The Ninteen Year Old

After a while, I forget how nice it is to be liked, to be wanted.

This past week I met a version of my first ex-boyfriend, 6 years younger and improved. This one was cuter, shared more of my interests, was pursuing an education, and wanted to move to an interesting city. (This as opposed to the older version I had, who had few interests, pursued hardly anything, and wanted to move nowhere.) This one, like the older version, was but a puppy of a man, eager, sincere, excitable and distractable.

And he liked me. This is how I knew:
He put on music he thought I’d like. He stood there chatting with me, almost unaware of all the work to be done. He sat so close behind me that my hair would brush his crossed arms, and extend them out on either side of me like in an embrace we’d pretend not to notice. He called me epic. (Epic!) He giggled and blushed. He brought me snacks and drinks. He squeezed in a chair so I could sit by him, and gave me his so I could see better. He very casually slipped his arm around my chair in the dark. He carefully leaned his arm against mine. He delicately plucked bits of fuzz from my bangs. When given a chance to work on my project, he concentrated harder than on anything else, as if he’d make his brain bust to do a good job. He checked me out when he thought I wasn’t looking. He tried to please me without looking like he was trying. It was cute.

And he made me feel like I was going to boil over in a fit of lust, of totally inappropriate lust. I wanted to take him backstage and do things I would normally never dream of doing in those circumstances. But of course, I didn’t, because I was only in town for a week, was staying with my friend his boss, and because, oh yes, he’s a teenager. But he was so cute, and seemed so sweet and harmless, and made me smile and laugh, and even if I couldn’t let myself do any of the things I wanted to do, I still let myself think them, if only because it was just so nice to have someone trying to please me.

And I’m letting him serve as a reminder of something I apparently need reminding of- that is, of how nice it is to have someone wanting to be nice to you, to please you, to see you, to touch you in little heart racing ways, to be sweet to you. I forget this, and I bend over backwards to do that for those who will not do that for me. I forget how nice it is to be on the receiving end. I forget that I deserve to be on the receiving end, that I oughtn’t have any time for those who wouldn’t give me that. Even if I like them- if they won’t give me that happiness, it’s they’re not worth it.

Reminder noted.


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Quick Stats

-So tired. So, so tired. And achey. And bruised. This is what comes of working on sets.

-Have a stupid crush on a 19 year old who reminds me of the boyfriend I had when  I was 19, only cooler. Heard my laugh go all girl-in-front-of-boy with him today. Rolling eyes at self so hard they might fall out.

-Oh yeah. Got tarp in eye today. TARP.

And now if I don’t wash my face so I can fall asleep my head might fall off.

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I can’t seem to keep myself at home this month.

You’d think that, for all my travels, I’d have loads to say. On this most recent trip (which began just today) I even brought a journal along, so sure was I that I would be able to wear out pens… but thus far, nothing.

I would tell you that my thoughts are too convoluted, or too active, or too unripe to form themselves into sentences and come out yet, but I don’t know if that’s the case. I’ve got loads of thoughts and feelings, but nothing seems to want to come out- and, that being the case, my motivation for documenting the events of these travels has been nil.

I’ll have to get back to you.

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I am back in the sunny west, having completed my trip back to the cloudy gray east. A lot of good came from this trip: confirmations of things I want, offers of recommendation, fun times, new pants, and so on.

The best thing I got out of this trip, though, is a reminder. I was reminded that:


Didja see that? I am cool! And people like me! I had forgotten this, it turns out. In all my solitude, my lack of friends and social life out here, I had forgotten that I am, actually, a likable person whom others can enjoy being around, being friends with. There are people who love me. I am lovable. I am so likable I am even lovable.

I think I really needed to be reminded of this. I might make myself a banner, complete with pictures and quotes, to unroll any time I get close to forgetting again. It could be good.

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Visitation Anxiety

I can’t seem to believe that, by this time tomorrow, I’ll be on a plane heading back east. I haven’t packed. I haven’t even gotten out any bags. Haven’t done my dishes or cleaned the cat box or gone to the atm. Haven’t even washed my hair.

The secret truth, which I will not be telling any of the friends who are waiting for me to arrive: I don’t really want to go. I don’t want to pack. I don’t want to go through the hassles of security, cramped seats, woozy headaches, ear pain, lay-overs, and cabs. I don’t want to struggle with sleeping at weird times and shuffle between futons. I don’t want to put on an excited optimistic happy face for a week. I don’t want to see my old teachers. I don’t want to be nervous on a borrowed bike. I don’t want to worry about being pleasing and non-offensive to everyone. I don’t want to feel awkward around people who didn’t bother to keep in touch. I just… I just generally don’t want to go.

I know there are people excited about my coming. I know there is business I need to attend to. I know that once I am there, I will probably have a better time than I am expecting, and I will note that all this unease and dread was unwarranted… but in the meantime, I sit on the couch in my underwear watching cartoons and playing online rather than doing anything productive, anything toward preparing for this trip.

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Focus Focus

I don’t think Tom knows how to be friends with me.


This is what’s going on: I have no idea what happened with my body. It turns out I can’t get tested without an appointment, which will take weeks. By the time I’ll get to see a doctor all symptoms will be gone. Meanwhile, what happened to me looks nothing like anything I’ve ever googled. All I know is that things seem to be almost back to normal again. There really isn’t anything I can do right now but keep on living until I have the opportunity to investigate this further, so that’s the plan.

With that in mind, I shall begin again: I don’t think Tom knows how to be friends with me. This is the conclusion I have come to based on the evidence of our interactions since reuniting as “friends.” In sum, he comes on to me and then runs away, comes on, runs, comes on, runs. I don’t think it is a matter of him saying a false “hey babe, let’s be ‘friends,’ yeahhhhh.” I believe him to be sincere in his desire to be friends- I just don’t think he knows how to handle being just friends with me.

I’m the queen of being just friends with someone I’ve got feelings for. It’s not really a skill I am proud of, but it one I’m good at. I don’t think he has this skill. I think that, when he tries to act like my friend, he finds himself attracted to me. When he finds himself attracted to me, he begins to act on it. When he finds himself acting on it, he- well, he freaks out. When he freaks out he gets distant until the desire to have me around in some manner, to “be friends,” grows up again. I think this is what is happening.

What I do now is hope for hope. I would like things to improve, but I don’t know if they will. As such, again, there isn’t much to do but keep on living in the meantime. I’ll focus on applying to grad school. In a few days I’m going back east for a visit with friends and the pursuit of recommendation letters. I have about a month- two, really, but I’d prefer not to wait until the last minute deadline- to collect all necessary materials, to take the GREs, to write my essays and register for prerequisites, and have everything sent and received by the proper departments. Seems to me that’s all I should really focus on right now. I can’t promise that I’ll be able to focus on just that, but I can try.

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Anxiety Strikes

Soooo… I’m afraid I might have an std?
One of those incurable but not potentially-life-ending ones?
Which would really suck?
It’s pretty much the only one I’ve never been tested for because I am freakishly terrified of getting my blood drawn. I’ve been trying to work up the nerve for quite a while, and I’m setting myself the goal of doing it this week. The lady at Planned Parenthood told me the best days to walk in are thursday and friday, but I don’t know that I want to wait that long. The first day I can get a friend to come hold my hand and distract me from having a full blown panic attack when the needle comes around is when I plan to do it.
Rather makes me wish I had a friend I felt close enough to to do this with.

Actually, in a couple weeks I’ll be visiting a lot of good friends, and there’s a Planned Parenthood where they are…

But I suppose that A) I oughtn’t spend half a day of my visit sitting in a Planned Parenthood and B) I oughtn’t be such a baby, procrastinating like that. Grow up, me, and take some care of yourself.

Still scared, though.

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