i make no apologies

for saying what I feel… for being who I am… for how I chose to repair what you broke.
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

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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,

E

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November 30, 2011

You’re My Person

B:  I’m in a dark place right now emotionally.

E:  I’ll be on the next plane with a flashlight.

E:  Or maybe those helmet things with the bulb attached to them, so we’d have our hands free.

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November 27, 2011

TO BED.


B: Booking my tickets now. I can be with you for New Years if you still want me.

E: What good is a year that doesn’t start with us together?

B: OMG, I had a crazy f*cking dream about us last night. We were downtown at the bars in pajamas. Not like footy pajamas, like Blair Waldorf sexy pajamas!

 via & via & via

E: What happened?
B: B*tches were all like “WTF? It’s fricking freezing, quit dressing slutty & put a damn coat on!”

Blair wears pajamas in public. Why can't we?

via

B: Except we were so hot. And our friends were with us. And the haters were jealous. And we were like, “We’re putting 2011 TO BED!”

E: Bwhahahaha. Can that be our new slogan? Apparently it’s been a hard year…

B: April and May were GREAT months. Everything else (besides the Homecoming holiday) can go to Hell…

E: TO BED.

via

B: It was like a big pajama party. In public. And by big, I mean, elite.

E: So, I’m thinking we need to have a PJ theme party for New Years?

B: Obviously, it needs to happen.

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November 21, 2011

On Thanks and Giving…

These pies are representative of my feelings.

image via

This year, my Thanksgiving is taking a different shape. This year I’m doing what for years I’ve watched people do on TV shows. I’m going to serve the homeless a meal (Yes, I’ve done it before, with a wonderful group of friends and one of my very favorite college professors… after we picked up a hitchhiker and worked our asses off at the shelter, but I haven’t done it on Thanksgiving.).

For Thanksgivings previous, I’ve hurried and rushed and fought weather and flights and traffic to get home to the Midwest.  I have always skipped breakfast, helped with the fixin’s, slid up to the table to gorge myself and then been overwhelmed by dishes and miserably full and terribly bored for the rest of the day. But this year, it’ll be different. This year, I’m putting my holiday to good use, for others, and for me.

image via

No, I won’t get to see my family (I will for Christmas), except for my Godmother (who happens to be my older & wiser cousin, friend & best gift my parents ever gave me, and she has always wanted to serve a Thanksgiving meal too), who is KICKASS. Kickass in that she slips me vodka money in church. THAT kickass. She’s my cheerleader, my confidant, my best friend and my second mom.  She’s the mom I call when I hate what my first mom has to say.  She’s ALWAYS, ALWAYS on my side and NEVER, NEVER plays devil’s advocate, gives unsolicited advice, warms up my sins for breakfast or passes judgment on my decisions. She had a FedEx man meet me at the back door of my (dry) sorority house on my way to 9am class to deliver me a 1.75 of Absolut for my 21st birthday, and she puts Absolut shooters in my Christmas stocking. She understands that a girl’s got some Absolut neeeeeds. God Bless the Godmother.

The only chemistry I studied in college. Unless boys count.

image via

This year, it’s more important to me/for me to focus on something besides food and laziness. This year, I need a day that ISN’T about me… I need to not tell family member after family member “what I’m up to,” or that “NO, I don’t have a job yet,” or to tell them story after story (no matter how hilarious & entertaining they may be) about my shitty summer or shithole apartment where nearly all unlucky/unfortunate things have happened.

I need this day to be about something other than what I don’t have.  I need a day where I can see right in front of my eyes that I am privileged, lucky, fortunate, blessed (I knoooow it, but I need it to be tangible, you know?). I need a day where I can serve others and share a meal with people who have been crapped on but who most likely will have a better outlook and attitude than I do. I need a day with people who see things differently.  I need a day where putting others first will fill my spirit with good, with love, with calm.

And then, I’ll have me some damn pie.

image via

What are your Turkey Tofurkey Weekend plans?

XOXO,
B

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November 21, 2011

I have a theory that as long as you have one good friend, one real friend, you can get through anything.

-“How to Build a House” by Dana Reinhardt

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November 20, 2011

How can this go wrong? Combined, we’d make a whole stripper.


E: Strippers in North Dakota make 2-3 grand a night. HELLO CHRISTMAS BREAK.
B: Hahahahaha
E: I need a new car. You need rent money. How can this go wrong?
B: Hahahahaha
E: You have the boobs, and I can dance slutty. Combined, we’d make a whole stripper.

 

image via

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November 18, 2011

Here Come the Feelings That You Thought You’d Forgotten.

Sometimes it’s just heartbreaking, and there’s nothing you can do about it except let it wash over you.  It always seems to strike at the most inopportune times, like when you’re studying for your test at the library at 10:30 at night, and you worry people will wonder what’s up with the tears dropping on her textbook.  Or it will hit you when you’re completely alone, with no one and nothing to take your mind off what you lost, or what happened.

This is one of those love stories that I love to read about, because I like to read painful, heartbreaking stories to know that I’m  not the only one fucked out there.  It’s nice to know that someone else ducked out early, or that others have still have feelings that they pretend not to. Mostly, it’s nice to have someone write down the words that I can’t seem to myself.

When you finally moved away, I told you, as I stood in the driveway crying, that I tried so hard.  You looked at me, brushed my hair back from my face (what a classic, heartbreaking move, much like the one you were about to embark on), and told me I never had to.  However, I know now, that wasn’t true.  I gave it all my all, and I wasn’t enough, I wasn’t old enough, I wasn’t broken enough, I wasn’t enough for you to stay, no matter how hard I tried.

That was probably the last time I actually had you, if I ever did to begin with.  It’s one of those perfect, vivid moments in my mind, with everything in painful detail, from the Twins hat you always wore to the gravel on the driveway under our feet.  The hundreds of hours we spent in bed, the dozens of movies we watched,  the time we spent together is mostly a blur, with most scenes melting into each other, but this one is clear.  I may have forgotten more than I would like, but I remember you, and I remember that driveway.

 

-E

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November 16, 2011

Liquid Courage

Yep. Story of our lives...

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November 16, 2011

Another Gchat Convo

E:  I finally figured out the biggest problem in our friendship

B:  What?

E:  We’re not the same shoe size

B:  You finally understand

E:  Yes, and that it sucks more for you since I’m the one with the better shoes.

image via

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