Chop Chop!

I did it! I cut my hair! Wooooooo!

Freedom, ah...

Ok.. ok don't get your panties in a waddle. I'm back. I'm writing. See?

I haven't written because I went home this weekend, had my heart broken in varying degrees of intensity or lack thereof over the past week, saw my mumsy and drank lots of yummy white pinot gris with her, saw my sister off for her first plane ride, got drunk in a 17th floor New Yawk Citayyy apartment and danced around in a bra and underwear for the viewing pleasure of the entire upper east side (the windows were wide open) and assured never-a-dull-momentness. Asi es mi vida.

I didn't realize how exhausted I was until yesterday. The Artist came over and we tried the friend thing (more on this later) and my landlord made us drink Ouzi and eat very nice looking tomatoes with olive oil with Kangaroo cheese that apparently comes from a cow. Then, bellies full, we went to Washington Park to catch the last of a dying sun from the POV of the green green grass then he dropped me home, at which point I proceeded directly to my bed, still in my jean skirt, and passed out. Really passed out. People were calling, leaving text messages. I was gone, very much gone. I slept straight through until 1:20AM and got a glass of water, then proceeded back to bed, where I slept until just past 8:30 this morning.

Refreshed I am. And to make up for it Hemingway (new psuedo) and I are going to revive our traditional naked scotch and movie night. Tonight: Lucia y el Sexo. Maybe. I'm not sure i'm up for watching other people have sex in the movies, whilst I am ardently denying myself that pleasure.

Class? I'm doing well. Prof. Uruguay (another new psuedo) likes me muchly. I think I have papier numero uno figured out. Wordsworths Words Wander. That's going to be the title. I'm doing to talk about the function of movement and direction in his poems. I have to stop hogging so much attention in the class, but I have too damn much to say and so do many other very smart students. We all have so damn much to say, in fact, that we end up spending each class focused on two very short poems!

This makes Prof. Uruguay happy. She thinks the less poems we do, the better we do the poems we do. Make sense? I hope so.

I LOVE MY NEW ROOMATE! A girl named Matilda moved in with us this weekend. She lived in Chile once for 10 months and she is from Vermont and her and I are going to get along just fine. Except that Fitzerland (oh don't you love these psuedos) is drooling over her, which I guess I don't care, but it's weird and can't he just keep his zipper up until I vamoose from the country?

Back to the Artist. So I saw him yesterday and all and in the midst of our kissless, touchless hanging out it dawned on me how terribly familiar I am becoming to how to act around an ex-anything. This makes me sad.

It's awkward, first off, because you don't know the physical boundaries the other person (the initatiator of the break-up) needs to set in order to be comfortable. So you initiate little attempts at contact to test those boundaries and watch for subtle reactions, all the while being ambiguous. Avoiding too much eye contact. Keeping conversation light. Avoid the lingering hug.

Yes, I know you are reading this but if I can't be honest here where else can I be?

Oh yes, and then conversation involving "new people in our lives" i.e. new interests. It's strange for me because of the callous detachment I generally have to my love life, come and go as men do.... so I can go on all day about Dick, Joe and Ike to the Mark sitting right in front of me, while all the while thinking about nothing but planting a wet one right on unsuspecting Mark. Poor Mark.

Does this make me a terrible person?

I wish I didn't have to adapt to others as often as I do, because often what I want or need gets swept into the gutters of the Not That Important.

But i'm accomodating. And what i'm getting down to is that yeah I think we can be friends, I think it's not going to be as lovely as being more than friends was, but in the end it's likely better, and more importantly thats what he wants and needs, and in the meantime it won't kill me to have it this way and adapts to the less-ness...
...except for the self-restraint part. That always gets me.

So, i'm quasi-quoting Kat (from the Dating God Blog I link to) --- that when it comes to any endings nowadays, regardless of history and intensity--- "It still hurts, but it's more of a flesh wound than an open artery". It was an open artery a total of three times in my whole young life and my God my God please God don't ever let me experience that again.

But I know... I will.