Far Behind
I can already picture tomorrow morning.
Every dresser drawer hanging open, the laundry basket dumped on the mat on the floor, shoes and feather boas flung carelessly about, the bed pulled desperately away from the wall. I wish I could say the chaos will be caused by a night of wild passion. The truth is, I'll just be searching for clean underwear. Or socks. Or something else completely mundane. I'll probably give up before 8 am and go commando in a skirt. Pray that it's not a blustery day.
It's not that I'm irresponsible, mind you. There's clean laundry in the basement. Say what you will about me, but I do have the forethought to wash a load of dirty clothes when I start to run out of panties. I do not, however, have the forethought to decide what I want and say it from the beginning. Instead, I wait until someone else says what they want, and then I agree with whatever it is that they said because it's easier than admitting that I'm disappointed. Then I bitch sans-guilt about how I never get what I want. I'm a fucking (and repative) e-tard for this.
The Wish List
I want there to be clean undies in the drawer (not two flights down!) tomorrow morning. I want to get up at 6 am and go running like I should have done all week. I want to stop fantasizing about bagels. I want to quit smoking. I want to finally locate my credit cards and update my budget. I want upcoming season premieres (of South Park, no less) to cease to be the most exciting fall event on my calender. I want to have a calendar. I want to make more single friends. I want to spend more time thinking about my family and friends than I do thinking about boys. I want to stop caring about a boy who left me a year ago, and all the ones that never cared at all. I want to stop filling out my application for the Peace Corps every time I realize I care about someone else. I want to tell The Roommate that the sex we were having three weeks ago today wasn't meaningless to me. I want to tell him that it did mean something, that I have feelings, and that I do care about his. I want to tell him that I'm sorry that I orchestrated this scenario, and that I'm sorry I paraded boys through the house since it happened like the insecure cunt I am most of the time. I want to make myself vulnerable in a way that I never am and see what comes out of it. I want to know rather than wonder.
Tomorrow will be different. But today, I just can't.
Every dresser drawer hanging open, the laundry basket dumped on the mat on the floor, shoes and feather boas flung carelessly about, the bed pulled desperately away from the wall. I wish I could say the chaos will be caused by a night of wild passion. The truth is, I'll just be searching for clean underwear. Or socks. Or something else completely mundane. I'll probably give up before 8 am and go commando in a skirt. Pray that it's not a blustery day.
It's not that I'm irresponsible, mind you. There's clean laundry in the basement. Say what you will about me, but I do have the forethought to wash a load of dirty clothes when I start to run out of panties. I do not, however, have the forethought to decide what I want and say it from the beginning. Instead, I wait until someone else says what they want, and then I agree with whatever it is that they said because it's easier than admitting that I'm disappointed. Then I bitch sans-guilt about how I never get what I want. I'm a fucking (and repative) e-tard for this.
The Wish List
I want there to be clean undies in the drawer (not two flights down!) tomorrow morning. I want to get up at 6 am and go running like I should have done all week. I want to stop fantasizing about bagels. I want to quit smoking. I want to finally locate my credit cards and update my budget. I want upcoming season premieres (of South Park, no less) to cease to be the most exciting fall event on my calender. I want to have a calendar. I want to make more single friends. I want to spend more time thinking about my family and friends than I do thinking about boys. I want to stop caring about a boy who left me a year ago, and all the ones that never cared at all. I want to stop filling out my application for the Peace Corps every time I realize I care about someone else. I want to tell The Roommate that the sex we were having three weeks ago today wasn't meaningless to me. I want to tell him that it did mean something, that I have feelings, and that I do care about his. I want to tell him that I'm sorry that I orchestrated this scenario, and that I'm sorry I paraded boys through the house since it happened like the insecure cunt I am most of the time. I want to make myself vulnerable in a way that I never am and see what comes out of it. I want to know rather than wonder.
Tomorrow will be different. But today, I just can't.
posted by The Husskateer at 12:02 AM
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