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Good God.  I don’t even know what path led me to where I am now.  I’m not much for introspection, and trying gives me a migraine.  I have so much angst it’s just absurd.  I thought that was the purvey of the high-school sophomore, that quintessinal sop who get’s his (or her, ladies) heart broken for the first time by the rugged senior on the football team after they make passionate love…sorry, diverting into fantasy there.

What I was trying to say before my eminently queer subconcious interrupted was that college was supposed to be a time beyond this petty crap.  I mean, look at the obscenities that I’ve used.  This has shaken me, hard.  What I can’t figure out is why.

He’s betrayed me.  I should be able to get over it and move on.  Instead, I’m crying like a c-list heroine in a lifetime movie over the abusive husband that left her, but she still loved him.  It’s just a heinous lack of control that I can’t seem to forgive myself for.

This has never happened to me before, internet.  I don’t know if I mentioned that in my previous post, but I believe that dear Prince was the only one who read it, and I’m sure he’ll forvige me if I repeat.  I’ve never had my heart broken.  I’ve only been the heartbreaker.  But my heart hasn’t really been broken.  More like it’s been rent into pieces, dashed on the slimy sidewalk and spat upon.  Melodrama yes but it’s still the emotion that I feel.  I don’t understand why, though.  I don’t feel emotions like this.  It’s not how I operate.  Anger is my shield, but I can’t seem to activate it.  I’m an android, or a Southern Man, if you’d rather: We don’t cry.  We don’t do this emoting bullshit.  It’s unbecoming and weak.

Yet, I have carried on so for the past two weeks.  Two weeks yesterday, I realized.  Life certainly goes on without us noticing, doesn’t it?  It feels like it happened yesterday.

Also, in the middle of all this, enter a sweet, well-meaning boy who gave me a shoulder to cry on that I used too much.  Now I don’t even know what the fuck to do there.  We carried on for a week much like we had a relationship, and honestly I just used him as a boyfriend substitute.  Problem is, I don’t like him in that way.  He’s nice enough, but I just don’t like him in that way and I can’t force myself to.  I’ve tried to tell him, two days in a row now, that we should just be friends.  But then I feel like I’ve hurt him and want to take it back.  It doesn’t help that he keeps trying so hard.  I don’t want to completely crush him after all the help that he’s given me, but I honestly cannot fathom what to do in this situation.  Yet another new one for me.  Generally I see these before they happen and prevent them.  I need to be single for a while anyway, and rebuild my world around myself, and not another boy.

Now I’m in a library, I have an exam in a statistics class at 9:30 in the morning and I can’t bring myself to study.  I ended up with my head on the table before I cranked up the old blog and started to spill this useless story out into the already overcrowded intertubes.  I need to study.  But the betrayer is coming to the library so I’m probably going to have to make an excuse and leave.  Then I’ll hve to talk to the other boy, who I have just beat to death the last two days.  I swear to God, one day I’ll learn to stop projecting my pain onto others.

On another note, I’ve been working on scuplture and some woodwork, and reading through 6 years of Questionable Content, an excellent webcomic that I recently discovered.  I started reading the new ones, realized that I was wholly ignorant of the plot, and started at the beginning.  What a difference so many years make in a cartoonist’s drawing style, too.  So my life isn’t entirely bereft of enjoyment.  If I hadn’t drowned my camera a while back I’d even post pictures of my sculpture, incomplete as it is.  Perhaps I’ll buy myself a new one.  Next month.

Well, internet, I believe I shall get to work on mathematics.  It’s a subject I hate but if I do well enough on this exam I’ll get my first A in a math class in years.  Oddly, I feel better having written this.  Thank you, internet.

PSA: Lukewarm espresso from Sbux=death.


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