Today isn’t going as planned, but I did sleep for a long time, and had many dreams.
I was at MIT. Even though it looked like the other school in Cambridge, in the building where I took most of my classes. But bigger, with many floors.
I don’t know what I was doing there. I was apparently enrolled, but on that particular day I don’t know what my business was in that building.
I climbed the stairs, in the big staircase in the center. On each floor, there were lecture halls on either side, and I could see people sitting in them.
On either the second or 3rd floor, I looked in and saw my former father-in-law (my fingers fluttered considering whether or not to capitalize Father, and decided he doesn’t deserve it. Although I do hope he’s ok.) looking back out at me. He was wearing a green and blue plaid shirt, blue jeans, and Red Wing shoes, the customary costume of the area hick. My ex used to dress like that as well.
He looked happy to see me, as he always is. I know that he misses me, and wishes I had married his son. Both his parents feel this way. I feel sorry for them, but in truth they probably deserve having an asshole for a son as they are the people who raised them.
I got to the top floor, I think it was the 6th, although at the actual building that this dream borrowed so much of it’s classic heavy wood and brick from, there are only 4 floors.
At the top there was a campus store, much like the bigger one at the school I actually attended. I’m saying actually a lot – I must have taken too long between waking and getting in here.
Like all college stores (every one that I’ve ever been to), there were rooms of branded college memorabilia, a bookstore selling textbooks and works written by the faculty, a sandwich shop, convenience store, and for some reason a Dunkin Donuts in the back.
The place was huge.
I remember thinking that this must be wear the grad students were, as essentials like laundry detergent and minor groceries were being sold. At exorbitant prices! I always notice things like that. I remember asking myself who would pay those prices, and realizing that if I were tired after a long day at work, or afraid that I wouldn’t be able to navigate my way out of the campus maze in time to make it to a real store, I would.
At a desk in between the deli counter and the Dunkin Donuts, there was a broadcast from some radio station going on, and calls were being taken from outside.
One call wished a happy brithday to the broadcaster’s mother, and she corrected the caller saying that her brithday was yesterday, of course, thank you. The broadcaster’s mother was a popular DJ I used to sometimes find myself listening to a long time ago, when I used to listen to the radio.In actuality, he did go to the same school as I did, on the other side of Cambridge. He was never as proud of that as I felt he should be, I don’t understand the anti-elitism of some people.
Has it really been that long since I went to college? I have to go back, I was going to begin the process yesterday when my back went out and forced me to take pills and sleep all day.
Oh, and fuck my side dude.
It’s the boy’s brithday tomorrow (I keep mispelling birthday except this one time so I’m leaving it.) and I know he wanted to see me last night but I just couldn’t. He doesn’t always treat my body right, he’s somewhat selfish in bed and I just couldn’t put myself through that this time.
I think this new chair is what’s fucking up my back. I need either a new desk or a new chair. and I need to clean up my place to the point where I can take pictures and put things up for sale.
Too bad I ruin every day, somehow, some way.
I greet this day with hope, vigor, and strength. This day holds new opportunities that I look forward to exploring.My daily affirmation, which I really should say. I don’t know why I let all of my habits go around people. Maybe I’m just jealous that they seem to be holding it together with so much less effort… but when I look at the boy freaking out constantly for absolutely no reason, I realize that maybe they’re not holding it together so well after all.
It’s definitely this chair. I guess that explains why it’s been so hard to get me back to my desk to do work. Sucks, I love this chair.
I feel like we were still in the vicinity of the campus, but I don’t know where. The boy and I were in dorms, but for some reason there were hot tubs in the bathrooms, and so were went in.
There were male bathroom attendants, I’m not sure how this made sense but it did.
I had my period. I was going to say unfortunately, but it is what it is and why should I apologize?
It was like it used to before my surgery, gushing and uncontrollable. I stuffed myself with sponges as I used to, but there was no hiding it. For some reason, even here with no audience, I can’t bring myself to describe it. I did my best to clean it up, embarrassed knowing that men would have to deal with what I left behind.
Why. Why?Actually, there is a very nice hotel right outside the entrance of MIT, where I spent my brithday. I feel like I mispell birthday in lines where it’s very identifying, maybe some subconscious trick to hide the information from search engines. I’m not mad at that.
It’s definitely the arrangement of my office furniture. I can’t take this.
I think only once did I ever tell the boy that I had my period. He didn’t handle it well, and he wouldn’t fuck me. Since then, I’ve hid it every time. It’s possible now, since my surgery. What the fuck would he have done before?
However, I shouldn’t have to hide it. Why? My boyfriend and side dude both completely understand what comes along with dating women, the fact that they are women.
My ex used to not care, but then wouldn’t fuck me during my period… or at all really.
I’ve got a knot of feeling in me, and I’m not sure what it is. I know that I should be dealing with my feelings, and getting the boy to get over this because it’s absolutely ridiculous that he’s gotten this far in life without dealing with it. He’s dated a lot of people (I notice I didn’t even try to say women or even girls) but apparently not seriously. He only refers to them as “girls I was fucking” or something like that.
Something tells me, when we do break up (and I can feel it coming) this will count as a serious relationship for him. It’s only been a year, come November. For me, that’s nothing.
Even the 5, 6 years that I’ve been broken up with my ex, is nothing. This may be the longest time, but we’ve broken up for years at a time before.
I’ve been dating my current boyfriend, by his definition, not mine, for 5 years almost I think. For me, that’s nothing. That was just a rebound.
I met my ex when I was 6 years old.
I really can’t imagine how anything is going to feel as serious or as real as that. I really can’t see how I will ever get over that. I really don’t. How could it. Why should it?
I will be ruined for the rest of my life.
And I’m Okay with that.I wonder if there’s going to be another season of You.
My back is killing me. I was in a car accident with my ex, the same one that broke him to the point where he ruined our whole lives. I can see why I dreamed of My father in law, and know that that’s not true. My ex lied and said he was disabled, but I just grabbed my suitcase out the back of the wrecked car and went to work.
And here I am, ready to hide my pain for another man, once again, unable to breath without feeling nerves like razor wire squeezing my ribs every time I breathe, a hot fire of lava running down my neck every time I turn my head, and a huge spiky ball of sharp skeleton crystal shoved up under my shoulder blade.
We’ll have a good time. We have to, it’s his brithday.
I wish my ex happy birthday every year.