moscato

Whoo. Okay, so there isn't some gigantic pile of stuff I'm trying to balance on top of my skull, but I'm even busier than last year.

This year feels good, it feels better. Fall always feels like that to me; the only time I've ever made Dean's List was a fall quarter. I just charge into the whirling fray of falling yellow leaves.

I am in the classes I need to be in, I am caught between fulfilling light lab hours and the extra fifteen hours for working on this show (again; but I'm a props runner this time--yay? I don't know), my books cost sixty bones more than my monthly rent (excluding the addition of my portion of the electric bill), and I am hanging out with old friends and making new friends and it's all great, it really is...even though I have not been able to work all this week because of all the extra hours this department requires of me this quarter, and I have no other job. Thank GOD for financial aid refunds--exactly the kind of windfall I need at this point. I was really tempted to blow half of it on my dream camera so I can finally start getting into real photography, but I instead bought real swing shoes. Which are much cheaper. And much needed/wanted.

The romantic part of me (HA!) was, up until about an hour ago, being pulled in three different directions.

One is someone I've been slightly interested in, but have only met once, and might possibly get to meet again...in a different setting, obviously, hopefully. I'm not crossing my fingers and toes on this one--mostly because I can't cross my toes--but this person has all-around good vibes eminating from their person (even though, as I said, I've only met their person once). We'll see where that takes me. "Don't get your hopes up."

Another is someone I have almost literally just met. This person is in a class with me and seems to share some common interests. It's been a long while since I could walk side-by-side with somebody of the opposite sex--a person I'm attracted to, mind, even in the slightest--with whom I could have a good, normal, nerve-free conversation. "He seems nice."

And this last person...aw, hell. I've kept you in the stage right wings for long enough, why don't you cross over here and let a scene happen? "Tell us how you really feel."

It wasn't until I read something about you (and I know it was about you) that I realized what a mistake it was to even consider trying to gather flint and tinder and respark something with you. Couldn't have been better timing, because that mirroring exercise today was enough to convince me to try to rebuild our miniature version of Babel. (Not that we never understood each other completely, but that you still speak a different language than I do, no matter how many interests we share.) Your hand came so close to touching mine.

You don't know how hard it was to stare you in the eyes nearly the entire time; I was amazed I wasn't blushing, because I felt naked. I really did. I felt stripped and transparent and that you knew--you knew--just exactly what I was thinking, what I was thinking back to, what I was recalling. Because being that close to you, after nearly a year of keeping a comfortable distance, was agony, and not sweet agony, either. It felt raw. You held that serious, contemplative expression on your face nearly the entire time: inquiring, and at the same time, knowing. I used to think about that look on sad days. I used to close my eyes, open them again, and imagine that face before mine, albeit a little softer than this. That look was more gentle. This look was scary, indifferent, and fierce, all at once. Not three months ago, I would have given you a whole day to look at me that way. Now, I never want to stare you in the eyes again, unless I'm furious or making my point.

I feel like I'm crossing number two off of my list. The guy who I didn't think was in any way like the first. I know my actual ex won't end up in this category, but still...I feel like have a tendency to choose men who almost use me. Almost...but I still feel a little wasted away after each time.

I have many rights to be angry with you. But I don't know what to do about it. I tell myself that at least, you are a friend, but what kind of friend have you been?

Really? How I really feel?

You suck. Go fuck yourself. Come back when you mean it.

To the author of the source: I needed to read that, I really did. Thank you, and I hope you are well.

Thank goodness tomorrow is Saturday, because I really am tired. But I'm glad to be writing more again.

(Be! Expressive! B-E Expressive!)