Wide-awake. Fast beating heart. Aching shoulders, uncomfortable stomach. Stabby heart.
What the fuuuuuuuck.
Spent hours sitting on a brick wall talking about psychology, yoga, weights, diet, hormones. Danced. Kissed.
He wants a date. I don’t want a fucking date. The last thing I fucking need is a date. The thought of a date distresses me enough to keep me awake.
I am waiting for a reply from not one, not two, but three of my ex-boyfriends. A newspaper article arrived in the mail from one of them today, no return address. Another has gone vegetarian. And the other, and only…
I can’t sleep when I am alone in my bed. How do you boys expect either of us to get rest, with you and your troubles in here as well? The slight hint of anything that might happen directly implicating me, and I am wide awake. Let alone an incomplete deadline. Or someone wanting a date. OR three ex-boyfriends holding their piece.
A friend is over from Perth. I want to see her. I should see her. Add it to the list of things keeping me awake, the thought that I’m a bad fucking person because I never see anyone because I am a workaholic running to my own fucking hours. A shift-worker would be more regular.
My sisters hen’s night was tonight. Sweet jesus.
I’m 25, and that’s no big deal, except he’s 21 and couldn’t possibly grasp the width and depth of that gaping abyss between now and when I was 21. Boys my age can’t handle me. How are you going to?
I think I’m gonna cut my hair.