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Door Number Two |
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i missed
you
There are at least four entries in the works for my vacation. But this is what's on my mind tonight. I can't help feeling that you're all going to be banging your heads against the wall once you read this. And I know this train of thought probably isn't what you're rooting for. Oh well.
More than one person at work said I look happier and more relaxed than I have in a long time. (“You look like you haven’t been at work for two weeks.”) Someone said I look like a changed person. Someone else said I look “sexier”… probably because of my new status as an international heartbreaker, but that’s another story. I’ve got a stack of magazines to catch up on… journals… TV shows. I have a million people to call and see. I have bills to pay and books to read and stuff to unpack. I have twenty rolls of photos to develop. And I’m still in the euphoric state that comes with coming home. (Or maybe it’s just the afterglow of being thoroughly and resoundingly fucked. Hey, there’s really no other way to put it… if you’re ever wondering what the payoff is for two weeks of absentia, I’m here to tell you that it’s like winning the lotto of sex.) I came home to a couple of cards, attached to an “I love you” balloon and a six pack of my beloved Fiji water. One of these cards just about made my cardiac muscle implode. If/When we get through this grad school thing, it said, I’m going to ask you to marry me. Thump. I actually spent some time (mostly on the plane coming home) thinking about graduate school. More specifically, thinking about graduate school in Los Angeles. Getting my MFA from Antioch after all. It started, I’m not going to lie to you, because of Matt. I missed him so much over the past two weeks that it was like a gnawing in my chest. I cried when I read one of his e-mails (where he apologized for being a dick) and another one (where he admitted to whacking off twice a day while I wasn’t there) made me laugh like a loon. I started to think I shouldn’t be apart from him… that I didn’t want to be apart from him. My thoughts spiraled. San Francisco is the most expensive city in the country… how the hell am I going to afford to live there? I started beating myself up for these petty, practical thoughts… for my fear. I have conditioned myself to think that fear is my enemy. That I should just jump in with both feet and see where it lands me. That I shouldn’t let this man or this city be my tether. On the other hand, I can’t help thinking, I’m happy. Subtract the job, add in graduate school, and I could be wildly happy. What am I trying to prove… and to who? I realized then that a whole lot of my excitement about grad school is excitement about finally getting the fuck out of this job. Which I will do in August come hell or high water. Which would actually be easier to do if I didn’t also have to worry about spending thousands of dollars on moving. So where does that leave me? Thinking. Still thinking. Not closing the door on San Francisco, though. Just opening another door a crack. |
What
I'm Reading:
On vacation, I read Exquisite Corpse, some of Wicked, parts of Blind Man's Bluff, and the Bernini Bust.  placid pinkJournal Quote of the Day: This feature (and my journal subscriptions) will be back soon.Random Tidbit: I'll make it through the day with some help from Johnny Walker red.Work Days Left: 54Days Left Including Weekends: 78 |
