I can’t complain about things on Tumblr anymore. Not even minute things, passing things, things that I’d get over if only I had the time and the space to just vent about them.
There are too many real-life people on Tumblr now. My mistake.
Then I remembered that I had this blog.
Then I realized that coming here only to bitch would be really rude.
So I’ll just silently combust instead.
Over all of this. And I have nothing pretty or revealing to say about it.
This calls for kittens. Truckloads and truckloads of kittens.
I see those pictures and I don’t see you.
I am not your mother or your girlfriend or your conscience — I am just one of your best friends, and I know that I know you. Except it doesn’t feel that way when you’re there and I’m here, and what I know of your life is told to me in pictures without narration, without explanation.
You look terrible. You look happy, I guess, but you look terrible. And I don’t judge you or disapprove, I just don’t like who I see. I’m allowed that opinion and I couldn’t ignore it, because I’ve tried. I don’t want to be friends with him, the person in those pictures.
I am bitter. When you look at pictures of me, whether you were there for the camera flash or not, you will see me. I don’t change for different people, different situations. I know it’s not the same for you, and that upsets me.
I couldn’t be those girls in the pictures with you. I don’t really want to be, nor I do I think you want me to, either.
I just feel disconnected. And not for the first time, I feel like I don’t know you at all, not really.
everybodyslearninghow asked: you cannot be that old my dear. some people don't find someone for them until much later on. i know a beautiful couple that are fully in love, and they got together in their mid-forties. i don't know if this is encouraging or not. but i think you are beautiful and creative and unique. you certainly don't need a boy to be any of those things. but i don't think that means that a wonderful boy won't see those things one day and want to be yours. i don't know what you want exactly. but you have loads of time. keep being wonderful. :)
I really sign on here often, don’t I? :P
Thank you. I know a lot of what you say is true. I fully know that I don’t need a boy to make me anything more, to make me anything important or real or validated. I’ve gone this many years without one, and I’m actually doing quite fine.
I tell myself that there’s no one for me because I think that that will make me feel better, will help me to accept it and move on. I don’t know if it’s true or not and I don’t know if it works.
Today, I’m feeling all right about it. Life isn’t all darkness and loneliness — in fact, that’s only a small percentage of it. Life is all right.
Thanks again. I appreciate it. :)
There is not someone for everyone.
There is not someone for me.
It’s all right, I think.
Yesterday at dinner he smiled at the tangled mess of four Silly Bandz on my wrist, the ones he’d given me less than a week ago, even though it felt like months.
"It makes me really happy when you wear those," he said.
All I could do was smile in return, too embarrassed to admit that I wore them only for that exact reason, and that I was elated it had worked.
About four months ago, I was assigned a writing project where I was to tell a part of my history that unburied a concealed truth about love, desire, sexuality, or the body.
It is no coincidence that about four months ago, I also finally moved beyond you.
I wrote about how nothing happened between us, nothing was going to happen between us, and yet we put up boundaries anyway. I knew not to tread there, and you…well, I’m not even sure you realized that we built them, together; you were too wrapped up in your worrying.
But most importantly, I wrote about how you just left and never returned, and I was completely unprepared for how much your failure to return devastated me. I had no idea, I hadn’t understood…
All of this is irrelevant now. Because you didn’t fail to return — you’re just coming back over a year and a half late. And I’ve never been in a situation like this before. I have very little experience in — in talking to my heart, at least about these matters. I have a good understanding of who I am, but this…desire, romance…these topics boggle me. I don’t know what to do.
I just —
I can’t believe you’re coming back.
More and more often, I just want to disappear.
I want to take a suitcase full of what worldly possessions I can call mine, throw it into the backseat of my car, and just get the hell out and away.
It’s not that I hate my family and my friends or the opportunities I’ve been afforded in life. It’s just that every day, the fantasy grows — the thrill at realizing that not a single person on this earth knows where I am. I am just gone.
I spend a lot of time being moody, especially when I’m at work, smiling in the face of mounting aggravation, dropping hun and sweetie like I’m actually good with kids, and insisting that it’s fine because, as the adage goes, the customer is always right.
But I also spend a lot of time looking for reasons to not be moody, pulling on memories and moments that remind me why I stand firm in my belief that people are inherently good.
And today after the lifeguards blew their whistles and the kids hurried across the cement and back to the pool, I sat down with the sliding window still open to feel the hot breeze and thought of two small boys whose faces I can’t see, but whose actions I can envision perfectly.
I had just handed the first boy his change, probably a few quarters, but as he herded the coins off the counter and into his hand, one dropped to the ground. Instinctively, the second boy leaned down to pick up the dropped coin and hand it back.
The second boy was not a hero of any monumental degree, he didn’t do it for the honor or glory or even the simple “thanks” of the first boy. He just…picked up a fallen coin for a stranger like it was no big deal. It wasn’t a big deal. And yet weeks later, it still softens my hot blood.
When I got off of work today, I came home to find the house empty.
I stared at a Chinese take-out menu for a solid fifteen minutes before deciding I was feeling too socially awkward to do something as simple and commonplace as order Chinese food over the phone, so I decided to just stop by a fast food place real quick, except not using a drive-thru because I can never get the car close enough to the window and my arms are short and things just get awkward.
Anyway, as I drove to the ATM, front windows rolled down and the crackly classical music station turned up high, I had a sudden realization that this could be the rest of my life. Independent, spending an average evening after work traveling to the bank to get some cash for a dinner that I would eat by myself while half-watching an episode of Doctor Who.
I slowed for a red light, taking in the calm emptiness of the car and the scent of a damp summer evening. I should have been scared that I was glimpsing my less-than-glamorous future, but I was strangely content. It was life.