It’s as if the Collective heard my pleas – I’m not ready to go back into the grind yet. Well, be careful what you wish for. I guess we’re under quarantine now. I’ve been socially distant since November, so hopefully I’ve worked out enough of my nagging demons to make the next two months productive… or at least more productive than the last two or the two before.
I really need to. There’s a few beasts running after me, and I have been utterly failing to outrun them.
I want to talk about the boy. But not only is that not the point of this, there’s honestly not much to say. This world is so weird. I’m never home. I never have time to see the same people often enough to be more than someone they know. That’s one very good reason why it’s taken almost 4 years to prove that my current relationship is not good enough – we never see each other. My boyfriend and I are about as sick of each other as two people would be after spending perhaps 8 months together (I almost wrote 9, which would be accurate, but for some reason I feel uncomfortable making any allusion to pregnancy, ever). And yes, we’re exactly that sick of each other. Truthfully, while I admire the fact that my boyfriend exists as a human and am quite fascinated learning about him as an individual, I do not actually like him as a person, and I can kind of tell that he feels the same way about me (or maybe that’s transference again). How could I walk away from a dick that good though?
For this boy though, I have been home. And not by choice. I’m a sucker for a good coincidence, even though I know that they don’t matter at all. He doesn’t know how weird this actually is, of course, because he’s only known me during these strange times. And so from his perspective, this probably isn’t weird at all, but I am. I’m not used to talking to the same person so long that they actually know me. It’s tough.
I don’t know if I like him anymore. But I can tell I don’t know him. It’s fine. I think we’re both hitting the emotional wall here <=== transference? I can’t prove that.
We exhibit it in different ways. He invited me into his apartment, but I do notice how carefully he controls his environment, and all signs that he actually *lives* there are carefully hidden before I get over. On the other hand, he has never seen my apartment. He talks about almost nothing but work, and I still haven’t told him what I do. What are the actual parts of ourselves that need to be shared, what actually constitutes personality? I like the way he feels, when he’s relaxed. He wasn’t yesterday. I want to ask what’s wrong, but he will tell me it’s work, and maybe he’s not wrong. Work is bothering me too.
I’m actually a little physically sore (I am still on medical leave), and I wonder why I’m putting myself through this, with him. I want to say that I think I’ll leave him alone for a little bit, but I know I’m not going to. I’d say it’s unlike me, but it’s actually just unlike the me he knows. I realize that I’m still trying to maintain a consistent, yet false, personality for him. I’ve pegged him as my outlet for impulsivity. It’s aspirational of course, and I can see that I clearly did not intend to have this much time to devote to impulsivity. I’m dropping a lot of balls here.
Should I send nudes? Yes/no
Should I open up another site to deal with this current bizarre narrative that’s been my life since I first took leave in November? Yes/no
I’m considering it. On the one hand, I really do not have time to devote to even more self indulgence, especially considering how much time I spend on the phone with current boyfriend, and on this other boy’s dick. I have real projects that I’ve been putting off for no fucking reason, ranging from changing the kitchen lightbulb to revamping my workflow and focus.
I’m at the point in my coffee where I’m getting antsy, but there is clearly more to say here. I just skipped around and went back for the first time. I just changed randomized playlists for the first time. I just realized that I can use hyphens in song titles. My ex liked (ironically, redacted identifiable info) the song Simple Life by No Doubt. Because he’s a complete asshole who views women this way. What the fuck did ever think he was doing with me. How the fuck did Spotify ever think I would enjoy this song.
On the other hand, I can feel the mood of this page changing, and I don’t like it. This space is supposed to be about me, not the array of people that float in and out of my life. They are arranged interestingly, but that’s what I do. Place people in patterns and revel in the chaotic beauty. It’s cruel, but I swear it’s harmless. Humans are meant to handle so much more hardship than a broken heart or some hurt pride. It honestly hurts *me* that this is truly so inconsequential.
I was honest with him when I told him that I was not meant for the civilized world. I was meant to stay in the woods. I want to be a ghost in the trees.
I dislike the fact that my writing has developed an identifiable “him”. That’s exactly what I did not want here. I want to say that I miss my ex (who hasn’t gotten back to me since…) and that is exactly what I did not want here. However, the people in my life are undeniably interesting to me, and I feel like I need a side project to bridge the gap between what I’m trying to do and what actually is happening. I feel like perhaps it might alleviate a little bit of the expectation of an audience on this site, so that I can truly get into myself here again like I meant to do.
Maybe I was meant to just be a creative writer.
How fucking lame.