Repeating patterns
It's ironic how I manage to find myself in the same situation, not too long after I promised myself I would never get involved in said situation again.There's more time in this case but eventually hard choices will have to be made again.
And now..back to studying.
I am a classy, sophisticated lady who did not spend most of last night with my fingers down my throat in a sleazy pub, trying to regurgitate in manner of bulimic Hollywood star or similar. Or trying to induce myself to throw up while sitting with the Fascist and his friends, who were debating something or another. Wasn't listening, too busy trying to throw up while looking classy at the same time.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009There is a reasonable explanation for my rather lady-like behavior. That explanation being that I failed to screw in the top of my tongue stud properly. The stupid fucker had become loose during one of my many ramblings/ blowjobs/ whatever the fuck it is I do with my mouth. So during coffee last night, I took a sip of my mocha, quite ready to delve into my reading when I swallowed something, and realised the top of my tongue stud was missing.
Not a problem, I told myself, despite the fact it was late at night and all the piercing shops were closed. I simply pulled what was left of the stud out, put it in upside down and continued on.
Which would be fine. The piercing is still there, I have since gone home and replaced it with a fresh one, but the stupid little ball is stuck in my throat!
Or at least, I think it is. I can feel something small, moving around the vicinity of my esophagus. But it won't come up. Or go down! It sits there, not far up enough to but coughed up, but not far down enough to go away! I can feel the stupid little ball, sitting there mocking me. Fucker.
The real concern now is whether that abomination is going to fall down my windpipe and choke me. Hopefully not. Any sensible person would have sought medical advice or gone to the hospital to have it removed. But I am neither sensible nor have enough free time to wait for the umpteen hours they make one wait in the emergency room in atrociousness that is the NSW public hospital service. I'll just go to a private clinic, except it's the weekend and they're all shut. So I'll probably go on Monday, if that thing doesn't come up one end or the other soon.
The Fascist wants me to write something about him.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
I've been spending the past few days being part Stepford wife person part student. In between studying, working on assignments and working, I've been cooking dinner, cleaning the house, doing the dishes, buying groceries, tidying the bf's things (he's pseudo-moved in for awhile) and putting them away, and doing the laundry. Mostly his laundry. All in a day's work.
Thursday, April 30, 2009Not really sure what to make of it.
Addendum: Okay, maybe I'm not a very good Stepford wife person. I managed to burn tonight's dinner. The lesson from this is to not put dinner in the oven and then have sex and forget to check that dinner isn't burning. Instead, put dinner in the oven and have sex in the kitchen so I can keep an eye on whatever odd-looking concoction I've chucked in there isn't turning into a pile of smoldering food-bits.
Hate being on the rags. Want sex.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
At this moment, nothing makes a girl happier whilst sitting at her desk and pretending to be a conscientious student, then seeing a man who makes her smile fast asleep in her bed.
Monday, April 27, 2009
I've just read through some of my archives. It seems like so long ago that I wrote what I wrote. That I felt so much. After it all got better, it just seemed like there was no way I was going to feel that strongly again.
Saturday, April 18, 2009It's too early to tell. But right now it feels like taking a walk down memory lane. It's pretty good, but it's also scary.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Caught up with an old friend today. Interesting conversation about relationships. It isn't often you find a man in his early twenties who's ready to settle down, who's looking for more than a quick fuck, who wants something with substance, something that will last. I thought such men were urban legends.
We spoke about previous and current relationships, and agreed we were getting more cynical about them as time went by. I'm not entirely sure if it's because we grew up and shed the starry-eyed, overly-romantic fairy tale notion of love, or it's just because we saw our past and felt depressed about the future. I realise that I can no longer return to the mentality that love would overcome all the difficulties life threw at me. Or us. It's a sweet thought, but it's also unrealistic. Sometimes love really isn't enough, and I used to like to think it is. I know now that it's not.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009We spoke about previous and current relationships, and agreed we were getting more cynical about them as time went by. I'm not entirely sure if it's because we grew up and shed the starry-eyed, overly-romantic fairy tale notion of love, or it's just because we saw our past and felt depressed about the future. I realise that I can no longer return to the mentality that love would overcome all the difficulties life threw at me. Or us. It's a sweet thought, but it's also unrealistic. Sometimes love really isn't enough, and I used to like to think it is. I know now that it's not.
Things seem prettier. It's strange. I'm smiling a little bit more. Tentatively. This is not unfamiliar though. I've been through this before. Which is great, but it ended badly then. I can't help but wonder how bad this one will be when it does.
I've been told by people who're supposed to know better that thinking about the end before it's in sight is unhealthy. For some reason my mind likes doing that. Maybe so I'll exercise a little caution. Just maybe.
The Expat is in Boracay. It looks beautiful. I'm jealous. I'm tempted to go off somewhere for a few days. Just somewhere warm and quiet. No noise, no stress, no deadlines, no pressure. Just me, a fruity cocktail with a little umbrella and a whole pile of good books waiting to be devoured.
I've been told by people who're supposed to know better that thinking about the end before it's in sight is unhealthy. For some reason my mind likes doing that. Maybe so I'll exercise a little caution. Just maybe.
The Expat is in Boracay. It looks beautiful. I'm jealous. I'm tempted to go off somewhere for a few days. Just somewhere warm and quiet. No noise, no stress, no deadlines, no pressure. Just me, a fruity cocktail with a little umbrella and a whole pile of good books waiting to be devoured.