for you i've waited all these years

today i feel: deaf
today i'm hearing: new mix tape (in process)
today i'm thinking: let's examine this, shall we?

I was just in Mugsy's (the 'townie' bar of Car-bohn-duh-lay) with some school friends. It was filled with cigarette smoke and really bad karaoke singers. Pretty fun, all in all, but we sat about five feet from the speaker and I feel like my ears are going to start bleeding at any moment.

So, in an attempt to both avoid hearing them ring as soon as I lay down and get the taste of cloves out of my mouth, I'm going to write a post. This post concerns: awkward break-ups.

Now, I am the first person to admit to the fact that my introduction to the Dating World was not a realistic one in the least. Firstly, I had known my first boyfriend for three years. We were good friends, the sexual tension was building, it was going to happen. It is still going to happen again (a fact that is understood and honestly embraced by both parties and their subsequent relations/friends). We dated; we snogged; we broke up; we didn't talk for four months; things went back to normal. Awesomest. Break-up. Ever. None of that awkward 'Hey, I used to date you' conversation; none of those uncomfortable run-ins in the grocery store; nothing bad. It kicked a whole lot of ass. And I think I know the real reason for this, but I'd like to consider other situations first.

My first girlfriend and I did the long-distance thing: do-able, but problematic. It created this uncomfortable situation where whenever she was in town, she was the only person allowed to exist in my life. Now, I understand why this happened and I had no problems with it at the time (other people did, so I didn't feel the need to). And I learned what sex was, as poorly as I was at it, and that's always dead useful. But there was too much commitment required and I was too young and it ended in tragedy (or, rather, I thought it had ended as was then lead astray. VERY awkward).

Then I made the mistake of beginning another relationship without really ending the first. And the idea of 'love' came into play way too soon and, again, tragedy ensued: this time on my part. This, dear reader, is called 'karma' and she is a salty bitch.

And now there's Randy. And apparently we're not broken-up because 'it's not that simple'. I don't know what that means. I just know it's too damn complicated for me to make any sense of, so I'm probably just going to say to hell with it and snog aforementioned first boyfriend and wait for Karma (the salty bitch) to show up and bite me in the ass. But I'm comfortable with this. So there.

But to the heart of the matter: I've decided I understand the reason why break-ups have been problematic for me as of late. Unlike that first break-up, I was not given a necessary 'grieving period': a time where I could eat about three gallons of ice cream and make angry mix tapes and plot whomever's demise with my girl friends. Following Bozarth, there was a period almost equivalent to our dating period where he did not exist on the same earthly plane as I. Therefore, he was a shadowy enemy and tragedy could be satisfactorily spread over his life (because, to me, he did not have a worthy life). Thus, when we met again, I had all-ready gotten all of my mad out and it was okay to mend whatever wounds needed mending and go back to the way things were. This was awesome for several reasons:
1.) I got to keep my friendship with him.
b.) I did not gain three-hundred pounds due to consuming too much Ben 'n' Jerry's too fast.
iii.) The sexual tension was not forced to die.

...Do you know how awesome that is??

That, and the idea of Love never came into the picture. That was never even discussed, never hinted at, never pondered. It was there and it was fun while it lasted, then it was gone. Done! No strings, no lingering feelings outside of hormonal angst, no emotional trauma. I am very, very thankful to my fifteen-year-old self for avoiding ever discussing that. It wouldn't have gone well to begin with, but that's not why.

I was also smart enough then to avoid a relationship for a period of time. We broke-up in late November, and it was not until autumn of the next year that I opted to try the whole dating thing again.

...

...

...Why don't I do that now??

I was so much smarter at fifteen/sixteen than I am now. Do you know how frustrating that is?

So now I'm in this relationship (or, at least, the remnants of one). And he seems to be of the opinion that 'breaking-up' means 'breaking-off' and if he actually says, 'Yes, you got dumped,' I will run off in tears and never speak to him again. Quite frankly, I'm so over the fact that I got dumped that it would actually be a relief to have that admitted by the second party. I really do mean it when I say that I still want to be friends. Why, you may ask, is that? Because, the way I figure, I don't want people who have seen me naked running around and trash-talking me. Way to avoid this: REMAIN FRIENDS WITH THEM. There are far too many embarrassing aspects of my naked body for me to let them run rampant through the SIU Theatre Department or the world wide interweb. I can hardly stand the fact that there are actually living people who have seen my naked ass! Why would I let them out of my clutches?

That, and after all the emotional trauma -- the crying and drunken confessions and 'you think your childhood was bad, listen to this'es -- you might as well stay friends with them. Again: too much shit on me that they know about for me to let them run. Especially in Randy's case. I really have told him things I haven't told anyone before. And I hate to admit that, because there are other people who are definitely more deserving of those stories, but they just came out. And now he knows. You know? Shit, man. I don't want that stuff getting out.

Once I've shown someone everything and done everything with them and made all these promises and sex-talked them in fucking German, do you really think I'm going to give up on them so fast? Jesus, he's dumb.

I don't know why this is on my mind so much. I guess I'm trying to convince myself that I'm doing the right thing.

See, it's like this: this whole relationship was started on a whim. We decided to fuck by playing rock-paper-scissors for fuck's sake. And I'm glad that we did. I really, really am. Because it's been a good experience and he's a pretty cool guy and shit. Whatever. But I'm so sick of him dicking me around. I'm so sick of him suddenly deciding to kick me out of his life, just because he's depressed. If we're going to be friends (I want to be friends, dude; get it through your head), I don't want to be his toss-off friend. I don't want to be unreliable in his book. That's bullshit, you know? I woke up when you did and took your shit and held you when you were having an attack. That's got to count for something, right?

Right?

Another reason why dating Bozarth fucked me up: everyone I have dated (beginning with him) has depression/anxiety/anger management problems. Can I please date someone who doesn't belong in my psychology textbook? Of course, this is the pot calling the kettle black: my shrink is just dying to publish my case study. I see her eyes light up at least twice a session.

Fuck, man. I don't know. I'm hearing Paige in the back of my mind telling me to 'fuck 'im' and I know she's right but...fuck, you know? I don't give up on people. I just don't. Or I don't like to. That's probably more correct.

I need to keep reminding myself that I am as big an idiot as everyone else. I guess I just want to be more special than that.

...EMO.