Third Degree.

I should have stayed away, again.

I'm like that kid that continually burns themselves on the stove, even though their mother and the stove has given them ample reasons not to touch it. It's just, the stove is so attractive and you can make choux paste on it and well, choux paste is yummy and my selfcontrol is about as strong as strungout smack addict's ethics.

I had every intention of being mad at him. I actually punched him when I saw his blue shirt. I punched him and then I looked at his face and I melted into a pile of idiocy. My learned hatred for him apparently owned an expiry date and it lasted all of five minutes.

I cannot say what happened between the two of us. All I know is that what happened has left me more fucked up and more confused about everything than I ever have been.
It's bizarre that one man has the ability to not per say, make you want to do things for him but rather, make you want to do things because you realise you could have something different. But when has different ever been the right answer?

I thought about getting a job in Niagara on the Lake and living in a one room appartment until student loans are paid off. I thought about fucking off and going to Europe to learn how to make real pastry from the finest. I've thought about staying in Toronto and living this ordinary life of a housewife, the one I thought I wanted, and sort of still do, but not now.

I've thought about so many things, especially him. Especially what he could never give me because he's failing miserably at giving it to someone else right now, so really, what's the point?

I wish I learned how to hate him earlier. I wish I was smart enough to not get involved in this. I wish he knew how to tell me what I needed to hear in order to act accordingly and I wish I had the smallest fucking clue.

This makes me feel so stupid.

I caught him looking at me when another man was kissing my arm and I thought that maybe I saw a sparkle of jealousy, but I can't be sure. When he asked me to come back tomorrow, he sounded so desperate, but I don't know for what. There are times when he absoultely wants me and then there are moments when it's just about, "what he needs." And after we've had our two minutes together and he needs to return to his world that doesn't include me, I hate myself for a week and silently weep over the way I'm running my life in the passenger seat of my boyfriend's car.

I know that I should never be married. I can't be. It's not in me to do.

Andrew and I sat down and chatted again about the state of our relationship.
Things had been fine until I went home and saw all the things I missed. He says he doesn't want me to stay if I hate it here, he also says that I'm making him feel guilty because it's him that's apparently making me stay. He also said, "Maybe it's completely out of line for me to say this, but it just seems like you're not trying at all to make this work". Hearing that now doesn't make me angry, it just depresses me.

I don't spread my legs every night because I want to fuck you d00d, I spread them because I feel like shit for not doing it. How's that for trying?

This whole existence is just so diseased, I have no idea what to do to make it right.