When we were in the moment how I felt about you

But then you never gave me the chance to get over the 'like you' jitters. It makes me sad. You would've liked me. I would have given you time you didn't give me.

http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/what-you-should-know-when-i-like-you/

From ‘Bridesmaids’ to ‘Something Borrowed’

Female friendships are a tricky thing. One day you're sitting drunk in a darkened theatre shout whispering to your current closest friend, "Omigod! That main character experiencing the most awkward sex scene ever documented… that's so you!" and she's right there with an, "Oh god! You're so right… Oh shit and she has an ethnic best friend too!" And over Sour Patch Kids and diet coke, we watch our lives played out on the big screen never feeling closer to each other than in that moment.

Two days later, you're in the same movie theater with the same friend, watching a different BFF movie disguised as a chick flick, but this time stone cold sober, denying even the sugar rush from the Sour Patch Kids being insistently offered because your stomach is filled with angry bile threatening to spew over and burn your friend's eyes out. As the formerly best friend characters on the screen do one shitty thing after another to each other, once again you watch your life play out well aware of the irony and its comic timing.

Unfortunately, unlike the movies, the real life problem is so much more complicated, just as the warm bond before was deeper and more meaningful than something the editors cut together for popcorn narrative logic. Being a girl and being friends with other girls is a bitch and something only the thick skinned and brave can weather safely. The hurts we cause each other are never cut and dry and rarely obvious. Most times all we know is that there's a big ball of pain wedged in your ribcage and that girl over there who you trusted with everything is responsible for it, even though you can't say exactly how or why. But you know, man, you know that she done something shitty and you know that she know she done something shitty and she be actin' all like she don't know and that hurts even more. Because you feel stupid. Stupid because you can't explain what happened and how exactly she hurt you, which makes you soooo mad. Not just because of what she did, but because she ruined what you had. She ruined your favorite bar, your favorite activities, you favorite place to study. She ruined your favorite person to laugh with, cry with, drink with, and stay up late to just talk with. The future just seems a little dimmer.

From here it's 50/50 whether the friendship survives. Forgiveness and acceptance needs to happen, and some forgetting for the magnanimous ones. Lord knows, I won't be forgetting. I'm not big enough for that. Either way whatever is salvaged is not the same. Friendships with girls are the worst. I just wish they weren't also the best.

blow me down asunder

I didn't end up writing anything today. Now I feel like crap.

I always get so inspired when I read the NY times books section. There's this writer, or that writer writing what he/she loves and getting paid. I just want to drop everything rush out and get writing.

Instead I made dinner. I watched t.v. Didn't even read a book. And now 5 mins later it's bed time. But instead of sleeping I'm checking out Facebook, which is really a bad idea when you're already feeling like crap. See the thing about Facebook, people don't post stuff allow themselves to be tagged in things that they're not proud of or happy to have been a part of. As much as folks like to complain about privacy and shit, at the end of the day we love showing off. When we say we want to share our lives or connect with old friends, really what we want to do is announce how much cooler we are than the rest of the world and in how many ways that's true. So when you're attending a self-pity party alone, Facebook is the worst place to hang out at.

You might think "hey, I should check out that one girl. She was always fatter than me. But then BAM she lives in France. What about that fucking dumb blonde chick? Crap still a hotty and WHAT THE FUCK?! she got her masters before I did. And of course there's those girls who lead perfect lives you've always wanted to live, even without the ability to stalk them. And there they are traveling the world with their perfect boyfriends and happy puppy, and love running. Makes me want to shoot myself and be reborn her.

Alien like me

I have this song stuck in my head from this show called "Being Erica". The lyrics themselves aren't that profound but the song is quite beautiful:

Sweetest line is "Lift your eyes and let me in". Can not get it out of my head.

The little rejections and dejections

Miles, Miles, Miles, Miles

Miles, the giant "what if" in my life. What if we were more than friends? What if it's all in my imagination? All of it? What if I fucked it up? What if I'm the reason we're where we're at? What if it was me who couldn't make a decision?

I'm moving out. He's moving out sooner. What if I created this game of one-up-manship? What if by trying really hard to be only friends, it turns out we're barely even that?

But more importantly why does this, he, him, all of it bother me so much?

It's like Sophie's Choice

So got into Boston University School of Public Health and it's the program I wanted. Sucky thing is that I also got into Drexel's program and Anna is taking research leave for two years here in Philly.

So it's like brother or career?

But not really. I mean that's super melodramatic.

I've made really good friends here and have created a pretty bad ass support system. Boston isn't that far and not too expensive to travel to and from. It's just two years. two years of an amazing program and great faculty. two years, part of which i'll get to spend in a developing country.

And it's two years of staying put. Which is funny because just yesterday the idea of staying put in Philly for two years, making it a grand total of 3 years was kinda freakin' me out.

And after all of this, I'm worried I'm not excited about this career. But then again, nothing would really make me happy, right?

I've just gotten so used to living in the limbo, making an actual decision feels pretty scary.

No Ado About Something

The drank my way through evacuation lead up, during and after. I certainly felt numb, and coped by obsessing over sex and men. I acted out. I was juvenile. But after I was home and safe, I was ok.

It was a traumatic experience for sure, but I was ok, I think. I didn't cry, I wasn't depressed or angry. My obsession with sex and men eventually tapered off, as with my dependence on booze and cigarettes.

Still I can't help but wonder, was I ok? Really? For realz?

Sometimes I can't help but feel like I just woke up from a pleasant dream and it makes me sad that it's all merely a distant haze.