Tomorrow I am supposed to meet with Tom to discuss the reasons of our breakup. I see several courses this could take: character assasination (on my part), weird uncomfortable sex (on his part), just plain awkwardness (on two accounts).
I regret agreeing to it. I have to think of cliche stuff like, “no, it's me not you,” and “I'm not ready for this right now,” or the ever popular, “I have to find myself.” If we were actually manageable friends, I could just use that as an excuse. There was no friendship to ruin.
I am writing now because I am in a blagh mental state. 9:10 is too early for bed, I am resisting the temptation to eat, and I do not feel like drawing or painting or writing in an actual journal. I definitely do not want to fill out this one small bit of homework that is due tomorrow (I wonder how that will go). I want to read, but the Mad Russian is not holding my interest. Listless is a common theme lately. Also eating cookies. I do not know if I have actually changed my diet, but I get paranoid, and I keep attributing phantom metal issues to Tom. I am stuck in an odd cycle, and I do not like it.
Stay quiet. Get upset. Say something, feel stupid. Fail at silence and interject with random bs. Give up on silence, perk up, talk too much, spouting too many asinine comments. I am an incurable smartass afterall. I feel like I am backsliding, but I think January may just be that kind of a month.
Hrm. January has had some very nice moments. Like today, when I got paid. Ahhh yeah. Dr. Roos had a near breakdown, which was odd. Lots of people have been emotional around me lately and I do not know what to do. Maren cried on the train from Florence to Venice, and with her, I at least tried to console her, but eventually gave up to sit awkwardly next to her. On the coach back from York this weekend, I think the girl I was sitting next to was crying… or had a cold. I never looked over, and I never introduced myself. A girl I kinda know comes into the office and gets borderline tears explaining situations to Roosy and then breaks down on phone calls to her mom. I just sorta go rigid or leave the room. Mike has been silent/down? a lot lately, and I really am at a loss there. I care about people, but I am finding myself unable to think of a suitable response behaviour.
I want to give up, or, as in the case with Mike in York–run away and have 15 minutes of near emotional breakdown; then an hour of being on edge; concluding with alone time, yogurt, crackers, and a good book, while wrapped in a blanket. Heh. One of the most common thoughts in these periods is “you're in England, you're okay, you're in England, you're okay. Things can't be bad, you're in England.” It does not seem to work. Letting go of the emotion, does, however, work.
I feel a bit more lively (or more ready for bed) now. I am in England, and right now, I am feeling okay.
…but how does writing make me feel?…
addendum: where the hell am I living next year? Bud has been discussing an on-campus apartment, which I might, for lack of anything better, take him up on. I have heard mention of a commune once in the cloudy past. I need to speak with you Mariahead. The Bud thing feels oddly right (which is wrong) because of that damned dream. Agh. I want a big house with close friends, not an on campus money hole with Bud and two anonymous fratfucks or something. I keep wanting to ask Bud if he would be okay with me bringing boys over, but that is just far too weird. It might also be a moot point, considering how de-sexed I feel lately.
I need to have a long talk with someone about the line between love and obession. I never remember the outcome.