Does anyone ever feel like creating weird search strings on Google, just for someone else to find and be all "what the fuck was THAT about?" Just a thought.
Packing stuff in my room, I found my level 5 locker lock. And I remembered the combination! How much does that fucking rule?? Not only did I keep something, and find it 6 years later, but I remembered the combination! Fucking awesome.
Rick's almost all packed, but I'm delaying, for obvious psychological reasons like "I don't want to go there" and stuff. Also because I've accumulated so much goddamn CRAP in 24 years that I don't even know where to BEGIN keeping and throwing stuff out. My natural pack-rat-ic tendencies are screaming defiance at the garbage bin, and probably making obscene gestures, too. Keeping: the first ring A Boy ever gave me, my semi-precious rock collection from when I was 9, my sticker album, my yearbooks, the big bag of henna Mike tried to eat in frosh. Chucking: most of my university papers, my crappy-ass poetry from highschool, some knicknacks (SP?!), the bracelets I bought in Paris, some used candles, all the little boxes and jewelery cases I've saved over the years, my beads and findings. I'm never going to use them anyway.
Thinking of that henna (which actually belongs to Shubha, anyway) reminded me of Mike, and I went back to the beginning of this diary, reading back my old entries. I miss him. That is to say, I miss OLD Mike. When I reread those entries, I got a hollow, aching feeling in my stomach, and just for a moment, I wished I was back there, in that giddy, delirious, unstable time, when everything was a new frontier and life was exciting and full of pitfalls and rollercoaster-rides and amazing triumphs that lasted all of a minute. We were a good match, at least, we were back then. Over the years I've wondered a lot about him, all the stuff I never had the guts to ask - did he really love me? Did he love me the way I loved him? Was I just a filler while he thought about Rhonda? Sometimes it seemed like he wanted to settle down, when he'd talk about the future, but in retrospect, he seemed so reluctant to commit... almost as if he was holding out for something. Someone. The year after we broke up was seriously the lowest, scummiest point in my life. If I could change anything, I would wish never to have been drunk when I met James, because maybe I wouldn't have been swayed so easily by flattery and attention. I met James for the first time at Sanctuary, closing night, but didn't talk to him; he became interested in me when I was drunk at Stein's, having just emailed Mike to say it would be better if we broke up until he got back (and I always meant it like that - he wasn't being a good boyfriend anyway, never emailing, hardly ever calling, and I was crying every day waiting for any sign of recognition... but I always intended to get back together... I always wanted to.) What was I in his mind, compared to how I saw myself? Were the two images even close?
4:05pm
Just violated my inviolable rule: never google yourself your or friends, in case you find something you don't like. Now I feel sad, wistful, nostalgic and just a little sea-sick. Not because of what I found, but because of what I didn't. But then, i guess that just serves me right for violating the inviolable rule........
I wish I had some serious time to be alone and sing every song that I know, because I need to revert and feel sorry for myself a little bit. Dave said he fully believed I could be dark and gloomy, though he seemed discreetly surprised about the cutting.
Sometimes I miss it. At least I had an identity then. At least I was addicted to something. At least I had personality. Sometimes stability blows goats.
A hundred million people see it my way now...
I'm not ready to grow up yet. I want to get married right NOW, I want to buy a house NOW, I want to get under way. But I don't want to grow up.
8:42pm
Feeling better. Painting my toenails calms me down - something about pampering yourself in a stupid, secret way that perks me up. Also, I sent off a resume, which at least makes me feel constructive. Off for dinner.
11:11pm
For some reason, keep feeling the need to add to this entry. Like I can't leave it alone.
I need my records back, to get my heart on track...
This probably has to do with the whole restlessness thing I have going right now - exactly what to do with myself, where to start and how to feel. There's such a thing as over-analysing, and I feel I'm digging myself into a pit. I just need to settle down into a routine, so I can stop freaking out. R says we can start looking for a kitty in a month, which I'm looking forward to - not only looking forward to Nibbley having a pal, but also to a new animal with a new personality. Nibbley was very independant, didn't like staying still, liked exploring and climbing and sniffing around. Still does. But apparently that's characteristic of torties, and tabbies are much more lap cats. As it is, the appartment won't feel like a proper home until Nibbley's in it, probably Wednesday. That will make me feel less mopey.
Since when have I been spewing nothing but bumf about gushy feelings? Blearg.
Readin'
Listenin' to
Thinkin' about
Most recently I was 
