#dontfuckingreadthis

Damn I should’ve never read that. That wasn’t meant for me to read. Why do I do this to myself. It almost feels like I was waiting for this. I’m sorry I read that. I know I wasn’t supposed to. I’m sorry I read any of it. I can’t think about this anymore. I can’t think about you anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore. It hurts too much. So I’m shutting you out. 

I’m tired of thinking about you. I’m tired of wondering if you’re online. I’m tired of wishing that you were thinking about me. I’m tired of hoping that you miss me. I’m tired of constantly checking my phone to see if you messaged me. I’m tired of wanting to respond right away when you did. I’m tired of being high at night and only thinking of you. I’m tired of being the other guy. I’m tired of missing you. I’m tired of trying. I’m tired of feeling invisible. I’m tired of feeling unwanted. I’m tired of feeling pathetic. I’m tired of feeling. I’m tired.

I told you last time that that was the last time. I didn’t say it to influence your decision. I said it so you’d know. That I’m not doing it again. This is the hardest and fastest I’ve fallen for sure. I don’t know how or why. But I’m still thankful for it. You showed me so much, so fast. I showed you who I be. I showed you what I’m about. That’s all I can offer. I won’t try anymore. I’ve fallen deep into this hole. Now I have to build walls inside and climb them to get out.

I guess it’s really time to accept it now. I’m letting you go. The walls will be up the next time I see you. I’m sorry. I’m not sorry. This is the only way I know how to keep going. Thank you for the lesson. I appreciate you.

I wanted things to be okay.. and for brief moments, they were.

who were we trying to kid?

I'm telling myself that I hate you, and i'm starting to..

I was right about everything. EVERYTHING.

It's all about her, again.

I know it is.

“I Only Surround Myself With People I Find Intellectually Stimulating” – My Girl

I love to read. Love, love, love to read. There is really nothing better than sitting down with a good book. Oh, except for maybe Jamison on the rocks after a bad day, but that’s a horse of a different color. I love books (so does Oliver, I read them and he eats them – but at least he has some appreciation for them), I love bookstores, and I love libraries. I prefer the old books to the new, mostly because I like the way worn out, faded paper feels on my fingertips, and old books smell the best because they have a history that new books don’t. At any rate, both make me a happy lady. On stressful days and good days alike I go to the library, sit on the floor and read for hours. I’ll never understand those who choose to sit in chairs, because it takes all the fun out of being in the library if you can’t sprawl out on the floor and read while the librarians yell at you for making a mess and other patrons stare, thinking you’re a wack-a-doo.

I’ve always liked to read, even when I was little but my love affair with books really began in 1999, when I read Jodi Picoult’s The Pact. Now, that’s all well and good, but I didn’t always appreciate bookstores and libraries… not until I went to college, in Boston, where you can find a bookstore on almost every corner. Now I’m home. And I needto fill my reading void. I spend a lot of time at the public library, but it’s pretty miserable in there. It’s too small, and all the books look sad and cramped.  Sometimes I think since I’m unemployed I should become a cat burglar on my down time (which is all the time) and rescue some of those distressed books and set them free. It just seems like the right thing to do. Anyhow, the other day, my girlfriend and I are looking for a book, and can’t find it. Picture us in a bookstore the size of a walk in closet (not Carrie Bradshaw’s because that thing is ridiculous), my claustrophobia is kicking in and I am in full panic mode because I am surrounded by books on all sides, and hating it. There’s not much to this place, and if you don’t see what you’re looking for, it probably isn’t in stock. We walk to the counter and ask the woman behind the desk to plug the book into the computer. Our guess is right, and they’ve sold out. She says she can order it. It will come in a few days. We say, No, we need it now. We ask,where is the closest books store? ARE YOU READY FOR THIS?! The closest bookstore is the mall, 35 minutes away. ARE YOU SERIOUS?! Here is the real kicker. In this town there is one depressing public library, and ONE bookstore, the size of my Kindergarten cubby. THERE ARE 8 DRUGSTORES. EIGHT! Ocho! Huit! Acht! Eight! Really?! Who needs that much shampoo and hand lotion? I’m starting to worry about this place. Is that why all the young girls are walking around in dresses that are supposed to be shirts? Or the reason that all the boys in this town think they’re Lil’ Wayne? There’s seriously something wrong with the whole thing, and what scares me even more is that no one aside from me thinks this is a problem. Maybe the girls in this town wouldn’t be so vicious if they read Jane Austen every once in a while, and learned how to act like ladies. Maybe some of these boys would get off the couch and detach themselves from the Playstation if they read Homer’s, The Odyssey. Who knows?