Do I have readers

WordPress dice que si. Pero no lo creo.

I think I’m over him. But then I re-read texts he’d sent me before. And I want to be with him. But I’m moving on; I went out last night! And met about 30 people. It was very fun, and I only felt awkward for about five minutes. It’s easy not to feel awkward here, though, as most guys in D.C. can only talk about their jobs/political views, and I still think I’m slightly more advanced. Ok, I’m not really, but I do feel much more confident than lots of them do, probably because they’re all stumpy.

Ok. He wants to watch a show. I said I would. But I think I might cancel if he ever tries to follow through on it. Oh yeah–I saw him last night, randomly, coming out of a store; he was with his friend. I got a fleeting glance at him and my heart stopped. Oh great, I thought.

We walked together for four very uncomfortable blocks. He looked suspicious of where I was headed, and when I said I’d accidentally passed the locale, and I said goodbye to them, he gave a weak, pained smile—just 5 hours after we’d been emailing happily. I turned to look back and he was staring at me very oddly. He was smoking.

this post is wednesday. the other one was tuesday. woot.

He called me last night when I was on the bus, coming back from a not-so-happy happy hour. I’d left class early (she was just reading out of the book) and he rambled on for over a half an hour about who knows what: his impending flight for work, what he was going to eat the next day. It was all chatty Cathy; at one point, he asked if I could talk. I said I was on the bus, and he said: “Not that kind of talk.”

It’s so easy to be flighty, detached from feeling–to talk about the situation with your landlord instead of having broken your (former?) lover’s heart. The one mention of it came when he was recounting, natch, a gastronomical tale; he was eating lunch with a friend at a sub shop and he told her what I’d said:
“Do you think this is going to work out?” He said his friend laughed at that.
“What, is he a girl?” she said, because I’d followed that up with “Why?”

Girly? Perhaps. But it was I; I wasn’t trying to make a Hollywood moment there. But he laughed at it, with his friend, and even with me on the phone; like all our moments, all the times when he’d hurt me, say, or when I exposed myself to him, he mocked it.

I go back and forth. I think about lying next to him and never want to leave; I think about him hitting me and never want to see him again. I want to fix him; I want him to fix himself. Mostly I just want someone who is beautiful and loves me all the time. I don’t know if he is that guy.

this blog will not die

Unlike my soul.

SO EMO, rite? RITE?

Roommate (who is actually ex-roommate, but will remain Roommate in mon memoire) came over to the place tonight to “talk.” Said “talk” was my idea, but as
I arrived drunk from a night at the bar, there was less talking I’d (quixotic-ally?)
hoped for. For which I’d hoped.

But it came out: “Do you really think this is going to work?”

I was lying next to him in my new bed–the bed in which we’d never sleep together. He was quiet for a moment.

“Well, apparently you don’t. I thought it would. I thought.” He was quiet. He said he had to go.

“WHAT? You don’t even want an explanation?” I was angry. If you like someone so much, do you let them walk out of your life? Or do you–like some Hollywood B movie–demand that they try to win you back?

He didn’t try. But he sent me an email, I sent him one, and it’s just alllll so very confusing now.

More will come.