I shouldn’t be writing today. I should be in NY with my boyfriend. Alternately, I should be waking up next to the boy, trying to see if he’s awake enough to fuck me.
I managed to screw up all of that, I’m defensively using I, and I don’t care.
I’m depressed, and I have to snap out of it.
Depression makes you an asshole.
My ex was an asshole all the time, it was awful.
I don’t love this boy, I’m only pretending, to myself, that I do. There’s a lot to like about him, but I don’t love him. Or, am I trying to convince myself that I don’t love him, so that I… I left that sentence trailing, I have a headache.
Last night, rather than stay in bed with him, I took off and came home, to do things that I usually do late at night. I did regret that I wasn’t going to sleep next to him, his comfortable body, his comfortable mattress (omg, wtf is this weird used up dish sponge I’ve been sleeping on), waking up next to him, the way his body is so warm, his arm heavy enough to hold me down but he has no desire to actually pin me, like so many others.
His energy is amazing, I can’t describe it. And I’m not even going to try, because I have a headache.
My boyfriend seems ambivalent about getting me down to him. I can relate. But if I don’t go now… I won’t be able to go for a month or two, most likely.
If I’m going, I really should be packing. However, I haven’t. He called at noon, I rolled around in bed until 4.
There is absolutely no denying that he is much better in bed than the boy. And there is no denying that neither of them are really all that pleasant to spend time with, beyond sex. That’s why I came home, and that’s why, I am deciding, I will bring my big laptop down to NY, and not just the traveler. I’m sick of having to put in time into social activities, small talk, all that bs just to get some dick. It’s putting me so far off track when it comes to my goals and all that other stuff. My back is killing me, I haven’t fully stretched in days, thanks to the boy, or more accurately my weakness in the face of this boy.
That’s why I came home last night. I just figured, he was sleeping, again. I could lie back and admire him for a few hours and pretend that I hadn’t actually gotten up less than 8 hours before, maybe take the opportunity to be alone with my own thoughts enough to see what the hell was rolling around my brain for a while, get motivated to do… absolutely nothing, until 6am when I rolled over to see if he had any morning wood he wanted to put to use.
I realized that’s why my side dude doesn’t hang around all that much… just bored. I’m not taking it personal, I know exactly how it is. It’s not his house, he wakes up, looks around, I’m still sleeping, there’s no tv, so… bye.
So I got in my car, which was a *terrible* idea and probably the worst part of all of this. If I’m going to be leaving in the middle of the night, I must get used to tapering my drinks accordingly. I went home, dyed my hair, did some grooming, selfied the hell out of my favorite bathingsuit, scrolled some memes, masturbated and fell asleep.
I called my boyfriend, he was sleeping. I fucked through his earlier phone calls again. He called back during the day, and I haven’t answered.
Depression makes you an asshole.
I have a feeling he’s going to tell me to come down “tomorrow” again.
This is the tiniest coffee cup.