I am bored.
For probably, the first time this summer, I have absolutely nothing to do.
With boredom comes a whole lot of brewing in my big ole dome. My mind is quite an impressive tossed salad of thoughts and feelings. There is so much, the pressure seems tangible. I've probably gained a bit of volume. (ha ha ha ha, sciencey fat joke) But really. One can only think, sort, frustrate, and avoid so many things before they finally confront them publicly with their blog. But really, this is not a post for someone bored. It's not even funny. It's just stupid venting about the woes in my life, so really, it's quite negative. So I actually strongly advise you to not read this.
(And not in the same way Lemony Snicket would, because you always knew he really meant to keep reading despite his many threats)
Well, World. I'm angry, hurt, confused, upset, wistful, relieved, and three thousand other annoying things. I am almost never mad. Except for when the garbage leaks at Kneaders and trash juice gets all over my legs and shoes. But besides that, I'm quite the satisfied gal. But right now, I'm really upset about pretty much one thing. Get ready for the unique trial of the century, it's.... DATING.
Once upon a time, I was single. I loved life, loved friends, loved flirting, loved school, loved church, loved everything. I was extremely happy. I was fine with being the crazy, loud, funny girl in the group who was always the 11th wheel. Sure I would lust after relationships, but they were never tangible for me. I was actually content to be single. Then some big bum head had to go and ruin it. He had to grab the rug right from under my feet, smother me with chloroform, and addict me. (This is all figurative, mind you, please don't alert the authorities) I quickly became that SUPER annoying person. I hate those people. I always have. They're annoying, relationship people. But then he became my best friend and I was attracted to him in a way I never have been to anyone else in my life. I cared so much about his wellbeing and happiness.
Quick insert. For those of you who don't know me and are still reading because you're clearly as bored as I am, I am a very yellow person. A yellow person is defined as being very sociable and having a lot of friends. This all sounds lovely and excellent, but the catch is that we have so many, that we don't have any best friends. We have so many that we don't truly value most of them. We figure people are for fun and if one person doesn't work out, there are billions of others to be had. This man managed to take my yellow sunglasses off when I was with him, and I hate it. I hate that I became dependent. I hate that I trusted someone so much like that. I hate that I let myself fall so terribly hard, so terribly fast. It was necessary, but terribly annoying for the student being taught. I hate that now that he's gone, it hurts. I'm not used to missing people, as horrible as that statement is. Surprise, I'm truly a horrible friend. Now grab your torch and pitchforks.
Anyways. Back to this horrible story. I was very addicted to this man. Everything about him. His hesitancy, quietness, his passion that would only come out in soccer, his curiosity, his love for his family, and just him. He understood me more than anyone has, I'd say about 93%, which is quite high for this sarcastic, yellow girl. He was the best friend I'd ever had, and I loved the feeling of being with him, of being his girlfriend.
There was always this annoying piece of lint in the back of my mind during all this bliss, though. I never knew if it was right or not. I didn't like a couple things about our relationship. But I figured that that is how all realistic relationships are. Then a few of those things got bigger and closer and started affecting the way I felt. I tried so insanely hard. I really, really did. And when I would finally realize it was time for us to part, grow separately, and then see what would happen, I would avoid it. Sometimes I'd act on it, but it never lasted. I was far too selfish a person to not be with him. I didn't care that it wasn't healthy for him or me. I just wanted someone to hold my hand and care about me. So I never did it. Until now. Six months after it started, he's gone. And I miss him more than I can say. But I can't act on it, because I know now, not only intellectually, but I feel that it wasn't right. I can now see the things I chose to overlook that made me doubt him. So even though I would rather do nothing right now than go to his house and watch another three seasons of How I Met Your Mother and cuddle, I can't. And it sucks.
I do understand how necessary it is. And how in about two weeks, my yellow side will take over and I'll be distracted once again by the thousands of people in Logan. But right now, there's a quiet man about a mile away that I just want to be with.
I hope he's not suffering as much as I am. And I hope even more so that he can get over it as quickly as I probably will. I just want him to be happy and to realize how great of a person he is. I couldn't make him see it, and so now I have to let him find it himself.
The sad part of the story is that I feel like it didn't have to end this way. I loved him. But I couldn't carry the weight of us by myself. If he was to come to the table with 50%, I would be 5,000% game for him. But I don't think he'll come back to my table. And that's ok, even though it makes me sad right now. We'll both find other people that will make us happy, or maybe we'll even meet again in a year or two and we can see if he still gets my jokes. But until then, it's time for me to be single, once more. And to learn how to love it again.