HEY I DID IT

Despite the fact that today I did not

• do yoga
• organize underneath my bathroom sink
• go through my clothes for another purge
• practice knitting

I did

• brainstorm on projects
• not feel very sad about anything
• cook dinner
• wash all of my bras
• take out the trash and recycling
• empty, clean, and refill the litter box
• not have any major headaches

I do need to get better to sticking to the tasks I give myself to do. But cooking dinner, as opposed to just eating three bowls of cereal and calling it a night, feels like a big step. 

Unfortunately my stupid tonsils are swollen again, so I need to go take some ibuprofen and go to bed.

Progress is slow, guys. Painfully and disgustingly so.

Scars fade really slowly. I’m speaking literally at the moment. I have ugly red scars all over my feet and legs, from the flea debacle. They remain as menacing red and purple splotches, contrasting starkly with my pale skin and dark freckles. They look worst on my feet, where my skin is so translucent that blue veins show through, at odds with the red and purple above.

Other things, speaking figuratively, can’t even scar yet, because I keep tugging at the stitches. I don’t like letting things go when I don’t feel closure… but I can’t always expect to get the closure I want from another person. I have to find it within, stop putting salt in my own wound, and move on. Which is what I’ve decided to do. Acknowledge that I had something real, and that by no fault of mine whatsoever, that something no longer exists. I can’t allow myself to question that. The only thing I can control and understand is myself. Why waste any kindness or energy on anyone who forcibly estranges themselves from me and treats me with cold, aloof indifference? Nah. I’ll pass. Obviously the person who cared for me is gone, and I do feel that loss. But eventually, I’ll won’t anymore. Even if I see that familiar face at times. We’re strangers now, that much is clear. I’ll grow, shed the skin he touched, and be better every day.

I have an ENORMOUS AMOUNT of hair on my head but it is inexplicably fine and uncooperative. I resist using products for styling because a) I have an oily, dandruff-prone scalp that rebels against everything and b) I haven’t fallen in love with anything I’ve ever tried. Everything disappoints because I have the most flyaway hair of all time. It’s like trying to style a fucking spider’s web. WHY, HAIR, WHY.

That said, I’ve been extremely prone to drastic cuts and color changes. Since styling is basically not an option (read: I’m lazy). But as much as I love drastic colors and cutting my hair short, I want to have long, natural hair. I love the color brunette I am. It’s such a soft color.

Anyway. So I’ve been thinking of ways to kind of… freshen up. And my hair is in this wild long no-man’s land that’s probably ideal for trying some vintage styles. Since a lot of my wardrobe is very classic and simple, why not go a little eccentric with the hair? Try some new things, see how the middle-aged men in my office react. It’s not like I’m getting my nose pierced again, I’m just embracing my giant can of Chi hairspray! My beehive was a big hit in October at the Mad Men party, after all. 

With a little toning-down, I think I could rock a suicide roll in public. I had some early failures with victory rolls this evening because my hair is too thin for life #whitegirlproblems. So maybe for now I’ll just perfect the suicide roll and figure out my life one vintage hairstyle youtube tutorial at a time.

How do you go from

“I’m stealing you away from your roommate for drinks and dinner.”

“Good morning sunshine… let’s sneak out and go make out somewhere”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you all day.”

“A kiss from you is the perfect way to start my day.”

“If you think, for a second, I would pass up a chance to hang out with you, you’re crazy!”

“I can’t get you off my mind.”

“I don’t want to be away from you ever again. Ever!”

To nothing? To not even looking me in the eye?

In the span of two months?

How?　

It’s all shit sometimes, you know?

Yesterday I spent an hour sitting on top of my washing machine in the very small area it shares with my dryer and water heater, laboring over unscrewing the hose connections. When my ex installed the damn thing when we moved in last year, he screwed all four of the hose connections crooked. No wonder water started spewing out of them!

Eventually I got both hoses replaced and I felt proud. My fingers are numb and bruised today, but I feel proud.

Then I went to see The Cabin In The Woods with Shannon and it was GREAT. [iwannaseeitagain.gif] Go see it. It’s fantastic. It also enables me to use the word “pastiche” which I greatly enjoy.

Those things made up for what was otherwise an extremely frustrating day for me at work. I won’t go into it. But the short version is, actions speak louder than words, and a certain someone’s words were “I want to be friends” but his actions tell me “I’m pretending you don’t exist.” I’m not sure if this is some sort of defensive mechanism or what, but I hate being overtly ignored.

I’m above it, though. So much better and more mature. 

I am a terrible, terrible dancer regardless of my state if inebriation. All I am ever good for is laughter, not dancing. I went to a club tonight! For the first time in my life.

Not really my scene. I did have a great time because I was with great people, but so many smells and bumping and grinding. I was way too sober the entire time. All of the guys were incredibly short, too. I was wearing flats and I was taller by inches than about 85% of the guys there. WTF?

Accidentally dancing with these smallish men and feeling their poorly-concealed partial erections as they invaded my personal space made me long for a simpler time!

It made me long for a specific person, actually, and that simpler time was roughly early February through mid-March of this year. You might know to what I am referring. Respect and intimacy and conversation, OH MY! I miss his face and laugh and lips and bare shoulders. I miss him ordering us pinot noir, and smiling at me over his own glass. A different restaurant every time we went out, but always the same kind of wine.

…I’m going to go cry in the shower with a bottle of Yuengling, don’t mind me.

Going. Through. Some. Shit.

• I literally don’t remember the last time I shaved.
• I have eaten Frosted Flakes for dinner every night this week.
• Apparently I can’t sleep unless Brie is in bed with me.

Clearly I am suffering from a mildly broken heart. To be expected, I’m sure. I have been experiencing an emotionally tumultuous time.

Tomorrow I have to write a 2000 word paper on existentialism by 5 pm, so tonight I’m taking some sleep-aid stuff as soon as Parks & Rec is over at 10 and hopefully tomorrow, having had a good night’s sleep for the first time all week, I can get that shit knocked out. As long as I get an 80% on it I’ll have a C in the class, and a 100% would only bump me up to a C+ anyway. So. I’m slumming it. I blame the aforementioned heart issue for my more-than-usual apathy.

Last night sucked.

Long post is long.

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“Got your note yesterday. I’m free for dinner tonight…” THIS SEEMS PROMISING.