"face down on the ground whenever there's a stampede"

wonderful and miserable week.

monday was spent mostly asleep, leaving work early to go home and curl in a ball and sob out all the tears stored up throughout the course of a work day. tuesday, i bailed on History for the Dresden Dolls show, since the iron horse is too special a place to risk any negative feelings. wednesday, i went to barnes and noble and curled up and read the entirety of the new laurel hamiliton porn-i-mean-fantasy-novel, and then came home to a dinner of pizza out of the box and orange juice out of the carton. thursday i went out with Vintage and we went to the salvation army (i bought a hysterical red corduroy jumper because it was j peterman, a fluttery black shirt, and a skirt that i'd been eyeing at the mercantile for month for a quarter of the price) and then to the shiny diner, and i get along _really_ well with her and she gave me a strawberry shortcake Sour Grapes airfreshener for my car, and at the dinner i got chocolate cream pie for dessert, but i really should have caved and gotten the disco fries i really wanted instead of desert.

and i finished Across the Nightingale Floor, and started on Interpreter of Maladies, which i'm really enjoying.

but the weather's too bad to go out to Light's tonight, and every time i think that thought, much less type the sentence i start to cry.

and i talked to him while mostly asleep last night, and i know i pulled that trick that i hate pulling, where sleep and sadness loosen my tongue, and i say things to him in a morestraightforward way than i might otherwise approach them, actually flat out telling him that i think reading his still-wife's journal is a version of holding onto her, and i'm not sure there's been any sociological studies on divorce and blogging.

but i can't remember exactly what i said, and i hate it when i do that, because i feel like i figured out something important, or showed him something important and i don't know exactly what it is.

and i think i've figured out part of why i'm crying all the time. i've been given hope without faith. for all my faith in light, it doesn't come with corresponding faith in myself or faith in the future. and it feels like flipping fate off to have this wonderful thing and not be able to grab it. this is too good for me to really have, and if i'm going to get away with having it, i should be getting every second of it i can. and i wonder if i should just cling to the thought i'm not going to move in with him until he's divorced, and it's still going to be at least another four months from today, but i'm afraid thinking about this will just make me mad at him for waiting for so long on the divorce, and maybe i fucked up, because i tried to tell him how much it meant to me without making him feel like i was exerting any pressure. but the desire had to come from him, not from me, so i don't actually think i fucked up.

and it looks like it's going to be another day of crying myself sick. which is always that special sort of fun. and i'm trying to comfort myself with vacation's soon, but it's not working. i'm not excited about what we're doing, i'm just excited about waking up to him every day for a week, and i don't know why i'm not excited, and i'm hoping i'll get swept up in the moment, but it seems more exhausting than fun right now.

and i don't want to take it away from him, he seems so excited, and he's so attached to the idea of doing 'interesting' things whenever we have the chance, and sometimes i feel obliged to entertain, and i proposed DC because i knew it would please him, and because they're museums it's not like it won't interest me.

i don't know what's wrong with me.

but since i won't be driving to light's tonight, and i doubt he'll be okay with me spending four and a half (though probably closer to six) hours on a bus, i'll probably walk to the liquor store and buy myself a bottle of cheap champage because you know, even if i'm a functional/in recovery alcoholic, some nights deserve to be spent fallingdown drunk.

"face down on the ground whenever there's a stampede"

wonderful and miserable week.

monday was spent mostly asleep, leaving work early to go home and curl in a ball and sob out all the tears stored up throughout the course of a work day. tuesday, i bailed on History for the Dresden Dolls show, since the iron horse is too special a place to risk any negative feelings. wednesday, i went to barnes and noble and curled up and read the entirety of the new laurel hamiliton porn-i-mean-fantasy-novel, and then came home to a dinner of pizza out of the box and orange juice out of the carton. thursday i went out with Vintage and we went to the salvation army (i bought a hysterical red corduroy jumper because it was j peterman, a fluttery black shirt, and a skirt that i'd been eyeing at the mercantile for month for a quarter of the price) and then to the shiny diner, and i get along _really_ well with her and she gave me a strawberry shortcake Sour Grapes airfreshener for my car, and at the dinner i got chocolate cream pie for dessert, but i really should have caved and gotten the disco fries i really wanted instead of desert.

and i finished Across the Nightingale Floor, and started on Interpreter of Maladies, which i'm really enjoying.

but the weather's too bad to go out to Light's tonight, and every time i think that thought, much less type the sentence i start to cry.

and i talked to him while mostly asleep last night, and i know i pulled that trick that i hate pulling, where sleep and sadness loosen my tongue, and i say things to him in a morestraightforward way than i might otherwise approach them, actually flat out telling him that i think reading his still-wife's journal is a version of holding onto her, and i'm not sure there's been any sociological studies on divorce and blogging.

but i can't remember exactly what i said, and i hate it when i do that, because i feel like i figured out something important, or showed him something important and i don't know exactly what it is.

and i think i've figured out part of why i'm crying all the time. i've been given hope without faith. for all my faith in light, it doesn't come with corresponding faith in myself or faith in the future. and it feels like flipping fate off to have this wonderful thing and not be able to grab it. this is too good for me to really have, and if i'm going to get away with having it, i should be getting every second of it i can. and i wonder if i should just cling to the thought i'm not going to move in with him until he's divorced, and it's still going to be at least another four months from today, but i'm afraid thinking about this will just make me mad at him for waiting for so long on the divorce, and maybe i fucked up, because i tried to tell him how much it meant to me without making him feel like i was exerting any pressure. but the desire had to come from him, not from me, so i don't actually think i fucked up.

and it looks like it's going to be another day of crying myself sick. which is always that special sort of fun. and i'm trying to comfort myself with vacation's soon, but it's not working. i'm not excited about what we're doing, i'm just excited about waking up to him every day for a week, and i don't know why i'm not excited, and i'm hoping i'll get swept up in the moment, but it seems more exhausting than fun right now.

and i don't want to take it away from him, he seems so excited, and he's so attached to the idea of doing 'interesting' things whenever we have the chance, and sometimes i feel obliged to entertain, and i proposed DC because i knew it would please him, and because they're museums it's not like it won't interest me.

i don't know what's wrong with me.

but since i won't be driving to light's tonight, and i doubt he'll be okay with me spending four and a half (though probably closer to six) hours on a bus, i'll probably walk to the liquor store and buy myself a bottle of cheap champage because you know, even if i'm a functional/in recovery alcoholic, some nights deserve to be spent fallingdown drunk.