February 3, 2002
Fucking Perfect
The night is young and I have already been crying and to bed and back up again after an hour long hysterical conversation with Mallory.
Sometimes she is just great.
We talked about various tatooes that her friend Bud has to get when they become Columbian drug lords. There were several combinations of a woman straddling a cobra in a camaro while smoking a cigar. The cobra, generally, as opposed to the woman.
So I am going to stop moping and worrying. I will grant ownership of my sudden doubt and depression to a bad two weeks, considering I am both jobless and unenrolled and doing nothing but writing and sitting around my house. Not really the best frame of mind to be making big decisions like breaking up with my boyfriend for reasons I have more than likely created in my head.
I'm pretty sure that it is just this terrible groove I have gotten into. But if it's not, I have also somewhat counseled myself to the ability to be able to make that decision. And it would less be 'I think we should break up and I never want to talk to you again' and more 'You aren't committed to me anymore, I still want to talk to you all the time.' Because I don't want to reach a point where he satisfies my low expectations. I'd rather not have any. Because he is one of my best friends (if not the best in a totally different way from Kelsi) and I don't think I could go without talking to him at least once a week. We're close, and deciding that we can't be together anymore as boyfriend and girlfriend wouldn't be severing that bond. We've talked about it and we both feel the same way.
But at the same time that is the last thing I want to do. I mean, I still love him and ache for him and need him here, and still dream about us and what we could be. I guess it is just that now I realize that maybe some of these things might remain dreams due to circumstances totally out of our hands. But we still love eachother. And we're not going to give up because Fate has decided to fuck with us.
Do I sound rational? I'm so fucking trying.
Speaking of fucking, in the five seconds or so that I watched of the super bowl, merely because I was strolling through the living room, I saw the best commercial. It totally and absolutely defined the difference between a man and a woman.
So there is this girl, and she is wandering up and down the greeting card aisle at the grocery store, reading various ones and then putting them back, deliberating over which she should choose. It is obviously a Valentine's day decision. And finally, after about the twentieth card, she smiles and sighs and puts the perfect one in her basket.
Then they flash to a scene of a man. He is buying a six pack of beer. And on the counter at the convenience store is a card rack, half empty. He grabs one, and without reading it, and throws it on top of the six pack.
They're boyfriend and girlfriend.
Fucking perfect.
astera at 10:39 p.m.