Where does the love go?
Today I realized that the pain in my foot might be a stress fracture. Woot. I also realized that my emotional masochism knows no bounds.
In the final few hours of my twentieth year, I spent a few moments reading over old emails from this past summer. Reflecting on Apartment boy's words, I realized I have no idea where the love went, and can only conclude that it is still around somewhere. Deep within the morass of neuroses and dramatic stresses, I am sure that it is flickering. I cannot prove this, nor will I try to determine the validity of my assumptions by voicing them to him. Right now I just wish the old Apartment boy was here, because he was lovely company, not to mention lovely to look at. I will take this in small baby steps. How did I get so caught up in such a mess of a man? As I said to Roomie, I'm somewhat of an emotional masochist, and that is the only way to explain it.
As for the rest of my life? I cannot help but feel nostalgic around birthdays, so I've been reflecting and ringing old friends. Called Amanda and had a nice chat, I don't like the phone but it is worth it to talk to her. I can't wait until she comes to visit. The castle seems so far away, like a blip in my life. I started thinking about other blips today as well, and frankly, anything absent from this cocoon of Montreal has taken on a sheen of the surreal. Was I in a castle? Was I in England at all? Who are all these contacts on my MSN list? Where was I for my last birthday? How did I get to Waterloo? Did I actually fall in love? The girl from these memories seems like someone from a film, she is not me and yet I know her stories, have felt her joy and pain. Tales of stupidity from First Year seem closer than last July.
And right now I should be hitting my bed, since Jess and I have a birthday breakfast date tomorrow at nine. The day's agenda? Breakfast, class, piercing, chilling solo, chilling with my nearest and dearest, getting drunk with anyone who shows up. I can't wait. Cheers.
In the final few hours of my twentieth year, I spent a few moments reading over old emails from this past summer. Reflecting on Apartment boy's words, I realized I have no idea where the love went, and can only conclude that it is still around somewhere. Deep within the morass of neuroses and dramatic stresses, I am sure that it is flickering. I cannot prove this, nor will I try to determine the validity of my assumptions by voicing them to him. Right now I just wish the old Apartment boy was here, because he was lovely company, not to mention lovely to look at. I will take this in small baby steps. How did I get so caught up in such a mess of a man? As I said to Roomie, I'm somewhat of an emotional masochist, and that is the only way to explain it.
As for the rest of my life? I cannot help but feel nostalgic around birthdays, so I've been reflecting and ringing old friends. Called Amanda and had a nice chat, I don't like the phone but it is worth it to talk to her. I can't wait until she comes to visit. The castle seems so far away, like a blip in my life. I started thinking about other blips today as well, and frankly, anything absent from this cocoon of Montreal has taken on a sheen of the surreal. Was I in a castle? Was I in England at all? Who are all these contacts on my MSN list? Where was I for my last birthday? How did I get to Waterloo? Did I actually fall in love? The girl from these memories seems like someone from a film, she is not me and yet I know her stories, have felt her joy and pain. Tales of stupidity from First Year seem closer than last July.
And right now I should be hitting my bed, since Jess and I have a birthday breakfast date tomorrow at nine. The day's agenda? Breakfast, class, piercing, chilling solo, chilling with my nearest and dearest, getting drunk with anyone who shows up. I can't wait. Cheers.
posted by Care @ 4:17 a.m.
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