December | 2011 | i make no apologies

December 14, 2011

Red Polished Toenails and Unrequited Love

The things you said to me fifteen days ago. The nearly condescending things:

“I just can’t picture it—us together… it’s been what… FIVE years?”
(But you can picture me naked, can’t you. I am still wearing the same fire engine red toenail polish I was wearing the last time I was with you. Two months ago.)

“I can’t imagine you coming here to live. I mean, I would love having you in town, but I just can’t imagine it.”

“If you came here, we’d have to take it slow.”

“I have never met someone I was as impressed with as I am with you.”

“I obviously am still very attracted to you.”

“You know I’m pretty popular and well-liked in this town and know a lot of people, right? I mean, I could probably have my pick of dates, but I just don’t want to date anyone.”

“She was here last weekend and she said a lot of the things that you are saying now. And I think I could get her back if I wanted to.”
(Maybe the saddest thing in the world is loving someone who used to love you.)

“B, it’s not a competition between you and her.”

“I am so confused.”
I responded, “Yes, it’s pretty tough when two people adore you at the same time.”
To which you said, “I guess you would know.”

“B, you KNOW I CARE about you. “
(So THIS is what it feels like. Unrequited love.)

-B

via

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December 14, 2011

It’s been fifteen days.

I know that once you learn something like what you learned from me fifteen days ago, you can’t unlearn it.

Are you sorry you learned it? Or sorry you’re not sorry? Or not sorry that you’re not sorry?

It’s been fifteen days.

Maybe I don’t like what I’m learning about you.

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December 9, 2011

89 minutes and 9 seconds

I confessed.

10 days ago, I confessed to you that I have feelings for you that I don’t know what to do with and that I can’t ignore.

I confessed that I can’t be casual like you can even though I’ve tried. I can’t just casually joke with you when I feel this way.

I confessed that I am comfortable (with me) with you. I crave you. How I think about you like the clock tells time.

I confessed that I know you want no drama in your life, but that I just want to cry all the time because I want to be with you and I’m not.

I confessed that I can no longer analyze and microanalyze the things you say or how you act to just wonder how you feel.

I needed you to know. Or I needed to know that you already knew, which apparently you didn’t (at all). And I needed to say what I said. Out loud. To you.

I took the biggest risk. I gave up my power.

I spilled all of this — my vulnerability — out into the space between us. I laid my heart in your hands to keep, throw, break. I shared my deepest secrets that nobody knew… with you. I said words out loud, making them real, known, non-secret and non-refundable.

I said that your friendship wasn’t enough. The friendship I treasure, honor and delight in.

And I told you that now you have the power. Over me. You have the power of knowing what you know, and you can use that power to hurt me. And you said you would never abuse your power. And I trust you. I do.

And then I realized that giving up power is much worse than sharing it. You had given me no power over you. There was no balance of power between us now. You held the power, and I held my lack of it.

Knowledge is power. And in the end, power settles everything.

I endured.

And then I endured the i m p o s s i b l e silences after speaking my truths.

I endured the embarrassment of not having those feelings reciprocated after I asked the question (to end the silence). The question that I had wanted to ask for months but didn’t because I knew that my heart might not be able to handle the answer. The question that I didn’t have to ask (because your silence was really answer enough)… but I had to ask (to make you step into the vulnerability hot box for a moment. I had perspired enough.).

And I endured the vexing, humiliating, nearly condescending responses you doled me.

I was brave.

And after I bared all of that to you for 89 minutes and 9 seconds, ten days ago, I told E.

B: “I feel that I was brave to tell him how I feel. I was brave.”
E: “SO BRAVE.”

I was brave. I am brave. Braver than you.

-B

December 4, 2011

Maybe

So I’m sitting in the library, studying for a chem test (because I’m a STUDENT), and I want to stab my ears out with a pencil. There are no less than 5 conversations going on around me, none of which involve studying. Seriously, who can (or wants to, for that matter), when the super cool sophomore is talking about how drunk he got in his dorm room last night. What. A. Winner.

Maybe it’s because I’m older (but not one of those gross old lady non-trads who tries to act like she’s still in college even though she’s 35. You’re not fooling anyone, lady. It is time to retire your sorority sweatshirt), but I guess I thought the library was for STUDYING, not for trying to pick up the girl who was unfortunate enough to sit at the computer next to you. No, she doesn’t care about how cold it is outside, how annoying your professors are, and she certainly doesn’t want to go back to your dorm room to watch a movie. We all know that’s just code to attempt to make out with her, convince her to take off her Uggs and leggings (which is NOT considered a outfit, btw) and have her be horribly disappointed in about 2 minutes. Give it up.

And to those of you using the large monitors to do “group work”? It’s sad enough when I surf Facebook at 11 at night to creep on my ex, but no one in this area wants you to point out your high school prom date and what he’s up to now via creeping. Congrats. You just became “that girl”, and the others in your group will make fun of you once you trot back to the dorms wearing your high school volleyball sweatshirt.

I sometimes eat when I’m in the library. I understand-one gets hungry. But when I eat, it’s a bag of chips from the vending machine, or a candy bar. It’s not a huge to-go container that you stuffed full at dinner time from the food options in the student union. What the hell is in there anyway? I see salad, a slice of pizza, cold mashed potatoes and gravy, and some kind of casserole. In one big heap. The only thing worse than that image is the fact you eat with your mouth open.

Again, maybe I’m old (which I’m NOT. I’m only 25. And I have braces, so I appear younger). Maybe this is the cool “new thing” to do when you should be studying. Maybe the library is the hip new location to pick up freshmen, and to brag about your adventures of sneaking by the RA in your dorm hall. Maybe it’s just me.

Love,