Just keep swimming, or so they say

Mixed emotions about things right now. Life is exciting, but at the same time it is kind of just barely afloat. An “exciting” thing is happening to me (or rather, my nonexistent love life), per the opinion of my girl friends, but I am feeling incredibly apprehensive about it I’m surprised I haven’t vomited my anxiety out yet.

The quarter-life crisis has waned a little since my moment of panic in May. But at the same time I think it’s just been abated due to the hectic craziness that is summer. After all, what is going to happen when all the kiddos go back to school and it’s too cold to be doing things outdoors? (Although, come to think of it, it’s been bloody cold [relatively speaking] all summer in Chicago, fuck you January polar vortex) I’m just going to have to re-face the reality that is my current twentysomething state: stuck in a job that I love but does not pay enough, stuck in a house with a family that I love but is driving me crazy, stuck in a town with people and things that I love and are familiar with but at the same time feeling jaded. Huh.

To make matters worse, my 25th birthday is coming up. That’s my golden birthday, mind you. I don’t know how to feel about it. I don’t like setting high expectations for things because ultimately in the end they are never reached, but at the same time I don’t want to be feeling so depressed on my golden birthday. I guess I’m just sad because I know this birthday won’t be like my last one. Maybe it’ll be fun (I’ve plans to go paintballing [!] and attending Chicago Comic Con [!!]) but it will most definitely not be the same because my last birthday was the only birthday I got to spend with a certain someone. And this year I will certainly feel the heavy weight of his absence from my life. Gahh.

A letter to the one I thought ruined my life forever

(Note: This letter was written in a moment of pure catharsis yesterday that my friend encouraged me to write in order to finally obtain closure over this one stupid boy that I’m sure I’ve mentioned countless times on this blog. I think it worked. Maybe one of you will take more away from it that I can. Oh, and I’m too lazy to change names, locations, etc., so there is a frighteningly realistic chance that the one to whom this letter is addressed may one day come across it.)

So. Today is Valentine’s Day.

I remember bumping into you in the main stairwell at BHS on Valentine’s Day. That was six years ago. At the time, things had cooled off between us since that night at the park and I realized there was no way in hell my dad would let me date you, and we hadn’t really talked in a while. But we greeted each other. I remember wishing we were Valentines that day.

I remember bumping into you at a frat party Valentine’s Day weekend during our freshman year at U of I. That was five years ago. Things got steamy on that couch. Then somehow you got into a fight with one of my friends, and her cousin threatened to beat the shit out of you. I called you at 3 in the morning to see if you were OK and you said it wasn’t a big deal. But I was concerned. I cared. Thinking about it now, I should’ve stopped myself then. Stopped that caring before it ever started.

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Shouldn’t be allowed near open bar again

Last Saturday I went to the wedding of an old childhood friend. It was essentially the first wedding of my “generation” that I’d attended. And naturally there were waterworks and feelings of depression and lots of alcoholic-induced “I hate looooveeeee” declarations.

Yes, I was that single girl last Saturday, drinking her sorrows away at the bar. It was rather sad. Actually, if memory serves me right, the bartender was hitting on me a lot. He looked rather old (in his 30s, which may have been OK with me in the past unfortunately, but I’m totally done with that!) and had an accent. And I think I may have started the shenanigans, when I went up, already drunk, to order a sex on the beach (did I mention it was open bar?). The subsequent times I went to order drinks, he asked if I had a boyfriend, how old I was, if I would dance with him, etc. Blechh. I like attention and all, but not when they’re from creepy older European bartenders.

I remember crying at the wedding while the bride and groom did their first dance. I remember wistfully thinking, “I wish I could believe in love…I wish it exists out there for me…” a lot. I remember me repeating, “I wish I could get married someday.” Because in all honesty, I don’t believe it. It’s not meant for me. I don’t do relationships, I don’t do boyfriends, I don’t think any man will know how to respect me, yada yada. Don’t meant to sound like I’m begging for pity or something like that, but it’s the truth. I don’t see myself ending up in a real grown-up relationship any time soon and I’m done dealing with boys and their shit. I think I’m okay with being “alone” for a really really long time. Someday I’ll write down here why and who it is exactly I’m angry with (because of course, there’s always “someone” that makes one become this way). It’s just that it’s a really really unnecessarily long story.

Dilemmas

My appetite seems to have increased tenfold since my return to campus. I don’t know what it is, but I just keep eating and eating. I’ve eaten practically everything there is on Green Street (it’s rather hard to avoid when you have to walk down a street full of shops and restaurants just to get to class!) and going to County Market whenever I run out of grocery items. Even today, I went out for dinner and had a nice juicy burger and fries…and yet some part of me wants to whip up a quick snack right now because I’m not really satisfied with the day’s meals. But I am excited to start incorporating some foods into my meals that I never really had before, i.e. green beans, spinach, sour cream. I blame my host mom for her insanely awesome cooking. Gosh do I miss it!

My boy(s?) situation appears to have gotten way more complicated in the past two weeks than I could ever imagine. There is F, the boy I’ve recently met. We’ve been talking and hanging out quite a bit. In short, everything is great. Super. There are a ridiculous amount of things we have in common, things I can relate to him about. And he’s sweet! Usually I get turned off easily by guys who get emotionally affectionate like that too quickly, but with him I don’t mind! In fact, like I told my roommate today, I’m growing quite fond of F. To the point where I don’t want to get rid of him just yet. Last night he took me out to dinner for Valentine’s Day, the first time in my life where I have ever done such a Valentine-y thing. It was a good date. Very good.

But then…there’s O (these letters were chosen according to a system I just quickly devised, heh). After months of nothing, weeks of silence, days of rescheduling and texting, we finally saw each other today for the first time since August. We met up for dinner and had some alone time before being joined by his roommate (and, unknowingly, his girlfriend, which made everything into an unexpected double date). And, well, nothing was too awkward, I guess you could say (of course, O knows nothing of my pains, blargh). We chatted, caught up on life, the usual. It was just like every other time whenever we’d reunite after some period of not-really-being-friends. (O still looks so damn good, I’ll tell you that. I was having flashbacks and memories and all that…sigh. But anywho.) I was trying very hard not to imply anything, not to make it seem as if right off the bat I would jump back into his arms. Even though…I really wanted to. I’d forgotten how much I loved the smell of him, the warmth of his hug, that silly look on his face whenever he’d smile at me. I’d forgotten that effect he has on me.

And therein now lies the dilemma. Is O going to keep up his end of the bargain in maintaining this friendship? Do I go with F, who has the ability to understand me so much more completely and is more available and actually seems to want me more? Or do I go with O, who I fear I may still be in love with even though he hardly talks to me anymore and it’s hard just to see him even though we are now back in the same friggin’ country? Do I go with someone who, on paper, is my soulmate, or do I go with the person whom my roommate has dubbed the love of my life?

Or do I just take the easy route, say “Fuck ’em all” and instead concentrate on the massive amount of schoolwork I have to do for the next week?

Bug bites, body weirdness, boys

So my body’s been suffering from the most random ailments lately. Before I left Costa Rica I started getting an extraordinary amount of bug bites, something I still can’t pinpoint to this day. They obviously weren’t mosquito bites, since my anti-mosquito wipes didn’t appear to work against them. They itched like crazy, and some even bled from all the scratching I did. Bad, I know.

Then there was the nasty fall I had last Saturday at the club (again, before I left C.R.). The combination of drink, high heels, and that damned unsuspecting step in the VIP areas led to me completely eating it on the floor that night. A couple hours after my silly mishap I noticed my leggings were stained and when I rolled them up, my right knee was bleeding profusely. And a week later, I’m still keeping two bandages over the giant scrape, which in itself still hurts like hell.

Now to top it all off, these weird welt things have cropped up on my hands (and feet, now that I think about it). All over my palms, all over my fingers. It hurts to stretch my fingers or to pick up something; not to mention they’re also incredibly itchy. WTF is wrong with me? (I really really really hope I didn’t pick up some disease from Central America! That would just S-U-C-K.)

Anyway, I’ve never really been much to write obsessively about my love life on this blog because a.) I don’t want to sound like some angst-ridden 15-year-old (even though I think that’s what I do sound like most of the time) and b.) I know there are people who know me in real life reading this. But hey, to hell with it. I think I need to get this off my chest.

So the story (situation?) goes something like this. Before I left home for Costa Rica, I’d fallen really really hard (again) for someone. But, seeing as how I was off to go live in another country for 4 months, I knew it couldn’t last. Or it had to be put on hold. I don’t even really know anymore what the ending was. But for me, it was tough. Incredibly difficult. That first month in C.R., I was sort of a wreck.

And then, things got crazy. Being single in C.R. was way more different for me than in the U.S. I don’t know what it was — if it was the mere fact that I was having the greatest adventure of my life in another country, or that dark tanned Latin men have always been one of my weaknesses, or that most Latin men themselves are just excessively flirtatious and have a great appreciation for women (that’s really the only way to describe it, LOL). Or maybe I just used them all to distract me from the love life I had left back at home. Who knows. But all I know is that I had never really fully taken advantage of my single nature until this past semester. (It must’ve been the Spanish thing. Seriously. — And the alcohol.)

How crazy was it? I don’t know exactly how much I should divulge here. There were married men involved, a bartender who had to leave the scene early to take care of his kids, foolery in a parking lot, foolery on the beach, a Canadian, and another bartender whose face I can barely recall but hey, he gave us free tequila shots the second time we saw him. By the time I left the country, there were really only two men who’d left any real impression on my mind (that second bartender was really super nice, maybe even cute, but I didn’t meet him until my very last weekend).

Those two I shall talk about for another time, but the point of the story is this: I don’t know exactly where my heart lies anymore. I’ll always have a soft spot for the-boy-from-this-summer, but at this point I’m getting too weary over our story (’cause believe me, it’s kind-of-a long one). I feel bad about the way things left with one boy I left behind in Costa Rica, because he was super sweet, and as all my friends kept saying, we “matched” so well. My nature now is to go out somewhere and find someone new to distract me (as seems to be my habit), but seeing as how I’m stuck home in the suburbs now I’m left to deal with my feelings, whatever they may be. I know exactly who I want but at the same time I don’t want who I want because I’m tired of all the emotional drain. And clearly there’s no point in brooding over anyone in Costa Rica. I wish I could just be content being single here at home, because I know I’ve done it so well for the past 21 years, but I doooon’t wannnaaaaa.