Hey guys! Sorry I haven't updated Inevitable Feelings, I've just been muse-less. I wanted to give you something, though, so here's this sad thing. I hope you like it! As always, I love reviews, I love hearing what you have to say and it really does make a difference when I get one. So uh...yeah...!
A man on the bus once told me that there was no greater source of happiness than adopting animals. "Why?" I asked him. "Because." Was his explanation.
Everything always smells like coffee. Sometimes I wonder if I drink too much of it, but then I remember that I only get six hours of sleep a night and work in a coffee shop.
The bus man always looks happy, maybe his theory was correct.
I met someone with hair like fire. His hands were cold, though. He smiled and I wondered if it would be possible to adopt him.
Life goals:
-Get rich
-Get married
-Do something amazing
-Do something ordinary
-Stop making lists of everything
(So far I've only managed the fourth.)
There have been many studies on why people are addicted to coffee. I think a better way to go about it would be for the scientists to try living the way addicted people do.
I sometimes think I should get a car, but then I remember I have no money. Most of it goes to ice cream. The blue kind, of course.
I've been seeing the fire headed man a lot lately. His eyes look like grass in the summer, although there isn't much grass here regardless.
Once upon a time…
An average looking barista met this tall fire man.
His phone number, when added up, is 42. I think that's supposed to mean something.
I think it's supposed to mean everything.
Day 1:
Sweaty palms
Nervous laughter
More self-loathing than usual
No animals to vent at
It rains a lot, now. It's warm in here, so people come in a lot. He comes in to see me every day. "Why?" I ask him one night. He pulls me close to his chest, "Because." For once, that's good enough.
Month 3:
I finally managed to not laugh nervously
Okay, that's a lie, as soon as our shirts were off, I started to giggle
This time, he laughed with me to make me comfortable
Cats are known for their indifference. Perhaps that's why depressed people get them, as a representation of themselves. I never got a cat though. I don't need a cat, now.
I tend to sing when I'm nervous, too.
Mmm whatcha say old MacDonald had shots shots shots makes ya wanna put your dick in a box and tell me baby you're a firework come on do you like you one thing to say…
Three words for you…
I love you.
My professor says when you finally overcome your nerves, you get a rush of chemicals that make you feel good.
My psychiatrist told me I was depressed because I never admitted anything to myself, and that coming clean would make things easier.
Seven cups of coffee. Seventeen fucking cups of coffee.
Update:
He is like coffee.
Can you get addicted to love? My professor thinks so.
I have bottles of sleeping pills with dust on them. They've never had a chance to collect dust before before. I've never been able to sleep before.
Chickens don't need a reason to cross the road. Chickens don't need a reason to do anything. Chickens have free spirits.
That song came on the radio. The song that was playing when we met. I looked at him and he was smiling, so I confessed to him for the second time.
I fainted at some point between saying yes and seeing the ring.
A woman with her kids came in today. They were all screaming. She looked tired. I looked the same way once. I gave her the coffee for free.
Things I like:
-Ice cream
-Coffee
-My fiancé
(not necessarily in that order)
A story by three year old me:
wons up on a tim a prinses was sad a prins mad her hapee they get mareed ad eet ise creem on ther hannymoon
He still comes in every day. He doesn't even like coffee, but he tells me I'm better than a stupid drink. I smile and remind him that the stupid drink is why we met.
I've always loved his bed. It smells like cinnamon and him. It's better than any of my sleeping pills.
It finally feels normal to tell him I love him. No more nervous giggling. My palms are still sweaty but that's because I'm holding a hot pot handle.
The bus man never rides the bus I'm on now. I still think of his philosophy.
We had our first fight. He took a scoop of frosting off of his birthday cake before it was done and I yelled at him. He yelled back. Stress. We ended up face to face and he grinned and kissed me. He tastes like coffee now, I wonder when he started to drink it.
More on the study of coffee:
People drink more if they're holding something back.
Chickens also don't give a shit about anything because they're too stupid to realize anything.
He's lost that flame he had before. His eyes are dull and sleepy like mine were.
I saw his text messages and we fought again. This time it was real. I screamed until my throat hurt but got no kiss. He stared blankly and left without a word. For the first time in years I cried.
I'm sure someone has compared the ocean to tears. Lewis Carrol. It was definitely Carrol.
He called me and apologized for everything. He sounded weak. I cried again and asked him to come home.
He doesn't hold me like he used to. He sleeps with his back to me. I just stare at the ceiling restlessly just like before. Just like before.
Grocery List:
Chocolate
Ice cream
Laundry soap
Cereal
Batteries
I got a message from him. "I'll tell him I got called to work, see you in a few." I turned to him and told him about it. He walked out again. I cried again.
The therapist tells me not to let us separate. Separation always leads to divorce, he says. I say nothing.
The girl is pretty. Shorter than me, with chopped black hair. She looks much more full of life than I ever was.
My mother makes me grilled cheese like when I was a child. I tell her about the girl. She sighs and tells me he isn't worth the energy.
If I were to read my life story, I would be angry at how many dramatic crying scenes there were.
I tell my mother I still love him. "Why?" She asks. "Because…"
What I learned (and how I learned it):
The square root of -4 is 2i (math class, senior year)
Chickens will run around with their heads cut off (at a farm when I was six)
The world is cruel (every day of my live, excluding those when he still loved me)
I never actually unpacked, so my boxes are everywhere. It's like I'm in a cave.
He calls me and says he loves me still. He wants to try again. I say I'll think about it.
His bed smells like perfume now, and it's too intense to sleep in.
There is no more nervous giggling once our shirts are off, just numbness on my end.
There's only one thing
To do
Three words…
Our song comes on the radio. I don't look at him. He asks if I'm okay. I lie and say yes.
He says he's got to stay late at work. I spend the night crying again. He might not even be lying.
I want grilled cheese.
Ignorance is bliss, what an accurate saying.
He grabs my hands, trying to calm me down, but I scream curses about him and her and their unborn child. I force him out of his own apartment.
The bus man once told me there is no greater sorrow than losing the one you love. He was wrong.
There's no bread, so that means no grilled cheese.
His cabinet still has my sleeping pills in it. I take them.
In class we read a book about lost love. The professor asked us what we thought it meant. Back then, I thought it meant something, now I realize it meant everything.
42. The number 42. That's a joke, I think. Or a reference to that book I never got around to reading.
I take all of them. All five bottles.
He comes back and drops the bag he was holding. I can smell grilled cheese.
When I was a teenager I had depression. I always ate grilled cheese when I felt really sad.
It gets better, they say. Yeah, but sometimes it doesn't, I want to yell back.
For the first time in forever he holds me close. He smells like cinnamon and coffee and perfume. My husband, but not my husband.
Life goals I completed:
-Get married
-Do something amazing
-Do something ordinary
-Stop making lists of everything
I never did manage to get rich, though.
He's sobbing so hard as he talks to the emergency operator. I know it's going to be too late. Maybe now he realizes the hurt I feel.
I had a best friend who took away my razor blades.
The same best friend used them.
He presses his forehead to mine, shaking, "Why?" He chokes out. I smile numbly and reach up to touch his face, "Because…"