((to a certain “regular” reader of this blog,
i will not break up with my boyfriend. i am kind of partial to him. i mean, he is a rich white fuckboy from an irrelevant country in the middle of the ocean.. but hey, those arms. they are almost good enough to ignore his immature tendencies. almost. oh and don’t even get me started on his thing for pirates, it’s fucking weird as hell. nonetheless, i’m attached. i guess that he’ll have to do. don’t worry, you’re safe for now.
p.s. and i will probably do my essay as well and stay in school because your description of what happens if i don’t terrifies me and i don’t think that i am strong enough to handle such a thing. i cannot willingly create such a monster.
p.s.s. you are a cute pirate. i can’t even joke about hating that. it hurts me.
p.s.s.s. australia sucks and will never be relevant or good at anything except being hot and bothered. not a joke ))
today i heard the blood rushing through my heart through the speaker of an ultrasound machine.
"don’t worry" said the nurse "that’s a good sound. that’s a healthy sound"
it began racing and i wondered if she was used to it. if other people were exhilarated too when they first heard the sloshing of the blood through their veins
perspective: that organ is keeping me upright and speaking. that organ is allowing me to keep avoiding this 5 page paper. i could move to iceland tomorrow. i could break up with my boyfriend. i could drop out of school. i could ruin everything and it would still be pumping away.
and that’s one of the most intoxicating feelings i’ve ever had. that life is so beautiful and i could wreck it, and it would still be going and still have the same potential for beauty as it did before.
i was on his bed covered by a blanket in the dark
he made some comment about how awful biting his nails is and that he needs to stop
i said it was okay, ive destroyed my nails forever.
he took my face in his hands and kissed me
for that stupid thing that we had in common
i can never feel too awful about not having nice hands when i associate that memory with my stubby finger nails
i feel like im constantly at odds with my body in some way and im fucking over it
Looking through dad’s old photos of me and realizing that I’ve been very dramatically insecure about my body for the better portion of my life. Remembering specific instances makes my stomach churn.
“Don’t eat that, you’ll get fat. Do you want to be fat?” as if that were the worst thing I could be. No nine year old should have to worry that she’s bigger than her dad’s girlfriend. I am angry tonight.
the one thing that makes me super happy is not near me and I’m never going to be okay with that
"Ma fleur est là quelque part…"
a lot of me wonders if our lives are pre determined. there was one conversation that we had on a sunny park bench at the beginning of spring. he said that at any given point in our lives when posed with any issue or decision, there is only one thing we will choose. we are compilations of everything we’ve ever experienced. we are decided by every action we make as well as everyone else’s. so, logically, there is only one answer to any question we are presented. one choice that we will keep making. i don’t know if that’s fate or something stranger. I don’t know what brings people places and takes them away. to me it seems like a web of crossed interactions, tangled at first glance, but a work of art when you step back. who knows if it’s random or written or a mix of the two. i have no idea. all i see is my life and the love that it’s filled with. and as much as ive always thought that we move through life unpredictably and randomly, I can’t help but question it now. how could this be a cosmic mistake when everyone sees how right it is? even that random french man that passed us as we were sitting on the steps of st. étienne talking. "je vous souhaite tout le bonheur du monde. vraiment. au fond de mon coeur" i dont know. i dont know at all. i am happy with him and he is happy with me. we both chose each other. that is enough of an answer for me right now. he is there, somewhere, and that’s enough.
I angrily took this snapchat and sent it to all my france people. It says “I thought that I left france…” because of the rain. My little host sister lauriane just sent me a snap back saying “”non, tu la quitteras jamais vraiment”(no you’ll never really leave it ) and i want to cry. I miss her so much. Coming back felt like leaving my home to go to a familiar but ultimately foreign place. I still feel like that. December can’t come quick enough.