day two of what will be known, hereforth, as: betrayal ‘06.

last night i drank about two-pitchers-and-three-shots too much of alcohol and cried too much for my own good. i woke up remembering hurt and vowing, a real vow, to never ever ever trust another person for the rest of my life. i vow to make really stupid and immature resolutions and stick with them as long as it takes for everything, from my toes to the tips of my fingers, to stop hurting. until i think i can trust another person, boy or girl, lover or ex-lover, ever again.

the end of the day will see my heart beginning to mend itself but my head feeling alternately vengeful and very, very sad.

1:30am pain.

running into the boy i love on a date with my work-friend. deceptive and cruel and proof of how much i mean to him – absolutely nothing.

it is not immature (or premature) to say that they are both dead to me.

tonight we went for coffees and to peruse bookshelves because we hadn’t seen each other in two days and sometimes that feels too long. we talked about flaws in the education system and shakespeare and proved that when we let ourselves just be it is really very good.

you said that you had saved the things i had written. emails and poems and moments of longing- examples of how (for a little while) we were dreamy and tied up in each other.

vanilla lattes and hearing you admit your vulnerability keep me elated and hopeful for days. maybe it is better this way, wistful and longing in brightly lit cafes. feeling lucky and love and loved. catching glimpses of who we were and who we might be under the right circumstances.

in all seriousness all i want to do for the rest of my life is read winding novels written by camus and kafka and, now, milan kundera. i can’t believe how much i can miss a handful of books i haven’t finished reading. now strange czechoslovakian literature is the only thing that makes sense.

last night we went for beers after work and had a strange encounter outside of a house where a band was playing at nearly 1am. and you said i was being mean, but not to my face. and for a minute i forgot who we were, arguing playfully or seriously on the front porch of a house belonging to someone we’ve never met. when i called you my best friend you cocked your head to one side and maybe wondered if i meant that i loved you, which i do. and you brushed it off the way you do every moment of great or insignificant importance.

but this morning we ate eggs in the early am and everything felt okay again.

i have two days off (in a row!!!) and i’m going to spend them going on bike rides and maybe searching for the perfect new cardigan. to ring in my spectacular two-day-off-marathon i spent the evening doing laundry, eating homemade pizza, drinking beers and listening to howie day’s australia.

i am a grown-up now and this is what we do.

i am starting to understand the problem with bananas and how by eating them i am contributing to global warming.

because i eat bananas they get flown in from very far away. they are still green and very very fresh but they have already lived a pretty big life before i’ve even met them. why do i have to eat a fruit that comes from really far away and uses up a lot of energy getting here, when i have so many other fruit-eating options?

i am having a mid-life fruit crisis.

i don’t think i am a writer anymore, not of anything more than self-obsessed journal entries and love poems.

my lips are sore like i have been kissing for hours. the truth is that i smoked too much pot last night and fell into the most comfortable sleep i’ve had in days. and dreams that felt like home.

the truth is, blog, that i never want to lie to you again.

the secret lies in twist ties
and the hidden story in one line
i haven’t even walked my block
since i moved out here five years ago.

it is silly now to make incidents and accidents your whole life. it is silly not to forgive and be forgiven every day, isn’t it?

it is silly to write disinchanted things in my blog instead of words that are like letters to friends. it is silly to not say the things that reside on the tip of my tongue on a sunday morning in my favourite cafe.

i am surrounded by couples. that is not an idea, but a reality. instead of green with envy i am warm and with love. see the happiness stretched out before them, lazy like a cat because it is sunday morning and they have nothing but time for each other. to read newspapers and eat late breakfasts and hold hands under tables, to kiss between bites of eggs. this is my idea of a perfect sunday morning as well, creamy coffee and bagels after the early morning rush, too much time. i romanticise it all, why not my own life? where i ride bicycles to the grocery store and listen to hours upon hours of singer-songwriter girls and talk about feminism and blog in cafes.

after my last brief slip up things have been consistantly good. i will always be too emotional and i will always confuse needing to be close with sex but claire tells me that these little things (big and small and good and bad) are all working together to define me. she is the smartest and warmest girl i’ve ever known and losing her won’t even be so hard with the knowledge that she will really, truly, always be mine. i will belong to her and she will belong to me – like a fox and a prince.

now none of this is making sense, it is only words and thoughts that don’t match, all sewn together. but it is sunday and you can’ t blame me for that.