Round Two.

Talk about frustrating.

There have been countless moments of flirting going on in my life over the past year, especially during the last couple of months. I am an awful person for this. Whatever. I don't feel guilty about it, just less inclined to be flirtatious. I suppose that's a start. Again, whatever.

Things were getting good with Andrew.
Being in the house made me happy. Cleaning constantly didn't seem so bad. The fast paced life of city living seemed to agree with me and working at the art store was a fucking blast (I sold four hundred dollars worth of air brush equipment last week. I'm two steps closer to getting that forty dollar bonus. Eat me Wal Mart).

But then I went home this weekend and saw him and now I'm right fucked again.

At first I thought, no big deal, no I don't want him. Absolutely not. Ewe. Don't touch my hand. But the more I sit and think about it, the more frustrated I become with the situation and that makes me want to dig my brain out with an ice cream scoop.

I didn't expect to see him at all.
I resented him the moment I heard his voice and when he glanced at me and calmly chortled, 'Now here's trouble', my emotion turned from resentment to, 'awe, why don't you like me anymore?', and the desire to persue him gently returned. I stood infront of him emoting what I hope came across as cool indifference with a slight edge of interest - just enough concern to keep him talking.
He hasn't let go of things. I can't say that I blame him, but he's interested again and I couldn't be arsed to keep this game of availability going on any longer. When I looked at him, all I could think of was lost opportunities and everything that I wanted to find in a man that was already taken by another woman.

It made me feel like complete shit.

All the progress that had been accumulated with Andrew just sort of fell to the side of the road the more I thought of him today.
And now I'm so unbelievably mad with myself over being entertained by his desires. I'm so stupid, so easily impressed upon. I never did crack, just sex. I'm a sucker for peer pressured intimacy and I HATE it because it's completely ruining any chance I have of owning a normal life with a good man. Unless he leaves his girlfriend and takes it up with me, but what are the chances of that happening?

Stupid diddums. You should have stayed away.

Que the Mad Hatter.

So I've got this hunking piece of amber hanging from my neck and a ton of it bedazzling my digits and for some silly and fickle reason, I feel like I'm more in love.

How's that for female idiocy?

We celebrated my birthday at Andrew's parent's house on Wednesday.
There was some dirty bird, money to be given, cards passed out entitled "Grog's Latest Fling," a really awful sweater from Northern Reflections that I can't return 'cause I lost the receipt and of course, the pounds of amber that are currently adorning my over-tired body.

It was super.

When Andrew passed me the silver bag my body started to shake.
There have been times where I've been expecting him to do something romantic and he's failed miserably. I was finally growing accustomed to frying pans and tires and then he presented me with the epitome of romance. It was trickery I tell you. Complete trickery.

On Thursday I made my way to the Niagara Region to see my Mom and Stinky.

We went to IKEA and Dianne bought me $100.00 worth of door handles for my kitchen cabinets. Totally stoked on those. I also bought some curtains for the bedroom and a fixture for my awesomely new lamp that is all bubbly and red. Totally stoked on the red bubbly lamp. Chelsea bought a pillow for her meditation (freak) and my mom was just happy to be with us so everyone was in good spirits.

Until the ride home.

I've been trying to get my hair done for weeks now. I haven't had time, haven't had the money and the one time where I finally do, it overlaps my mother's dinner plans by an hour.

She fucking lost it.

"Mom, I can cancel my hair appointment if you want."
"It doesn't matter."
"Well apparently it does matter mom."
"No, it doesn't matter."
"Is it really that much of a problem to move dinner back an hour?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Mom, we're trying to remedy the problem. WHY ARE YOU BEING SO FUCKING DIFFICULT.?"

Silence.

Upon arriving home the war raged on:

"Mom, I will cancel my hair appointment."
"Y'know Anna I'm really sick of getting pushed aside so that everyone else can have their way."
"Mom. I. Will. Cancel. The. Appointment."
"No Anna, I don't want you to cancel the appointment."
"Is it really that bad to push dinner back an hour?"
"I wanted it to be special. It's not going to work out now."
"Oh. I didn't know that there was some big to do going on. If you tell me the gravity of the situation, maybe we can work out something that would fit both of our schedules?"
"No Anna, I can't serve dinner at seven. The other two girls can't eat that late."
"Why not?"
"Because they can't Anna."
"They're twenty-something-year-olds Mom. They can make themselves a snack."
"No Anna, that's not how it works."
"Well, wht the fuck mom?"

Stinky eventually stomped through the conversation with a very heroic:

"It's your daughter's BIRTHDAY mom, let her do whatever the fuck she wants. It's not like you have plans or something."

"Well, actually I do have plans. I guess I'll just have to cancel them."
"Wait. You have plans to go out with your friends after dinner and you're yelling at me for not making time for you? Are you fucking serious?"

More Silence.

The problem was remedied when James came over. I have no idea how.

We went to East Side Marios for their mediocre food and bad Bailey's Coffee. It was alright. We rented some movies and during the last one he tried to hold my hand and all those feelings I thought I had for James were completely non-existent.

I really didn't want him to touch my hand.

The insanity of birthdays.

More Nut Jobs For Diddums.

Every single fecking time I think that I've managed to escape the brutality of an insane female mind, I get smacked in the face with a two by four of absolute estrogen ridiculousness. Seriously folks, what exactly has to happen to you through the duration of your life to make you so fucked up?

I am an exceptional judge of character.
It's not often that I can't pick out, "the crazy" in a group of ten, but it is often that I tend to stick by them either out of simple curiosity, pity or the undying belief that has been driven into my head through years of Sunday School: I need to be nice to everyone, no matter how awful they are, especially the pyschos.

I was never nice to Tree.

People may think that it was because she was dating my ex internet boyfriend who lives millions of miles away from me and that I was jealous. It's a logical line of thought and honestly, I would hold a similar belief if the situation was applicable to someone outside of myself. Fair is fair.

I was never jealous of Tree.

Put off by her? Yes. Scared of her undying devotion to poetry? Sure. Annoyed by her never ending lines of rubbish? Absolutely. Convinced she was bonkers after talking to her for five minutes? Completely. Confused by her cheerful attitude towards everything, even the people that outrightly hated her? Definitely. Baffled by her ability to remain the victim perpetually, even through her own stupid deeds? Yup.

Tree was fucked.
And she still is fucked and I'm sure she will remain fucked until she somehow finds it within herself to realise that she's the root of all her issues.

When JIB and Tree broke it off there was a bitter war that raged over the internet.
At the time I wasn't speaking to my far off ex because of a silly spat we had ages ago that was never resolved due to both of our stubborn personalities - Tree took full advantage of that void.
It wasn't long after the break that she had messaged me on MSN with questions regarding my once relationship with JIB. It was weird, but I was still pissed so I vented. Only after did I realise that talking to Tree could only worsen the situation with JIB and I politely told her to piss off because well, it was just weird.

And then it was my fault that she had stalked his other ex girlfriends and caused the ultimate demise of their relationship. Because God knows that it's totally normal to gather an army of JIB hating ex's to form some sort of hate breed against someone who did nothing other than decide that a relationship wasn't right for him.

Jesus.

So some posts were written on LIAC, an email or two were sent and a very understandable disliking of Tree was established and everyone was happy to politely ignore eachother while existing comfortably within the dark corners of internet blogs.

That was until JIB found out that she had sent emails to even more random people and he simply lost his cool.

More posts were written. More anger was spewed and then came the crucifixion and I laughed all the way to my blog.

Some selected tidbits that I sincerely enjoy are:

"Why are you doing this to me? Why are you letting Anna misrepresent the truth? Why are people using my name? Why am I being crucified in public over something that happened long ago and was forgiven? I am not going to defend myself on your journal and go through a point by point argument. Anna has everything distorted. I'm not going to post msn convos and emails and all sorts of shit to "clear my name." I've learned the hard way.

You are being as cruel as she is by letting this continue."

Yes. I was being absolutely unfounded and cruel to stand up for my friend in a bombardment of asinine female commentary by posting a real-life, unaltered email that was the epitome of honesty. It's also quite interesting that crazy Tree thinks that, "Tree" is her real name and not her internet nick name. But, really lets not nitpick.

"Why am I the only one apologizing and taking blame for actions? Why does everyone else get off as innocent? Will I have to apologize and be punished for the rest of my life because of this transgression?"

You're apologizing because you were in the wrong dumbass. That bitter taste in your mouth is called guilt and the apologetic tones that are pouring out are what most like to call, "a regret."
And really, don't be so dramatic. It's not the rest of your life, it's just till you learn how to turn off your computer and not get so emotionally attatched to pixels, you fecking wack job.

And the piece de resistance:

"I am fucking begging you to make it go away. Please, Jason. Please. Just make it stop. I will go away forever, regardless, but just make it stop. I can't pull the Penelope trick and make myself believe that you would be cruel enough to let it continue. I can't imagine you enjoy watching Anna fuck me up or that you really wanted to throw away what we rebuilt. If that's the case, then I guess there's nothing more to say. But, even so, I'm still begging you to make it go away. I've only harbored kind thoughts about you for many, many months. Just let me be. Stop letting my name be used in public, especially when it's associated with something that makes me look like what I am not. It's just not fair to keep torturing me over this."

And my final thought:

It's a mother-fucking blog.

Mirros.

Andrew tried to have sex with me last night and I couldn't do it.
There was an overhwelming feeling of panic when he put his hand on my hip and I seriously thought that I was going to cry if he moved it anywhere else. When he tried to pull me around to kiss him, I punched him in the arm and quickly squirmed back to the corner of the bed.

He didn't say anything.

I gotta wonder if this is an Anna thing vs. an Andrew thing.
Feeling panicked when your boyfriend tries to get in your pants isn't exactly the outcome that anyone wants in said situation. Before I thought that the reason why I couldn't do it was all about him, but now I'm thinking it's all about me and it's freaking me out.

What happened to make me scared of sex in the past three months?

Sure, moving to Toronto was a traumatic experience, but not that traumatic. Am I overwhelmed with priorities? Depressed? Stressed out about school? Too tired? Or am I just a nut bar? Who fucking knows.

I've been talking to this d00d who is studying mental health and he says that I should go to a shrink.
The last time I went to a head doctor he flat out told me that I got angry too often and that I needed to be more sympathetic to my parents delicate situation and more supportive to my mother's emotional needs.

I firmly told him to go fuck himself. I guess he was right.

***

There's been an onslaught of songs lately commenting on the lack of, "good people."
I hate this city. Everyone in it seems to be a pretentious dick head or an uninterested, self-obsessed fucktard. I haven't met a single person that has struck me as a sincerely decent individual with a kind heart and a good soul.

This is brutal.

***

I was sitting on the subway today and I saw myself in the reflection of the window and I hated it.
One rarely receives the opportunity to catch a glimpse of one's self existing in the real world, without striking poses to show off the best angle of your profile or manicuring each strand of hair to perfection. I just saw me, slumped in the seat looking miserable and cold, like every other face on the TTC and that made me feel so completely empty that I wanted to run out the back door of the train and through the tunnel until I couldn't run any longer.

I wish I had the chance to see my thought process in that state of vulnerability. I'd probably be able to figure a lot shit out.

***

I noticed today that I'm phasing in and out of conciousness a bit too often for my liking.
There's moments of a weird vertigo where I have to lean against something to catch my balance and then a sudden pang of hurt near the middle of my skull and then nothing. Just black. Then I come back into focus and things are fine. I have no idea what this is.

Side Notes.

I guess I haven't written anything because I haven't been able to consummate my obligation to my emotional duties as an overwhelmed and completely clueless twenty-three-year-old.
A twenty-three-year-old shouldn't have to take on such a ridiculous task.

I stopped taking birth control and for the first time in years I feel right.
The balance that I've maintained just within my every day lifestyle has been soothing to my fears of mental instability. I feel normal again; I feel like I'm functioning properly. I feel a thousand pounds lighter and healthier and things with Andrew seem to be working and I'm so unbelievably satisfied with the state of my life right now that I'm completely convinced that all men should forgo the desire to be condemnless and encourage their lovers to be free of hormonal insanity, so women can begin to loose the label of pyschotic love fiends.

Seriously, it was the birth control.

I haven't talked to Neil in awhile and I feel good about it.
He's concerned that my summary of his existence on my blog has made him sound like a bit of a git. I suppose it has, but it's been an honest account and if it has, then it has. I like Neil but it's plainly obvious that the only reason he wants me around is for a fuck. If he feels guilty for that, it's his own moral checklist cashing in because he's done me no wrong.
I don't think I'll meet him now only because there's no point. I can't screw him, or rather, I won't screw him and he's run out of things to say.

He was a nice fellow though. Too bad we didn't meet at a different time when our lifestyles were more intune to eachother's needs.

My body is tired.
I'm excited for my birthday, but I'm more excited for my paycheck.
I'm trying to decide if I can pull off blonde.

This is good.

Peace.

I pulled out my first grey hair today. Grey hair at the ripe age of twenty-three. It's the birthday that's looming in the shadows that's doing it; twenty-four is a big responsibility.

My sister loaded up one of her Mp3 players for me so I'd have some totally awesome tunes to listen to on the bus on the way to school. I'm completely stoked on it. Got to love the Ray L.
I went for a walk this eve and I just listened to his sweet voice and smiled because it was just a good fucking time.
I said hello to some random in a suit and he looked at me like I was a freak.

A reason to hate Toronto: Being kind automatically equates you to a lunatic.

Either way, the walk and the tunes did me a world of good.
Ray has a quality to him that one could compare to a home cooked meal. It's comforting, warm and reminds you of all the good that is supposed to come out of love. I just kinda went with that and when I got home I felt sure about a lot of things that I wasn't so sure about yesterday.

Andrew and I battled it out to the wee hours of the morning last night.
My last post was premature, but very honest. We're nowhere near close to being ok, but for the first time in quite a long time I know that I miss my boyfriend. I miss him a lot actually and I'm ashamed of myself for being so oblivious to someone I'm supposed to love. I'm in desperate need of a moral adjustment because I've been too bad for too long and I'm sick of it.*

And it doesn't help when I have someone chirping in my ear about wanting to be a rock while trying to seduce me under false pretenses. Not that it's his fault, I listened.

You stupid, stupid man. Why bother pretending when all you had to say was, "I just wanted to fuck you." How many bloody times do I have to go through this nonsense?
He said that the reason why men don't admit to their needs is because of the thrill of the pursuit. I say that if you're more concerned about the thrill of the pursuit vs. fucking up someone's sanity, you have some serious ethical issues and perhaps need to boost your emotional intelligence, 'cause d00d: What the fuck?

Not that this is his responsibility. It's not, at all. It all would have played out this way eventually. Better sooner than later. We're two conflicting personalities. Shit happens.

I don't think ill of Neil now, I'm just confused by him.
He never owed me anything and I'm sure that the more I think of the situation, I didn't want anything from him either. I think he's a rad guy. He makes me laugh and he just seems like a genuinely decent fellow with an aloof sort of personality and that's fine. If he does meet me and he doesn't like me, I'll be quite happy to walk away from him knowing it was for the best because it's quite obvious now that him and I are completely incompatible and I'm absolutely fine with it.
But one has to be a little put off by the lack of his presence after the sex-driven Anna stopped showing up. It's difficult to hold faith in his personality because I hardly know him and I think right now that the current product is a circumstance of the bizarre situation rather than his character. But one can never be sure.

I always knew that the conversations would die when the orgiastic side of me did. It just sucks that, that fact had to be reinforced by him because what happened was exactly what I didn't want to.

Meh. I'm too sleep to worry about it.

But I'd still like to meet him. Can't hurt to have a friendship in this unfriendly city.

* I wish I knew how to paint a more accurate portrait of Andrew for the people who read this - He is not a bad man.
I can't fault someone for not knowing how to be emotionally articulate when they never have been in their whole existence. It is difficult to be with someone who is impassive, but it is not impossible. He's trying.
Understand that I've failed at a lot of things within this relationship as well. I'm just as much at fault and I'm just as stupid as he's being, I just own the advantage of being the one writing the history.

Please don't tell me that it was about time.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do.

I wrote once,

"Sometimes I think that I'm far from human.
Sometimes I think, ewe gah, maybe I'm a feminist. Sometimes I think that maybe I should become a lesbian because as I do generally loathe the majority of the female race, I don't understand a male mind and frankly, don't ever want to.
It's hard to remain betwixt two races that seem so utterly different and stupidly selfish compared to myself. I just want to find one person that's NORMAL. Whether they own a five inch dick or a pussy the size of a bus, I don't care. Just someone who is incapable of unleashing a world of pain and frustation on my ass, that doesn't want to, "do" Lindsy Lohan 'cause she's half naked on the cover of Vanity Fair - WHO CARES THAT SHE'S A MENTALY UNSTABLE ANOREXIC PYSCHO? SHE'S HOT! Or someone that doesn't want to stay up all night and discuss strategical tactics to become the world's best American Idol.
I just want someone that wants me and only me and doesn't want to look at other women, or be a stupid, stupid girl because hey, that's what gender roles do. I JUST WANT A SIMPLE, FUCKING NORMAL HUMAN. "

I don't understand why it's impossible to find that.

I've never felt special. I've never felt overly loved or cared for. I don't know what it's like to be romanced, I don't know what it feels like to be bursting with love and I am sick and tired of wondering what is so awful about me that makes me undeserving of these qualities.

I'm so tired of being fucked. And lied to. And having parents pick on me because of their failed marriages.
I'm so tired of being alone while I'm not and I am so glad that I am finally going to be able to find some sort of peace now that I am absolutely alone.

He didn't even put up a fight when I said it was over. He admitted through his silence that his friend's think I'm a freeloading witch. He still doesn't get that shelling out cash doesn't equal love and that expressing his love means that he has to put more than five seconds of thought into a car ride and a cold coffee.

Why do I have to feel this way NOW? Why didn't he try to make it better and why am I crying?

What the fuck does it matter anyway.

Lost.

God damn this stupid show for being so dodgy.
God damn it for all of it's never ending story lines, plot twists and hot men with hot accents, whom are constantly shirtless, sweating and loaded to the tits with facial hair. And god damn it for the spooky music that scares me more than the random, 'others' and smoke monsters.

Just, God. Damn. It.

I tried to make a sauce today out of Brandy, cream and sugar for the pumpkin pie. Unfortunately while trying to make said sauce, the Columbian student that's living with my mother was interogating me over where she could buy shoes in Toronto and I lost my stirring pace and so the sugar burnt. I cried.
So the pumpkin pie was brandy-less and I felt a bit shit for it because I sincerely wanted my pie to be full of yummy alcoholic brilliance.

Fucking Columbians.

Neil is a balmy character.
I'm flattered that he is intrigued by me, I'm completely baffled as to why he still is, but it's nice. I'm more inclined to meet him the more we speak because he's disgustingly reassuring. I'm terrified that he won't be attracted to me upon first glace and while I'm well aware that I shouldn't give my time to a, 'knuckle head' who is completely infatuated (wink), with my mind, character and soul, but not body, I am very inclined to feel like an absolute pile of crap because of it.
And if that is the case, I hope he just tells me that or at least, takes note of my "going home post", so that I don't have to deal with the bullshit yet again.

I'm confused by this. I don't understand what he wants from me and I definitely do not understand what I could possibly give him. Currently I think he wants to fuck me because I've caused a ridiculous amount of sexual frustration for his poor soul and he would like to alieviate that problem as soon as possible, in whatever context he can have it.

I can't say that I blame him.

I'm sure I'm a very mysterious personality and I'm sure that I have a lacivious phone voice that could potentially destroy any man's willpower, but why he likes me, the "Enid", I don't think I will ever understand.

Probably because he seems so indifferent (wink x2).

Head Pains.

My head feels like it's going to split.

I'm always excited about coming home until I actually get home.
I brought bags of rolls to my Aunt Ruth's and my mothers for dinner. Neither of them said anything other than, "but we already bought rolls", and then threw them in the corner with the other bread.

Brutal.

It's harsh when you put so much effort into something, think that you've done right by it and then have the people who are supposed to be completely enthused by your hard work and efforts be completely unimpressed.

But Thanksgiving was nice, as far as Thanksgivings go. It was just more overwhelming because of relatives I haven't seen in almost ten years. My cousin Matthew is huge and his siblings are little brats. I'd rather eat fish daily than raise those two children. Blech.

So far my mother has only ruined Thanksgiving in a minor Dianne way.
She put my sister on a scavenger hunt of bullshit this afternoon, which ultimately prevented her from being able to get to my father's at the appropriate time. That's just not cool.
When I finally got to her house this eve, the only thing she wanted out of me was the schedule of my cousins, when they were going to see her and to have me listen to her complaints about my uninterested and selfish sister and her hangups over her divorce from my father that occured five years ago.

"I'm sorry you're not feeling well mom. I'm sure everyone would understand if you called dinner off tomorrow. If you're not feeling up to it, don't feel obligated to cook for us."
"Is that your way of telling me that you don't give a shit about dinner because you've already had one and I'm not important?"
"Stop acting like a pyscho. I want you to have dinner, but I don't want you to overwhelm yourself with it. If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be here."
"Don't talk to me like that."
"Then don't lay guilt trips on me for wanting to spend time with my father."
"I just want to know why no one comes over here when I invite them."
"What the hell are you talking about? Who hasn't come over that you've invited?"
"Andrew didn't."
"Andrew has dinner with his family tomorrow. I'm sure his mother would have been thrilled to know that he was missing it because of your personal issues."
"You don't understand."
"Of course I don't. Which is why you need to go to bed and leave me the hell alone."

And so she cries and I completely don't care because that is just flippin' retarded.

Hence the splitting head.

***

I can't stop thinking about my trainspotting infatuation.

I am severly lacking sleep and I am severly breathless with the state of my new friendship, for a lot of reasons.
I told myself that I wouldn't talk with him till Tuesday, just to give the situation room to rest and to allow myself to regroup, figure out what the hell I want and then make corresponding decisions for the benefit of both of us.

And I just sent him an email with my mother's phone number.

I have absolutely no will power.

Duckie.

I hate the internet.

I'm not supposed to like the people that use it and I'm definitely not supposed to speak with them for six hours in one day, while my boyfriend is home and then, miss school because of it. Oddly enough, I don't feel guilty about it.

I more than likely will not meet him. The situation is too nice right now to fuck it up with being tangible. I'm too worried that it actually might work and that I would actually end up doing something that I couldn't take back, that would ultimately hurt too many people.

I have way too much stuff going on right now and while he may think that I'm his type, I know I'm not.
I don't drink, I don't go to bars. I'm uptight, introverted, intimidated too often and just well, a big fucking geek. He seems far too... trainspotting for me where I am far too, ghost world for him. It's just not a good mix and if I had any amount of smarts in my head, I'd walk away from it now before I caused him a crapload of misery.

But I like him. And I'm selfish. So perhaps, if he doesn't get bored of me too quickly, I'll be inclined to keep him around a little longer.

Is This Depression?

I am really lonely.

I spoke more to Andrew when I lived in Ridgeway. I thought that the communication would suffer because of our schedules. I realise now that our communication is obliterated because of our lack of interst in one another.

I really just want to go home. Well, right now I do, but I don't really have a home to go to, so the thought is fleeting.

I tried to convince myself before I left Wal Mart that I only liked my job because of the people. It really was a shit place to work and I really do hate every single ethic that, that company holds, but I sincerely loved my job and I sincerely miss it.
It's stupid to feel guilty for wanting a mediocre life that makes you happy vs. an overwhelming one that makes you rich.

I hate running to school and running home to run to work and then running through work to get back home to study for tests. It's just too much and while I know that I am capable of doing it, I absolutely do not want to.
So I feel like shit for not living up to my potential and continue to immerse myself in an unhealthy relationship with my boyfriend, who falls asleep before we have the opportunity to figure out our currently, doomed romance, because I don't feel like I have a choice to have it any other way.

Sitting at home for hours on end with nothing to do and no one to talk to doesn't help either.

Andrew asked me to come to Poker tonight, but I said no.
I hate gambling, I hate the game. I dislike Krista and Tony and I have no desire to sit through bullshit conversations about hot women and why I'm no fun because I can't afford to play a forty dollar round of poker.

It's really hard to admit that you're depressed and it's depressing to acknowledge that the only outlet you can admit it to is your blog; ONLY because you don't really have anyone else to admit it to.

In our last fight, Andrew said that he was pissed off at me for saying that I could, "easily find someone off the street to marry me before he would", infront of his brother. I don't understand why he would be upset about it because he hates the idea of marriage and has told me a thousand times. It's also the truth - It would be easier to find someone off the street to marry me and the prospect of marriage is so far out of the question, I don't see how it would have made a difference in any way. But apparently his brother gave him a disaproving, "Why the hell are you with her face" and so now I've been made to feel like quite an ass.

This scenario has played out numerous times over the past week.

Tony asked me today when I was moving out. Clay quickly backpeddled after saying that him and the guys should go to a strip club. Again, I was made to feel like a lunatic.

I don't understand why it's so ridiculous to want a boyfriend who is capable of articulating his needs, wants, emotions and thoughts. I don't understand why it's unreasonable to dislike the idea of my boyfriend paying attention to a naked woman in a moment of lust. I don't understand what I have to do to make him understand that everything he does HURTS me and that I'm so absolutely distressed about the state of my life right now that I feel like I'm five seconds away from bursting.

Why the fuck hasn't this gotten easier yet?

Soap Operas.

There are times where I am literally dumbfounded by people's pharisaicness.

I realise that my essence in some people's lives has just been shit. I'm not going to deny that I've probably caused a disproportionate amount of stress for individuals with my silly actions and uncaring demeanor.
But lets be honest folks, the stress was more than likely deserved, or unavoidable, and the ostentatious bottom line is that: If I added shit to your life, your life was probably shit to begin with. I probably just got mixed into it at a bad time and perhaps made you see it for what it was.*

Actually, the ostentatious bottom line is: That's just how life works. I'd be an egotistical, super freak to take the credit for it.

I've left a very cryptic account of the people in my life over the past month for many reasons. I've had to remove posts, censor my thoughts, calm my emotions quietly and frankly, just be nice for the sake of individuals that are currently circulating through my life.
I've done all of this for one and one reason alone: Some fat and annoying cunt of a woman feels the need to open her gapping gob for a blither with her co-workers about my existence. This obsessive wacko has apparently leached onto my life and lifestyle and thoroughly enjoys sussing it out in very embarrassing conversations. Unfortunately, the embarrassing conversations have no impact on me, but rather on other aquaintenances of mine and she's making quite a fool of herself, mainly because my cryptic accounts on my blog have NOTHING to do with what she thinks. So now, I'm forced to explain, with a vague hope that she'll own up to her stupidity and just shut the fuck up.

I cannot comment on the amount of anger that welled in me when Ann stuck her fat fingers into an innocent crush regarding my manager from Wal Mart.
YES, I had a crush on Paul and yes, I wrote a chaste, love-sick account about baking him a coffee cake which he never received. Yes I think Paul is a funny fellow and yes, I enjoy his personality but that is the extent of what I think of Paul.
The notorious, "blue tie" is not Paul. It never has been Paul and it never will be Paul. I do not want to fuck him, I do not want to steal him away from his wife, I have not been stalking him and I have no desire to write about him here because his existence in my life is about as relevant as any old manager's should be.
You'd have to be some sort of selfrighteous bungler to fill in the blanks of an ambiguous account of a faceless and nameless man on my blog. You'd have to be an even larger selfrighteous bungler to take your summary to work with you and blurt it out in the open like it's common knowledge that, OMG, everyone cares about.

One has to wonder when the enlightening comet of, "duh" would strike this dumbass with the screaming realisation that telling fibs about my life could indirectly induce a very large amount of discomfort for their current co-workers. This is just flat out cruel and rude. It's also quite stupid as the person who it could be inflicting is the person who signs your paychecks.

I'm a twenty-three-year-old, struggling student with a bad relationship and a semi-enthused desire to write about it. The only conclusion I can reach as to why someone would want to discuss my soap opera is that they can't find something entertaining enough on their own channel. Either that, or they're just a simple fucking dupe.

The person whom I am writing about is my ex boyfriend James.
James and I dated during my last year of highschool. He was a film student, I was an art student, we made beautiful, fucked up shit together.
I was his first girlfriend, he wasn't ready for one and the whole thing just sorta fell apart because of inexperience and bad timing.
James met a very nice girl in college and has been dating her ever since. I refer to her as, "his wife" as I refer to my boyfriend as, "my wife." If my readers would bother to talk to me, rather than about me, they'd probably realise that my dialect doesn't necessarily parallel their own.
Recently James and I have been conversing more frequently. We've gotten together to watch some films, just like the good ol' times and I have sincerely enjoyed his company. Now that we're older and more experienced, a relationship with James seems more possible. It's always that, "what we could have had" scenario that plays out in the back of my head and recently, it's been playing quite often.
Naturally James and I have had some discussion as of late about our doomed love and they've become a little erotic - It happens. As far as my sexual outbursts go, I'm an insanely sexual person. I've noted before, I haven't had sex in a month and I am quite descriptive and quite overwhelming when I need to get stuffed by a cock. Obviously, I'm going to vent.
So while I've been spending all sorts of different time with James, a light has been rekindled. We're both quite excited by eachother's company and I imagine that it's because we're both quite lonely. I realised this just recently, not a week ago when I wrote my last post. I'm human. Sometimes it takes me a bit longer to figure out why I do what I do because of this fault.

So I sent him a letter last week and I was quite stupid to do so.
I've never quite gotten accustomed to allowing my significant others to access my email, mail and other personal information and it strikes me as quite odd when others allow their partners to. It didn't click that his girlfriend could open the letter until I couldn't take it back.
Now that I've moved to Toronto, my time with James has become very limited. It usually exists on msn, for ten minutes because I either have to go to bed, or his mother is lurking over his shoulder, wondering what he's doing on the internet so late. It's frustrating, which is why I've been so short in my past posts.

I hope this clarifies some of the confusion for my readers. I hope this makes them feel like dumb shits and encourages them to perahps keeps their pesky noses in their own affairs and out of mine.

I left Fort Erie to get on with my life. I have no desire to relive it's insanity because of one woman's inability to get over her husband's decisions.

*I sincerely feel no guilt for the particular role I am relating this post to. It was necessary and bound to happen and I'm quite thrilled that I did infact, cause so much discomfort and awfulness for a woman who profoundly deserved it.