why anyone getting hitched would bring up the subject of other people getting hitched because the other people (who i don't really know anymore) were in my face about it so i decided to be in their face...in an online metaphorical cowardly kind of way ugh don't passive aggressively judge my entry. maybe you weren't. maybe it was an honest question. don't mind me, i'm just losing the last shred of sanity i had floating in my head. i can't help it, my spontaneous bouts of self destruction are no longer being indulged by crazy artists in wust el balad so now i stew. before i'd go out, give a boy a flower on the street, make conversation with a widowed taxi driver in love with his wife's memory after a decade, sneak into a church when it's empty and make up a prayer, call one of the many sexually repressed guys i know and be a prick tease for an hour or two and now i stew: --i work out the different color ratios of the sky while the sun comes up begrudgingly --i read ridiculous articles about things i can never work into conversations yet loop in my head over and over and over again like this, --i tear out my baby's heart, chew on it, spit it out and stare at the mess i've made in horror. at the moment i'm actually poking the mess with one hand and slapping that hand away with the other and i did a stupid, stupid thing... --i read 2005-2006, knowing full well that if i read that dusty journal cowering in the dark corner of my increasingly conspicuous drawer i would re-live 2005-2006... which means DEATH. which means--i'd laugh at eddie's jokes at MUN, and i'd sit under the bridge to the library on Greek campus, i'd eat cheap brownies that i could physically separate grains of brown sugar from, i'd drool over my obviously gay international relations professor and i'd be excusably not sorted out yet only to wake up being inexcusably not sorted out yet, which feels like DEATH especially when the two people you care most about are excusably not sorted out or...well, sorted out, respectively and yes, yes it's incredibly sad that the girl who hit on my future husband has an exhausting low paying job, and that music professor lady is going through a messy divorce, and that people are killing confused pigs who had no idea they were vessels for a new biological weapon designed by angry supernatural entities (who i believe do things like that when they're bored) but tragedies come in all shapes and sizes-- and while my little quarter life crisis is on the smaller side, it still isn't a broken nail so i feel, warrants more than a 'hmm, fix it?' response i am fucking fixing it. just avoid me when i'm taking a break from fixing it. ... i'm glad they know i love them. i'm glad they know that much. i can't believe anyone ever forced me to prove it (very lovable quality i've found). if something only happens once, it may as well never have happened at all (my beautiful, beautiful kundera) |