Ball of Emotions.

My head hurts.
I can feel the tension in my eyes whenever I move them from side to side and it just fucking hurts. Three months have been spent second guessing my decisions, my boyfriend, my friendships, my family and most of all, my sanity. I don't need drugs to know what it feels like to have scarmbled eggs for a brain.

I'm angry.
Every time I see Josh, I want to rip his pretentious eyeballs out with a palletjack.

"I did it to help," he whines.

And I'm going to lodge my box cutter north of your left temple to help you. Maybe it will ease you into the desperate and pointless oblivion you've been trying to maintain for the last twenty-four years of your life. MAYBE.

I'm confused.
While I can see how Josh may think he's done the right thing and just maybe, it will prevent me from fucking someone I shouldn't, it's only a temporary fix.
The conversation I had with Andrew last night went like this:

"If the best way you can show me that you love me is by scrapping glue off of a table, our relationship is fucked."
"What else do you want me to do Anna? I drive four hours to see you, I pay for everything, I DO EVERYTHING."
"ANDREW, you knew when you started dating me that distance was an obstacle in our relationship that you'd have to deal with because I can't afford it. Do not tell me that you getting in your car to come see me is a confession of your love, it's a confession of your dick wanting to get wet."
"It's all about you isn't it? It's always about you."
"Don't you get it Andrew? If you told me that you loved me, if you told me that you woke up every morning and smiled because you had me for a girlfriend, you wouldn't have to scrape glue off of a table."
"I don't like saying stuff like that."
"Maybe you should learn to like it."

And so naturally I turn to the outlet who doesn't make me feel like a business proposition and say,

"Hey, I know you're married and I know that you could never give me anything more than a cup of coffee on a mutual day off during both of our busy schedules, but you make me feel better than he does so lets just fuck."

It's funny, 'cause I thought that my little pow-wow with Andrew last night would have solved the issues, but instead it's just made them so much more, 'forest for the trees-esque.' I'd really just like to get out now. Now that I've realised that when I move to Toronto, I'll see my boyfriend less than I do now. Chances are, the most I will see him is the fifteen minute time lapse where he climbs into bed with me before I have to get up to go to school.

Yay for being a long term fuck buddy.

I'm sad.
I think of Andrew and I think of all the time I've spent with him and I guess I'm just a little baffled that all of it should probably come to an end.

At the end of this week, I officially do not have a home. My dad wants me out, no, correction, my dad's wife wants me out. I will not live with my mother's emotional and physical abuse and living in Andrew's condo as a kept fuck toy isn't exactly my idea of a home.

So, I'm just sad.

The scariest thing out of all of this? Working at Wal Mart is the only thing that makes me happy.