Angry Sad

I've been spiraling into a gigantic hole of being sick since I stepped off the plane in Atlanta. That tickle in my throat started on Thursday morning, and has been teasing me ever since. I thought I'd stand up to it by going out Saturday night after loads of rest...but I did not triumph in the end. All day Sunday was spent coming to terms with the fact that I was getting sick, and there wasn't anything I could do about it but shut up and sit down. And by 'shut up' I actually mean that I cannot speak. I do not have a voice.

You know why this sucks? I mean, generally being sick sucks...but I've been stuck in this position of not being able to go forward for the past three weeks now. I've been crying for three weeks. I've cried a lot less recently, but I've still been crying for three weeks. Being sick does not make me more hopeful about the future. Being sick makes me miserable. I feel like I'm being kicked while I'm down.

I cried last night, uncontrollably...again. I want my life back, for God's sake. I mean...I gave it up for another...and I just want it back, but I can't just get it back. I have to rebuild it. I call these people that let me down the idiots...but maybe I'm the actual idiot. I mean...they don't give anything away, and I give it all away...so when things end...they've got nothing to rebuild, and I've got everything to rebuild. I don't have a job. I don't have my own place. I don't have my health. I want control of my life back. And really...I just want someone to actually fucking love me. I'm sick of being blind to the fact that I'm with someone that is afraid of taking it to the next level...afraid of taking a step out into the great unknown. Afraid of letting it be what it could be. Am I too much of an idealist? Is it too much to believe that some things are worth working for...some things are worth sacrificing for. When will I be worth sacrificing for? Or...am I wrong about all that?

In these times...when I finally stop crying...I don't feel better. The cries aren't those cries where it's really all you needed...they're just cries...and when they're over...I'm still in the same place. I stop crying because, if I didn't, I never would...and I would drown in my misery. I stop crying because some day it will get better. I was told by someone recently that I would be surprised at how quickly I would begin to feel better. I was told this by someone who has never actually suffered any real pain. Those that understand real...actual pain...tell me what I hate to hear, and what I know is true...that I have to be here. That it may seem like it's going to last forever...but it WILL end...and I WILL get through it. And I won't think to myself, in the end, "gee...I'm so surprised at how quick that happened." I imagine, and I know, that I'll be exhausted. That I'll be free...but I'll be exhausted from the journey. I'll be sore from the strain and bruised from the falls...What I KNOW that this person doesn't know...is that...when it ends...I'll be different. I'll be stronger. I'll be better. It doesn't happen fast. It never happens fast, but it happens. Trusting is the hardest part.

Strange New World

I was sitting in front of the television watching 'What Not To Wear' when I suddenly realized, 'I don't care what this girls friends and family think of how she looks.' SO, I gathered myself up and walked back to the computer room to B-L-O-G.

Walked around Cooper Young yesterday saying hello to people and having random conversations. It's nice to be able to do that. No one really wants to talk to you in London...in England for that matter...ESPECIALLY if you're American. There appear to be a couple of new eating places that I will need to visit...and perhaps frequent...the Bakery by Burke's being the number one place on my list.

I chatted with the lady that owns Hi-Octane Vintage (with her husband)about this insanely cute yellow dress that she had. I asked the price and she told me, but she punctuated it by telling me the dress was an extra extra small. She did not do this in one of those voices that hints that there is no way in hell that I would be able to fit into it, but rather in a voice that implied that NO ONE would be able to fit into it, and isn't that a bitch? I agreed, made a joke about the size of my chest (and we all know it's phenomenal), and continued browsing. Everything was fabulous, and so moderately priced, I could see myself throwing loads of money away.

I've looked at two 'eh' apartments in Cooper/Young so far...both with carpet (in midtown? REALLY?) and both tiny and pricey. Ridiculous.

I'm keeping myself busy. I've discovered that keeping busy and being angry are the two best ways to keep from feeling sad. When I'm not angry, but rather, inundated with memories of sunny days in London, walking hand in hand with he who shall not be named for a little while...or just resting in that little nook of his arm...I ache with sadness. The world slows down a little, and I am paralyzed by hopelessness. Sometimes I think of myself...riding my bike around midtown...thinking of him...my heart belonging to him...and I'm sad too, but then I get angry...because I focused my heart on all that...and I was the only one...in retrospect.

Tonight I'm going to try to make it to the Hi Tone to see Al Kapone. I get real tired at around ten p.m. so...we'll see what happens. I fell asleep last night reading my beautifully bound Master's thesis. It's not bad...but it is terribly boring sometimes. I mean...Early American Transcendentalist Feminism...........................................WAKE UP! GA! Thanks a LOT!

Anywho...if you want to come out...and pretend like I never left...or smother me with kisses...I'll try to stay awake. Let's see what happens.