What a depressing blog. I guess I'm depressed.

I wish there was something wonderful and amazing and positive to report. But there isn't. There won't be for a long long time.

think about your troubles

I cry every day, which I guess is helping release the pressure from years and years of emotional constipation. What it isn't helping is that I'm not used to that, plus, I'm pretty sure it isn't normal healthy behavior in the least. It's supposed to get better, right? I don't know if I want it to, because then I think once I'm done, there'll be nothing left.



I'm thinking of going to London for Spring Break, since I don't have anything going on here. Maya's out there and I miss her a lot. (Ah, here I go again. See, missing her wouldn't have been enough to make me cry before, but there you have it). Is it too spontaneous to think of going to Europe in pretty much a month? I don't know how sensible that would be either. Plus, I'd be sad that I wasn't going with Johnny. Not that he would have been able to go.

I feel like doing something rash.

ugh

What does it mean if I can't breathe? Literally. All day, I feel like I can't breathe. Like Jordin Sparks or something. Like I forgot how to, and when I concentrate on trying to breathe, nothing can get in. My lungs are constricted. I don't know what's going on.

Also, today was a miserable day. To add to a miserable week. Every day more miserable than then last.

I could use a shower.

It may have been a mistake to watch this movie again.

It's too hard.

"I know we could both go on with our lives and we'd both be fine, but I've seen what we could be like together. And I choose us."

"Don't screw up the best thing in your life just because you're a little unsure about who you are. "

postcards from italy.

The times we had
Oh, when the wind would blow with rain and snow
Were not all bad
We put our feet just where they had, had to go
Never to go

The shattered soul
Following close but nearly twice as slow
In my good times
There were always golden rocks to throw
at those who admit defeat too late
Those were our times, those were our times

And I will love to see that day
That day is mine
When she will marry me outside with the willow trees
And play the songs we made
They made me so
And I would love to see that day
Her day was mine


It's hard to stop connecting music and books and tv shows or the side of the bed or bananas or adding 's' to words that shouldn't have it or any other significant and insignificant thing in my life to someone I spent (almost) a year with. Not just part of that time; the whole time, there was contact of some kind, every day. Every day. And it's so hard not to have that anymore. For me.

I can't seem to grasp how it could so easy for him; even if it was his decision. It may seem the smallest bit selfish, but I'd like to know that it's not easy for him, too. Not that I want him to suffer, but I'd like to know that maybe there was some semblance of caring? I don't know.

One second I'll feel like maybe I can do this, not by choice, but because I have to, and then out of nowhere, I'm driving down the 210 and I break down. Or I'm ringing someone up and asking them their zip code and my eyes run over. Or writing a blog that's not about him that turns into one.

There were plans. Talk of plans. I thought that meant something.

i likes

Watch "An Education" if you like things that are good. :)

Love is a mysterious fig.

I've never let anyone in. Ever. I started to with Johnny, but in comparison to a normal person, my little bit of opening up seems/seemed like nothing I guess. So it didn't make a difference, except for the fact that I don't think I'm going to be doing it again anytime soon, if ever. Maybe I'm supposed to be alone. Some sort of lame loner writer spinster.

I guess I should have known that karma would catch up with me for all the bullshit I've doled out in "relationships" past. I never cared; I wasn't invested at all, and they always were. Serves me right that the one time I am I get kicked in the face by love. I know it's a long time coming but I'm sorry to all those "theys" I was a jerk to, by the way.

I went to yoga today because I missed last week--I've missed so much class. My yoga instructor told us all about negative thoughts and how it affects our health and that we need to employ "learned optimism". I used to be the most optimistic person. Used to be. It's hard to be though, I've learned.

Sad thing is that I know all this, and still I love him, and I'm going to keep on hoping that he'll want me back. How's that for optimism? In other words, I'm an idiot.