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mutant
I don't think I'll ever find a job. Like an old flourescent light, I'm waiting for the light to finally turn on and flash in my head, for a "bright" idea of some sort but I don't think it's gonna happen anytime soon. I wish I could go work at that restaurant again but it's too late. I fucked up once and they were gonna give me another chance. But they called hours too late and I was out; my mother picked up the phone when they called and I'm not sure what words were exactly exchanged but anyway, she found out, and went besserk, of course. Doubt they want me to work there against my mother's wishes.
Cash is dwindling, actually, it has dwindled many weeks, months ago, and I've been very restless in general. And that's taking a toll on my mother, as well. Can't go into details with that. I just might end up moving back in with my father.
My hands and feet are very cold. Like, all the time. pb can't stand this. He won't even let me touch his feet because my hands are so cold. I feel like a mutant. It's kinda depressing. A boyfriend in the winter that won't let me touch him because I'm too cold kinda defeats the whole purpose of...well, not exactly, but, blah.
Oftentimes, it's so much easier to just write it out. I could be such a talker but a lot of times, my thoughts get jumbled up, if there is such a word, and I get stuck. I've gotten very comfortable with detaching myself from the situation, or thought, or whatever the demon is at the moment, by writing it and looking at it from a different angle that way.
Why do I have a bunch of fruitflies flying around my room? I see like 4. I gotta stop eating in my room.
Handball. pb doesn't look like a handball kind of person. But he's pretty good. Guys always have the advantage and they pick it up faster than girls. Anyway, when I look at pb, I suppose that he really is a new yawk city boy. If you grew up in NYC, and never touched a handball, then you're either a country boy, or a rich boy. I wish I could play more often. I doubt the old men wanna play every week or even every other week. I remember playing everyday, back in junior high, rain or shine...even in the snow. lams, Tina, and I were such tomboys. We first started out by the nursery yard, line up, take turns hitting it. Then shortly after, we would play in the courts. lams is really something else. First of all, she was the biggest, and strongest, out of all 3 of us. Piss her off and she would make the rest of the game/day a living hell. I hated her high serves - she only did that when she got pissed. Gosh, I better stop. I could go on forever, talking about my junior high days.
Anyone have any idea to what a "cherry drop" or "lemon drop" is? I feel sorry for kids nowadays. They'll never know what a lemon/cherry drop is because the city removed all the flat-chained swings and replaced them with little gayass rubber swings. The kind that makes your ass hurt if you sit on it for too long. Cherry/lemon drops were a trip, back then. I'd get terrified, scared shitless but the rush was so nice. Back in the day, we didn't know a thing about shit like drugs, or even cigarettes. So those little cherry/lemon drops were our only source of a high back in the 7th grade. Then we moved onto bigger things. Like handball. hah.
Why can't I talk like this to pb? A lot of people mistake the way I talk for debating. Or arguing. Call it debating, if you will, but I know how to maintain a cool head throughout it. I love a good debate. That's what I miss about usfa. I have no one to debate with nowadays. Back when j unnie and usfa were going out, and I was seemingly the perpetual third-wheel, usually, usfa and I would end up debating. About everything. And the cool part about him is he'd never lose his cool. Neither did I. So we'd maintain a good conversation. j unnie would always sit there and listen, and sometimes when asked for an unbiased opinion, she'd just hold her head and say, "leave me out of it." Hopefully, usfa will crawl out of his rut sometime soon, and we could start meeting up again, albeit without j unnie. I wonder how he'd get along with pb.
A lot of questions. I have the answers to them. Yet I still second-guess, and wonder. I guess that's all part of being stuck in between worlds.
Connectivity. I'm not too worried because I am just hoping that things will fall in its place, ruling in my favor. Kinda like wishing on a star? heh. dunno.
pb's current favorite song is the song, no one's gonna change you by Reina. I hope he knows that I won't ever try to change him.
I don't care about anything else, except one non-negotiable requirement. The guy that I marry will be from my church. I can't explain this. The only thing I can say is that I trust the church, ultimately God, with my future. I don't even trust myself; no more could I trust some guy professing undying love to me. Not saying that pb has done so. Just generally speaking. Anyway, knowing this, having that requirement, I don't know why I chose to get into a relationship with someone that doesn't go to my church. Not that I dated church guys. I never dated a church guy. I was seriously mentally ready to just get an arranged marriage. If it doesn't work out with pb, no more dating for me. I'm just gonna wait until I'm ready to get married and get an arranged marriage. I really hate thinking, or remotely hoping that, "oh, he'll come to my church for me." I really do. One just can't force something like that. And I really don't want him to attend my church just for me. Everyone stands before God, alone.
That's the answer. For me. To stand before Him alone. Isolate myself everything that's holding me, and allow Him to just let things fall in its own place. But it's just easier said than done. To let go of everything, from my grasp. I know it's kinda like swimming. The only way one could float, swim, and live is if one gives himself up to the water. The more you struggle, the deeper you sink.
I have this sick mentality of let it be right now. I'm just beginning to realize a tenth of my reality. Back to the swimming illustration. They say that when someone is drowning, unless you're an experienced swimmer, you gotta let the person drown a bit, to the point where the drowner is tired out, so the drowner won't take the person trying to save him down with him. I suppose that's what He's doing.
Early. Hopefully today won't be as fruitless as yesterday. I need to at least kill all these little fucker fruitflies. Flying around me daringly. Shibooral.
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