My brain, feels split. I thought I was at a crossroads before, but now, I feel ever more so.

Seeing the crossroads is not the same as standing in them. I thought, I thought, but I was wrong, and I don't know what's right.

~

I am hiding under blankets. Nesting.

I just finished a strange book. About a woman, lost in her own life, numb and apathetic, focussing on everything that wasn't the issue at hand.

I related too well. The neighbour with the three small children. The evasive ex-lover.

One of the characters, a bumbling professor type, starting lecuring excitedly about the perception of ghosts to medieval people, and I admit, I got turned on.

By a book. By a CHARACTER in a book.

It's stupid, I know.

~

I was talking to Kelly. It's been ages and ages since I've been laid.

I'm exaggerating. It hasn't been all that long. Not a year yet.

A year is a long time not to get laid, I think.

But it hasn't been a year yet. Six months, maybe.

Still. Feels like forever.

Talking to Kelly. Mentioning how long it's been. Wishing I could find a fella to mesh with me.

"Well," she types. "What are you looking for?"

What am I looking for?

Good question.

Who fucking knows anymore.

Caitlin says I am too picky.

I don't know, though.

My list is this:

Someone who is close to me in intelligence. Not too far above and not too far below.

Someone I respect.

Somebody I am physically attracted to. In fact, I like average types. Nothing too attractice. Someone whose brain makes them hot.

Patient. Because I know I can be a trying sort of personality.

Somebody who enjoys life without apology or excuse.

And finally, somebody who feels the same way about me and isn't afraid to express it.

~

I talked to T last week.

There was a thing. He was there. I drank half a bottle of wine over the evening, and somewhere in there, decided I needed to talk to T.

I don't know why.

I miss that fucker.

I talked to him. Made him laugh. He never opens his mouth when he laughs.

Asked him how he was.

He was fine. Okay. He was...okay.

He is settling back into his old existance, before I barged into his life, all rainbows and rediculous humour and crazy adventure, and turned everything upsidedown.

All frantic groping in hotel elevators. Rumpled hair and flushed cheeks. Ruined showers and heavy breathing.

Sneaky hair pulls. Sleepy mornings.

Holding hands under the table.

He is hunkering down in the groove of his life like a badger in a hole.

And he looks miserable. But stubbornly so.

It makes me sad.

~

"Are you okay?" she asked. "I saw you talking to him. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I assure her, and ignore the fact I'd just been crying in the bathroom.

"Alright," she says, and opens her arms for a hug. Her shoulder is my undoing and when she pulls back, she sees my face, crumpled like a discarded tissue.

"Fucking liar!" she says, but the tone is affectionate, as she drags me by the hand to some forgotten corner and listens to me blubber.

I don't remember what she said, really. I just remember she told me I didn't have to talk to him. I didn't HAVE to forgive him. My life no longer has anything to do with his.

I hate how fond my heart gets, how attached. It's like severing my foot, every time.

~

Watching a movie with a friend.

He's laughing. And laughing. And laughing.

And pointing out the clever bits.

And singing along with the songs.

I want to scream at him: "SHUT THE FUCK UP! LET ME WATCH THE DAMNED MOVIE!" but he gets defensive when ever I tell him to please be quieter.

Doesn't he know he's stomping all over my enjoyment?

All I will remember of the movie is his forever commenting.

If he thinks it's such a fucking brilliant movie, he should trust it to stand on it's own without his interjections.

Ugh.

Frustrated.

.

Rosie.

Before&After