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mmmm been gone for a bit sorry I was busy questioning my self worth

#diary 15 #2017

i committed today to a school and i have a roommate and AGH everything is coming together so well for me right now. bad things are happening too in my life, but honestly im back to being consistently happy... and things are going great.

#diary 15 #:)

diary 15

16 August 2016

Some things I want:

I want you to call yourself “your girl” in relation to me. This sounds extremely misogynistic, but I have this desire because I remember when you went to your work event and came back home with two bottles of wine, the first thing you said to me was “hey guess what, there was free alch at the event. your girl just got us two bottles of wine.” and my first thought was oh. interesting terminology. wow, no one’s ever called themselves my girl in relation to me.

I want to be single but also want to be with you and only you forever. I know we’re (eye roll) fucking millennials trapped in the 21st century dating game, but I fucking hate pretending that I like other people when no one’s made me hate them more than you, I hate you so much for all your little quirks and annoyances, but I want to suffer from them until the day I die because they’re still you and I want to be with you. But I also want to spend a few years being single and fucking around. But I also don’t want to get emotionally attached. But god sex is great. But god love is greater.

I want to be able to treat your body again and again like a thirsty man drinks water -- and drown in it. I have literally memorized the contours of your cute little fucking smug patronizing smile, and I love the way your face sorta moves to the side entirely when you make a >:T face which you tend to do and it’s literally the cutest thing in the world. Aside from your cute, cute Midwestern accent that you get when you’re tipsy. Aside from the fact that you love to show off pictures of your younger sister when you’re drunk as fuck because that fact is also incredibly fucking cute, you Lt. Maes Hughes piece of adorable garbage.

I want to do to you what misogynists do to sex addicts -- like a poet using a dildo, in an overly inflated metaphor about objectification. I want to put you up on a pedestal made of shit because you are actually pretty horrible sometimes to some people, but so is everyone, and that’s okay because I want to be with you because that’s still you and I want to be with you, and also I have a penchant towards iconoclasm (in particular towards smashing away patriarchal pedestals). I want to fuck you until you smile one of your wide dimpled smiles and gasp you’re unreal and this is the best sex I’ve ever had and oh god I’m coming again.* I want to spank you until I leave a handprint on your fucking juicy ass holy shit. I want you to feel me get harder as you grip my cock with one of your patented famous handjob techniques. I want to feel you throb around my dick as we come together and you ask Can you feel me?. I want to smell your purple hair as we spoon. I want to feel your toes curl with mine. I want to wake up at 5 AM because my cock grew hard against your wet cunt and we rinse and repeat the above, again and again and again. And we fall asleep, again.

I want to marry you then get divorced because of irreconcilable differences and then rekindle our love over the divorce process and then fall in love again just as the divorce is finalized and I have to stay a hundred feet away from you and then we get married again for an hour until I have to leave (just like the time when I asked if you would be in a relationship with me for an hour before I left Chicago -- shortest relationship ever, we joked, after we complained about the tiresome parts of dating (especially long-distance dating)) and we would divorce and marry and divorce and marry and I want to do that until we both die together. I just want to be with you for that long.

I want to message you but I’m afraid that if I do, and I tell you everything, about how I feel and what I want, then you’re going to say no and leave forever. I know you want to be single for a while because you’ve been in relationships your whole life, I totally get that, that’s why I ended my previous relationship. I don’t want a long distance relationship either. But honestly, my god, I would love to throw all of that away if I could just be with you. Jesus, this timing sucks. Maybe I’m overhyping you because of the limited amount of time we spent together? Maybe if we had spent more time together then we would come to hate each other more and I wouldn’t be here moping into empty 1s and 0s? Maybe you’re in the same boat of fear that I’m in and don’t want to say anything out of shame or fear of looking like a dope for catching sentiments in this awful goddamn fucking prison of a game called 21st century online dating? Neither of us want a long distance relationship. You don’t want a relationship at all. You want to be single for a bit, and that’s fine, I had my time like that too. I don’t want to get in the way of you being single for once in your life. But also maybe I’m just saying all of this because I don’t want to get outright rejected. I don’t want to talk with you because (1) what’s the point, if you don’t want to be with me? I’d be so despondent. We could be friends, sure, I’d love that, but right now, I love you and if you don’t want this, that’s fine too, but then I wouldn’t want to talk with you anyway so I’ll just end up being despondent for a while until I’m healthy again to talk with you and be an actual fucking human being -- but I’m currently being despondent anyway! (2) And if I actually decide to talk to you, I’m afraid I’ll get my hopes up, and you’ll crush them anyway. And then I’m back in case (1). But for possibly a longer time? In either case, at least one of us is sitting alone in their room curled up in the fetal position and just hurting for a while. In both cases, I know that at most it’ll be me.

I want to know your thoughts. I want to know your opinions on politics. I want to know your arguments for your philosophical positions. I want to know your justifications for drone striking children in the Middle East. I want to know your first and last dreams and aspirations. I want to know your deepest, nagging fear locked away in the back of your mind. I want to know the secrets you keep from certain people, except maybe mine because I know you’d want me to respect that. I want to know why your favorite songs are those, why your favorite thing to cook is pizza (I actually know this one -- there’s a communal element to it and you love the act of feeding other people (not feeding itself necessarily); maybe it’s tied to your no-nonsense get-shit-done attitude of caring for your community), and why you think travel is inherently interesting (I also know this one because you told me it necessitates new people, new places, just new experiences, etc, and I wasn’t quite satisfied with that answer; you wrote to some fucking lit mags, gimme that quality star writing sweet Jesus). I want to know why you cried for two hours once in front of your boyfriend. I want to know why you worked once as an operator for the suicide hotline. I want to know if you want to know about my job history because I’m a pretentious narcissist. I want to know if you’re thinking of me as much as I’m thinking of you. I want to say we both know the feelings are there, but neither of us can be with each other. That sucks ass. It’s easier to pretend you don’t like me at all. And hell, maybe that’s the more probable reality. Maybe I’m just fooling myself again. I’m paralyzed. All we can do is sit and hurt.

I want you.

*A comment on this remarking that this statement is essentially bragging would in itself make the brag more obvious whereas without the comment would retain the subtlety of the brag; as I don’t want to brag, neither through explicit bravado or self-conscious, postmodern commentary, I’ll leave an asterisk mark and a pretentious footnote that’s hopefully so long-looking and intimidating that it immediately repulses the reader away from further reading (the fact that I’m making the joke about the footnote being so phallic is further indicative of the inescapable trappings of Ideology. God I truly hope you don’t find this diary somehow and then realize that this is about you and how fucking weird I am).

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