And I’ve been wanting them to be together and now they’re all snuggly and kissing and cutesy and I’m just full of all the smiles now. 

Love, if you ask me (and no one ever does) is nothing more than a silly, ridiculous, fantasy. I’ve been bitten one too many times by things I thought were love, only to find that the men who claimed such ridiculous things were nothing more than boys, playing dress-up in their fathers clothing. Boys interested in nothing more than foolish flings and illicit encounters I have little interest in. Yes, love is a ploy, a crock, a full-blown fraud, and this is the story of how I fell neck-deep into it.

~Mary

I’m sorry. My end was not to upset you, and I have, and for that I apologize and I won’t do it again. 

I hate that you won’t kiss me when you’re mad. I don’t want things to be like this. I love you. 

His eyes, how they glimmered with promise. And I would have stopped him, to tell him just how dazzling that grin was, but normal people just don’t do that. And that would have been tantamount to flirting, even though I wouldn’t have meant even the slightest thing by it, I just think that the beautiful things of this world should be appreciated. 

I only knew her as some girl I’d pass in the hall sometimes, we never had a class together or anything, but her locker was a few down from mine. One day, I was asked by my teacher to go.. I dunno, deliver a paper to another teacher, or maybe I asked to go return a library book or something, but it was during class and the halls were empty except she and I, I was on my way back to class and she was getting something out of her locker. She dropped her planner and it skittered across the hall, and poor thing, her hands were full. So I ran up and grabbed it for her, handed it to her, asked her if I could help her with anything. She said no, and then lost her precarious balance of books and papers and everything scattered across the floor. I of course helped her pick it all up, and as I was handing her a pile of her papers, we were both crouched on the floor gathering things, and she looks at me with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, and says “Thank you so much. You must be an angel.” I laughed it off and said “No, of course not. I’ve done stupid things before, things I’m not proud of, things I shouldn’t have. I couldn’t be an angel.” She pondered this for a moment, sat back on her heels in her pretty white dress and bit her lip in thought. “I’ve got it. You’re an angel with human tendencies.” At this point, the bell rang, and she gathered her things and put them in her bookbag, walked down the hall as the classes filtered out and I walked back into my classroom. My teacher asked me what had taken so long, so I told him I was helping someone who’d dropped their books, and he smiled and sent me on my way. I told a girlfriend of mine after class as we were walking out, mentioned who it was, and she just looked at me blankly, hadn’t ever seen the girl around. And anyone else I mentioned her to didn’t seem to know who she was. And I never saw her again.

The concept has stuck with me ever since, that there are people here who are angels with human tendencies. That there are people who come into our lives, who are sent to us and who are especially for us, to help us when we need it, who are granted these… extraordinary souls.

A short list of the most recent: my housing arrangement, my psychology project, my dad’s ticket to the football game, and to a certain extent my friend situation. Last y’all heard, I had few friends and it was starting to bother me. Now I have a couple different folks I’d be inclined to call friend. And two wives (two and a half, maybe?). But I’ve always found that just when I think things are hopeless, or just when I think I can’t take the situation sanely much longer, things change. Things get better. I don’t think I really have a point to make here, just an observation on my life. 

Night before last, for whatever reason, I fell to pieces in his arms. And bless his heart, he knew there was something wrong beforehand. I told him how I still don’t really feel like I fit here, how I still feel like I’m stuck on the outside. That few folks seem to want to talk to me. I need to be the one to initiate conversation. He said I tend to be a passive observer more than an active participant. I totally agree with that. That’s where I’m comfortable. I enjoy people watching. But it would be nice if every now and again, someone wanted to talk to me, without me having to initiate conversation. Everyone’s already set in their own little cliques, and I’ve never really had one. I’ve moved around so much that I’ve never really had that established friend group. And I’m tired of it. I don’t want to wander around, lost. I want a home, a network, a place where I actually feel like I belong. I did have it, for a little while, but that seems to have since fallen to pieces and now I’m alone again. Except this time, I’m not alone. If we’re being fair, I never have been, but it’s different when it’s family.

He also said something about how he always knows when something’s wrong, so I may as well just give up and tell him about it, which sent me to pieces again. The girl who was my best friend for a couple years, and may still be, I honestly don’t know and I’m scared to find out, but she always mentioned how she had to pester me to death every time there was something bothering me. And we don’t talk anymore… I’m sure it was a combination of things, but l tend to blame myself. I reached a point in my life where I felt there were things I couldn’t tell her, and so I didn’t. And now I don’t know her anymore, really.

I’m not good at talking when I’m upset. I’m much better at this. Writing everything down, trying to keep it straight. I can’t speak when I’m choked with tears, I’ve never been able to. And I don’t typically WANT to talk unless someone notices there’s something off. He’s going to have to bug me about it. I hope that’s okay. I hope it doesn’t become a problem here too. Because then I’ll end up lost again, and I’m scared of getting lost forever one of these days.

On another note, though I’ve been away from home for several months now, I don’t think I want to go back. My family calls me, tells me they miss me, that they want me home for a weekend… I miss my dog… I don’t know if I can honestly say I’m eager to be back in my house again. We’ve reached a tentative balance, my mother and I, of me calling her twice a week and she being grudgingly okay with it. “It’s a culture shock for all of us,” my dad said, “and I’m not trying to guilt-trip you [into coming home]” Yeah? Bullshit. That’s exactly what you’re doing. I don’t feel “culture-shocked” and you did a damn good job of making me feel guilty for not coming home. I LOVE IT HERE. I don’t want to come home. My bed will be much too big, and everything too loud and crazy. God, Thanksgiving’s going to be WONDERFUL (note sarcasm.) Too much food, too many people, too little space. Like always. My favorite holiday. (Seeing most family members is a plus though.)

On another other note, while I’m writing: My family is the only note of contention in my relationship. We have never argued about anything without them being a main idea. That they are still trying to exert too much control over my life and I’m not doing what I should to get out from under it and be happier and freer, that they don’t like him for no good God damned reason, that they need to let up and let me be me. And because it’s how I’ve always been and what I’ve always done, I’m allowing it to happen. If he and I break up, heaven forbid, it will be on account of my family disliking him with a fiery passion they cannot themselves explain.And it’s frustrating and irritating. My mother thinks I’m not making enough friends up here, that it’s his fault, that I need to be best of friends with my roommates. I’m honestly okay with being good friends with them, period. I’m okay with us just being okay with each other. With coexisting. As long as we’re not at each others throats, I am okay with any other moniker that could be assigned to the relationship between myself and my roommates. My mother thinks that I am not friends with enough people from home, because that would get me home more often and easily. Easily, okay, I can see that one. Logistically, it makes more sense. But, a, how the hell am I supposed to find these people (there aren’t too many), and b, well, have you seen the general caliber of people that come out of our county, mum? Granted, if they’re here, they’re probably not the usual town idiots, but still, what makes you think they’d be someone I’d even want to be friends with? 

A girl sitting alone at a table, lazily stirring a coffee cup with one earbud in; books and movies romanticize it, this is a creature to be approached delicately because she is lovely and mysterious. But those girls are in cute sweaters and scarves at a cozy corner booth, or flowered skirts at an outdoor wrought-iron table with cherry blossoms framing the tiny coffee shop. They have a skinny caffe mochachino or a steaming cup of tea with the tea bag still in. They are not girls in sneakers and hoodies at the dining hall tables made for eight when she’s only one, with a chipped mug of cocoa dotted with marshmallows like a child.

We act so strange in public. I act so strange in public, with or without you. (although recently, I’ve been with you far more than without you.  Which I quite enjoy) You mention sometimes how I don’t always act my age, how I seem much younger than I am on a not-so-rare occasion. And I really am curious to know if it even registers on anyone elses radar but my own, how terribly strange I am. 

I’ve been meaning and meaning to write this but I just haven’t yet sat down to do it. I can’t even remember when I last wrote something substantial here, and truthfully, too much has happened since then to write all of it. 

I’ve never been happier. I love it here, so very much, every single aspect of it. 

(and here’s where I choke, the words stop flowing because I don’t want folks knowing things. Why did I ever tell people about this? Did I not suspect that things like this would happen? No, of course I didn’t, because naive as I am, I thought things wouldn’t change. And as much as I may not like it, they have. Please believe me when I say I never wanted it to happen like this. But I feel trapped, I feel scared, I feel awful, I feel defensive, and so I’ve retreated. I know I shouldn’t have. I know I should have mentioned it, so that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to jump right now, but I didn’t, and now I’m here, in this predicament when I feel censored here, my journal, my diary, and that shouldn’t happen. But I feel like I’d be attacked for the things I want to say, the things I’ve done, the things I want to remember.)

(And now I’ve taken steps, so I can say whatever I like and only be marginally concerned)

My best friend is twice my age. I can tell her anything without fear of judgement and repercussions, and I do, frequently. 

I love it here, so very much. I love that every night, I spend next to him, safe and warm and loved. I love that we spend most mornings wrapped up in each other (until responsibilities drag me from the sheets) and that most nights for the past two and a half weeks (since August eighteenth, after a midnight showing of The Room and… something else. I can’t remember) we’ve been “getting to know each other” in a biblical sense. (*wink wink, nudge nudge* My God, sex is amazing…) I love being able to feel every inch of his skin against every inch of mine, I love waking up slowly in his arms. We’ve been going to all sorts of political meetings and training and date nights and lunches and oh the hours spent just snuggled together. Those are the best. 

In other news, moving in occurred without a hitch, my classes are going well, I’m finding my way swimmingly, and I love the atmosphere here. I love my roommates, we do a “roommate adventure” about once a week together, and I’m marginally surprised we all get along as well as we do. I love having a door that locks and isn’t suspicious. I wish I knew how thick the walls are… I’m having a good day today, so I think I’ll go take a hot shower and mosey downtown to get me a pumpkin spice latte because they sound delicious.