Love?

I shall continue to replay the events of the night for several hours.

Be grateful.

A co-worker of mine's father just died today. How you ask? Skiing accident.

Then it left me to wonder; how much of life do I let slip by without REALLY enjoying it?

As Stephen mentioned in a past modesty entry; safety couches will be the end of us.

At one point I did have an actual safety couch. I could lie down with the lies and forget that I was really happy. The person sharing it with me, only once drunk claiming emotion and love--didn't really care. But I'd tell myself the more I pushed my limits, the more he'd want me.

I told the story to The Poet the other day and he managed to phrase those two years of my life in a single sentence "You kept getting your heart broken over and over."

I don't know how my mind set when from someone passing to the safety couch, but it seemed relavent.

Wonder where my couch went? The school brough in a dumpster to clean out the old theater and The Poet and I loaded the couch into the dumpster. And that was the end of my safety couch.

Get off your safety couch bloggers!

P.S. Aunt Flow just came to town. I've never been happier to see her.

Period.

Congrats Darling You! You're 21 days late on your period! Woooooo!

So you're either....

a) Pregnant (unlikely)
b) menopausal (also unlikely)
c) freakishly late (how is that possibly at my age?)

I'm bloated and crampy and I want to die. fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

Whatever this is. This is bad.

French Toast Zen.

Today I worked one of the hardest shifts I ever had.
So I made myself french toast and a double espresso with cream.
Oh. Dear. God.
That was amazing.

Cinderella

So tonight is the semi formal at my high school and what did I do tonight? I worked. Oh, and I cheated...on my diet, not The Poet.

So instead of feeling pretty in a black and white gown, I sit here in his hoodie. I should be satisfied, but I had been dreaming to go for months and I just stand completely disappointed. He wanted to take me but couldn't, I wouldn't go without him because that would make him feel awful-- so I worked.

And I ate chinese food and ice cream. I haven't cheated since February. Shameful and disgusting. Bad, Cinderella, bad. No one is going to find your shoe.

Scrub away.

So today I felt hazy. Just horribly hazy.

Between funerals, and a stupid fight with my poet (that simmered down today to back to normal) I wasn't feeling so wonderful. I am 17 days late on my period and I'm bloated like a balloon. I hate this. The cramps started today so fingers crossed Aunt Flow will pass a visit soon.

I got home and actually fell asleep while watching Sex and the City. That never happens. So I decided to admit defeat and go to bed at a pathetic 5pm. Then I got a fb msg from the poet "Try taking a bath before you go to bed."

So I did. And I exfoliated my entire body. By that point, I felt better.

Then to make things even MORE wonderful, I went on my old fitday (a wonderful free site for tracking calories and activities) and decided to measure myself with a measuring tape for the first time since August.

I lost one inch on my arms, THREE inches on my waist AND hips and twi and a half inches on my leg.

I know.

I know I won't live forever.
So I'll make sure that I live today.

I'll write another letter to myself.

Last night I started writing a post that tried to explain how grateful I am for all the love in my life. That lately I haven't been fighting my flaws the way I usually do. That's the thing with me; I have to be perfect. Perfect room. Perfect body. Perfect life essentially. And I'm never able to achieve it.

I wanted to write a wonderfully long entry about how Glamour is the best un-biological sister I could ask for, and that no one has impacted my life she way she has. I wanted to write a long entry about how the Poet makes me want to be a better person, and that when he holds me I feel like my chest is about to explode from happiness. I wanted to write a long entry explaining how wonderful it is that my father is trying to have a relationship with me, that even though months of us not speaking he wants a small part of my life.

I should be happy. I was so happy. Then the flaws took it all away. Call me selfish, call me crazy. I just feel like I don't deserve any of this. It's just too good for me. They all deserve better.

So as goes the update

So we have a problem.

I look like a clown. A big ugly orange haired clown that has eyebrows that are too dark. I went to the hair dresser to get my hair stripped today and I spent FOUR HOURS tilted back into a rock hard sink--- to have my black hair (that was SUPPOSED to become blondish brown) turn I'm a ginger that fail led at being a ginger orange.

This is bad. So bad. The Poet is currently getting his hair cut. Let's hope things work out better for him. I'm bribing him with marshmallows to cut it short--- that 'fro is wayy too long.

So yes. I'm ugly. Just thought to throw that out there.

In other less vain notes, I received a note today from someone who I thought hated me. A friend of mine, Glamour. I thought she hated me, but she thought I was angry at her. It's screwed up, but I'm happy in a little fucked up sense because I don't think things are permanently broken. Which is a nice little piece of relief.

Sex and the City brought this up so I care to share.

A woman can have everything; a job, an apartment, a man; but it's all worth nothing without your friends.

Dear---

I have lots of things to say to many different people....

Dear job, thank you for being a nice place to hide.

Dear Poet, you are more than I deserve. My optimsm originates from you, so thank you for putting the smile on my face. Also. Call me. Right now. You can't read this but I'm sending you brain waves to call me. Caaaaaaallll meeeeeeee.

Dear you know who, what's happening between us? This scares me. I don't want us to be the song. Please...

Dear self, stay strong.

Dear readers, are you sick of the blogs yet?

Skinny jeans

It's not a physical state, but more of a mentality. Every woman has a pair of skinny jeans, and I don't mean a pair of jeans that hug your ankles. No. I mean a pair of SKINNY jeans, that one pair in the back of your closet that you bought 3 sizes too small because it was on sale. Every woman keeps them in the vain hope that someday they shall fit her again.

Today ladies was that day. I'm down 12 lbs and my none of my pants fit me. I was stomping around my room trying to figure out what to wear and them I remember them. My skinny jeans. I yanked them out of my closet....they fit perfectly- even a little lose. That was a fucking HUGE thrill.

So yes. I now fit in my skinny jeans. Fuck yeah! 18 more lbs to go and I am done. Starting size; 8/10 Current size; 6 Goal size; 2

In other fabulous note worthy things to mention; the poet and I hit out 5 month aniversary today. Well it's not the exact, exact 5 month aniversary but we decided to ignore our month long split.

18 more lbs to go. Let's do this.

I must be a woman.

I'm a little ticked at myself right now. In the past couple months I managed to lost 10 pounds and now I'm about 18 lbs away from my goal weight.

It's partially for reasons of hating my body, and partially because I'm about to do the walk to end Breast Cancer which is 60km in two days. It's more of a run than a walk... ANYWAYS.

Today I was so good. I woke up early, went to the gym, ate healthy all day, went for a run, lifted some weights--- and now I threw it all away by eating a bagel and some whoppers. My chocolate cravings are retarded- I must be a woman.

Arg. I was so close to losing another lbs. Sometimes I want to hit myself. Bah!

Hoodie.

Will someone please remind me why I was worried? Because honestly, I don't even have a clue.

Today I brought the Poet to the big city to see some museum exhibitions at the Contemporary Museum of Fine Arts. Two bus rides, a train and a long walk later we found ourselves downtown. (fucking suburbs.) And we found ourselves slightly distracted by the sights.

We got downtown at about 3pm-ish and we browsed used bookstores, university campuses that we dreamed of going to, and the Apple store. We thought we wouldn't find the museum and by fluke around 7:30pm-ish we found it. We browsed holding hands.

All in all, today was wonderful. He walked me to my door and kissed me goodnight. He gave me his hoodie for the night to keep me warm.

It's funny how one person can completely alter one's mood.

I swear next post will be about something different.

'Goodnight darling.' 'Goodnight angel.'

So I do believe I scared him as if I haven't already scared him witless in these past 4 months.

Last night we were talking on the phone, lazy late night conversations have become the norm for us. When we don't have things to do in the morning we'll stay up till 2 am just chatting about everything and nothing.

It was around 1:30 in the morning and I was feeling particularly tired and really down on accounts of fearing the loss of a good friend of mine and I spilled something that I'm worried freaked him out.

I told him that I was scared that I'm starting to depend on him too much. And he was quiet for a very long time then made me explain. Which was cringe worthy. We changed the subject and talked for another 45 minutes before admitting exhaustion.

I had trouble sleeping. It isn't that big of a deal, I'm aware of it. But really, if he were to go away I would be really alone. It's not a fact of needing to be with something, it's the fact that he's the only one who has been willing to stay.

So I sit here, wrapped in his ugly hoodie that I adore, pondering the meaning of words. I either say too much or nothing at all.

Giving Up -Ingrid Michaelson

Look that song up, really, it's that good.