Bryan, darling, you are very much a part of me. I cannot remove your influence or the part you took in shaping me- we grew together during the time we spent together- and I would never want to. I see you reflected in every aspect of my personality, of my lifestyle, of my decisions; if my life were a pond I feel you'd be one of the few trees sitting beside and floating above, forever lending your visage to the surface of the water. So many things that I prefer and adore and cannot live without were things I found only by your introduction, and in turn I simply cannot live without you. You and I were once lovers. I mean this in a way that surpasses any single dimension or type of relationship: we were once lovers, we are now dear friends, colleagues, peers; we have become each other's family. I am no more capable of lessening your importance in my life than a tree is capable of changing it's grain or removing one of its rings. I couldn't be happier with this; despite any nativity shenanigans you decide to orchestrate, I will always respect and admire your integrity, dignity, and honesty. I will forever hold you in my memories and in my mind. You are so very dear to my heart, darling, and regardless of where life may take us, what lovers we take on, what changes befall us, or what distance lies between us, dear to my heart you shall stay. 

TO DO:

-find Karen Dalton's "It's so hard to tell who's going to love you the best" album.

-check out Mara Carlyle

Beautifully, refreshingly, freely, fabulously drunk. Listening to some of Nikka Costa’s better stuff, with Nicole Atkins and Meiko sprinkled pleasantly in between.

Currently finished with Ben, starting- for reasons unbeknownst to myself- something with an old Whirlpool coworker, still currently infatuated with Matt, it seems. That damn boy calls me out of the blue, sending my heart a flutter, sending me straight back to July, the bastard. I swear he collects the women he’s refused as friends.

All of these things, however, are a harmless, amusing blur once I’ve gotten a couple in me. I’m drowning myself in good whiskey and good music, floating back and forth to the kitchen for refills, utterly content. I’m only moderately annoyed with Matt. I’m only slightly confused with others. Everything is so benign in this state. Everything.

I don’t think I should settle. My chances of ending up happy would skyrocket if I did, but I don’t think I will. I’ll resign myself to something passionate; someone like Matt.  I’ll follow passion and be miserable and frustrated, but I’ll be passionate all the same. I want someone without whom I cannot breathe, without whom I cannot sleep, without whom I cannot be happy, whose very presence robs me of my independence and ability to live without them. I want to drink them in the way I do my whiskey, and I want to feel as distant and content and scandalously edified as a result. I want to fret over him the way most girls fret over their men; I want to give a shit for once. I want to be swept off my feet, I want to be changed by his very existence, I want to change drastically enough to be surprised and resent him for it.

I’ll have that or nothing, I’ve decided. I’ll putz about in the meantime, sure, but ultimately, if a man doesn’t make me feel the way I just described then I’ll carry on by myself. 

I walked through the lobby of the paltry hotel, weaving through furniture decades past its prime and tasteless holiday décor hung sloppily and thoughtlessly, looking left to right for sign of the ladies’ restroom. It was remarkable, I noted as my eyes glided over the sorry sight, what a couple of drinks does to the look of the place.

I trotted down a winding hallway to the bathroom, pleasantly surprised by the warmth of the facilities. I was feeling merry; I had just completed my last day of my internship for Whirlpool and tonight was my last night in St Joseph. I was celebrating with an unusually boisterous and intoxicated happy hour. I was half way through my third drink of the evening at this point in time, and though not drunk I was definitely good and tipsy.

I don’t know why I behave in a way so unfitting for the person I wish to be. I don’t know why I enable a perception of myself that solicits such crushing, demeaning judgment. I don’t want to be seen this way; I don’t want to be this way. I wouldn’t be able to tell you exactly what I wish to be, though I have those lofty, general descriptors everyone would claim to strive towards: honest, hardworking, respectable. What I want specifically still manages to elude me. There have been situations that have occurred, much to my dismay, more and more often as of late, that alert me to exactly the things I do not wish to be.

I’ve discovered that I crave attention. Perhaps I don’t crave it, per say, but I enjoy it too much to ever turn it down, no matter how inappropriate, or unrespectable, or harmful to individuals I care about and respect. I behave without integrity because I am simply too apathetic to proactively dissuade attention I should consider myself above.

I can play this game. I’m articulate and persuasive enough to rationalize and justify anything to myself. I can dress this up as some sort of ironically poetic disorder, some sort of holy apathy instilled by my elite cynicism or disconnection or intellect.

There is nothing elite about the way I act during these times. If anything, it is a trait shared amongst many types of women I hate so fervently: deep down, something base and disgusting about me loves the flattery.