In Which I Have Exceeding Skill At A Game I Don't want To Play

I told Matt about the dream, save one detail. There was some metaphorical hand holding, some text message "there there"s, some mental hair stroking. Its all better now.

I got drunk last night in the hopes I could get drunk and write a masterpiece. The only thing I achieved was a mild hangover and an upset stomach. And a craving for something greasy and fattening with mayo on it.

Month one on the pill wasn't so bad. My tits grew to be the size of dwarf planets and peace of mind is something that is worth the non insurance price. My smoking has gone down considerably, and I don't feel guilty for the first time in months.

And I want a fried chicken sandwich with pickles and mayo. I also want subway but I need to curb my enthusiastic spending if I want to go to Chicago.

I'm excited about this trip because I'll get an extra day with my love and hopefully I can throw together an impromptu pseudo reunion with my AI boys. I'd love to see Mike again, and from the way things sounded on Facebook, maybe Tom too. And whoever else they can rustle up. And of course Devon, I haven't seen him in a really long time. Not quite as long of a time as Mike and Tom, but at least three or four months. I miss those kids.

Maybe I can get some writing done today?

In Which Somtimes My Insecurity Gets The Best of Me

And by sometimes, I mean a lot, or at least lately.

Can you smell what the crazy is cooking?

I have five days to turn out 1,200 words of not suck. I haven't counted the words on my handwritten page and a half in which I Kevin Smith all over the place. (Which is to say I talk a lot without very much in the way of action or conflict happening.)And this is just deadline one.

And Kate Nash refuses to help. Cheeky bird.

Last night I had this dream where Matt left me for one of his really good friends (a girl, of course its a girl, girls always make me nervous. And of course its a specific gorgeous friend that I have met before and am probably friends with on facebook). I can't think about it without wanting to cry. This was at 3 a.m. and maybe Matchbox Twenty was right when they assumed "I must be lonely". I texted Matt as soon as I woke up from the dream. This was at three (2:51, if we want to get all kinds of technical). All I said was "You'd tell me if something was wrong with us, right?" I proceeded to stay awake for another half hour or so before pretending to sleep again. He never responded. I know its probably nothing, he had said earlier that he only got thirty minutes of sleep the night before, but the fact that he still hasn't responded makes me nervous. "Bruised" by Jack's Mannequin is on my shuffle now and I am trying not to cry in front of this Vietnamese man who is working on his homework.

But my suspicions have been creeping around the room, under the wallpaper for months now, and its only in the last few weeks that we got an upgrade to full blown crazy girlfriend status. Part of me doesn't want to ignore my instincts, but part of me thinks that its just the birth control talking.

Dear Dashboard Confessional, cut that shit out please.

Dear B-52's, keep that shit going please.

please don't tell anyone that I'm crazy.

In which sometimes I am a horrible person

I've been meaning to write. Letters. Stories. Lovelorn odes to the world beyond my routine.

There has been a fire lit under my ass and now I am hustling to come up with stories, resumes, letters, budgets, pitches, and proposals. Ever looming deadlines make me nervous and my mood swings are worse than a swingset at recess. I blame the drugs.

One application asks for my "favorite personal story". I have so many and so few all at once. I can string fragments into bigger stories (very much like my love life), but there is no one defining story per se. Perhaps mashups have been my downfall. The truth seems to have escaped me for the umpteenth time. I am just stuck when it comes to sticking to just one thing (if one thing really means one...).

Another Application asks for 1200 words maximum of something untrue.

And yet another asks for up to 40 pages of something equally untrue.

There are so many missions. I will not abort any of them.

My mom told me that Matt "better put a ring on it". Oh dear lord.

Forgive me Moses, Jesus, Allah.

Payday. (yay!)
Forgot purse at home (boo!)
I don't have to go home (yay/boo!)

And sometimes the tears just have to come.

Things don't even phase me.

Its snowing.

Valentine's day was fantastic even though my love-induced euphoria is proving to be short-lived.

I have learned that patience is not my strongest virtue. I can only say so many times that the paper in your hand has nothing to do with what homework you're doing and that if you just follow the fucking directions, you will be fucking fine. FUCKING FINE.

But let's focus on the euphoria, shall we?

Friday night I went down to Chicago because its valentine's weekend and that's what young lovers do. Pizza was ordered, gifts were exchanged. Matt got a set of swirly sippy cups. I got two DVDs: Ben Folds: Live at WASO and Golden Girls season one. Plus two packs of the legal clove cigarettes. I have the best boyfriend ever. Well, not ever, but top 10, easily. And then video games (Infamous, I think its called) and Jeopardy! and bed.

Saturday,we lounged in bed (like young lovers do), and then we went out to pick up our tickets for that night. We picked up the tickets, and then walked until we found this neat little cafe called Julius Meinl, where we stopped for lunch. The prices weren't terrible (but slightly pricey for my cheap ass), and the food was pretty tasty. I had this orange ginger infusion tea thing that was heavenly. And the drinks come with these little chocolates. Fabulous. After lunch we kept walking until we happened upon this candy shop. I forget the name of it, Candiality or something that reminds you of the word bestiality. We go in and get these decadent-looking chocolate truffles. So as we're continuing our walk and eating our truffles, we pass a liquor store. Like one of those classy ones that would never ever sell Boone's Farm. The liquor store was having a free wine tasting. So we walked in tasted some wine, looked around and left. And then we smoked one of my cloves. For something completely unplanned, it was pretty romantic. After walking around a bit more, we went and got dressed for the burlesque show. Yes, burlesque. It was so fabulous. I loved it. So tastefully bawdy. And it re-enforced a positive body image. Somebody five me.

So improv classes + burlesque classes + strip classes = me(perfect)

By hook or by crook, I am moving.

Sunday, we tried to watch Shortbus and Paper Heart back to back. One was more fail than the other. Shortbus was a porn in independent film clothes and Paper Heart was just weird and awkward in all the worst ways. I was not a fan of it and kept falling asleep. Went to catch my bus and every time I say goodbye, I can't help but hear the cinematic violins swell.

The bus home was entirely too long.

Today is fat tuesday and I have no idea what to give up for lent.

I'm on the pill and my knockers are giant.

Secretly listening to Radiohead. Shhhhh.