Dear Kay,
Had a bad day yesterday. I was doing some boring filing of some boring stupid work shit and I realised my left arm had gone numb. I was that tired. I couldn't stop yawning, everything was too bright, and I didn't feel like I could properly get words out. I'm pretty sure I was slurring. It was seriously not good. And in the middle of all that I suddenly realised, with a terrible flash of clarity, that I am wasting my youth.
I couldn't get the words out of my head. 'Why am I wasting my youth?' I'm fucking 23 and I'm working, thinking and feeling like a 40 year old. Even Squidge says that I'm way too grown up for my age. When we first started going out I remember maybe the second or third night that I stayed with him, I was lying on his chest completely unable to fall asleep and his hand was in my hair and he said almost to himself, 'I can't believe you're 22.'
Neither can I.
Why why why? Why do I continue to work when I feel so shit all the time? When I have no social life and haven't traveled in 4 years, and aren't studying. I suck at being young. I totally suck at it.
Anyway. I've been entertaining myself at work, between life crises, by checking out cute little houses for rent on the net. There are a few that seem ok, and are within budget. It's really not going to happen, and I'm checking it all out with that attitude, but still...it's nice to think of Squidge and I tucked up in our cute little terrace together. Being all coupley, and dare I say it, grown up. Except I was thinking about it the other night, and I realised I'm totally not ready to cook or clean or do any of that shit, and that really I'm still a big kid, and the idea of all that responsibility, coupled with all my responsibility at work, suddenly made me feel tired beyond belief.
Last night was also not good, to bookend my shit day. I was so tired that I got weepy, but couldn't properly cry. It felt blocked, and I only managed to cry properly while lying in bed trying to get to sleep. Awesome. Win. So now I'm knackered today, but nowhere near as bad. I managed to get a few hours.
The reason I was so tired yesterday is because the night before, Squidge appeared unexpectedly at my place. Turned out he'd forgotten his phone, but it was the greatest thing. I'd fallen asleep and was still fully clothed on my bed with the light on, and he came in and I woke up a bit when the door opened, but sort of half asleepily assumed it wasn't him (without actually thinking who it could have been...Dad maybe?), and then he jumped on the bed and I woke up properly and I was so happy. I was perfectly awake, felt amazing, and he was right there! And then I couldn't sleep again, and he was writing in the other room and I could hear him talking to himself, he was obviously writing dialogue and speaking it as he wrote, and I thought I should try to stay awake so that I could tell him I love him when he came back. But I drifted off and when he came back I forgot. It was so adorable, though. I was just lying there listening to him grumble and even the sound of his voice, I loved.
Puke. Sorry.
Last night I didn't see him and I was all weepy and tired and feeling pretty bad. All I wanted to do was sleep but I couldn't by myself. I felt so insane and sick of myself. Now I just need a nap.
And a massage.
And I miss you.
--K.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
January 24
Dear Kay,
Another super rare totally awesome lazy day at work today. I'm counting down the hours (two and a half) until home time, and my four day weekend. How fabulously awesome.
I came to a slightly disconcerting realisation the other day, after having dinner at Angie's. She cooked a roast and it was very grownup, and I suppose you should probably get some of the credit for the fact that the dinner was freaking delicious. Anyway, I realised on my way to work the next morning that all of my friends are in happy, stable relationships right now. There was a time when the whole lot of us were single and a bit sad, but not at the moment. Angie and Simon have been living together for a few months and seem to be going pretty well, Katie and Matt are adorable together and totally disgusting, and this week have just moved in together. And Anita's been going with her girl for a while now and from what I can gather, things are pretty good there, too. All these people living together and being grown ups! And me, too, in a happy little relationship with Squidge. So weird.
I was also the last one to couple up, and so my relationship is the least serious out of everyone else's, but I don't think it'll stay that way. Which is good.
I was talking to Katie about Matt the other day, actually. Because of her broken engagement and all that crap that happened a few years ago, she's since been pretty phobic about relationships. She's been a total girl player in fact, the second a guy's gotten even an inch too close she's dumped them, refused to return their calls, and pretended they didn't exist. One guy got the inside of both of his lips tattooed for her, and still nothing. Of course I'm not condoning that behaviour, that's freakin insane, but that's just what I mean about guys really, REALLY, wanting to be with her. Damn her.
Anyway. Now she's with Matt and it's good and they're living together. It took her a really long time to be ok with that, and she said the day she moved in she freaked out a bit, but otherwise good. She thinks they're going to be together forever, and will probably get married and have kids, and I asked her if that freaked her out and she said no. That it was actually kind of nice, and she wasn't worried because she knew she was with the right person. And I said, oh.
Maybe it's just too early for me to be thinking that way about Squidge, but I don't feel that way. Not that he's not the right person for me, because he is, but the idea of being with one person forever still gives me the heebies. I found her confidence that everything would be ok both refreshing and bizarre. Good for her.
I do think that Squidge and I will get to that point eventually. But I don't know, I don't know.
Should just stop thinking about it, and just enjoy the moments I have with him for what they are. And mostly I do, it's just when I'm at work and bored that I start over analysing everything.
Hopefully I'll see Squidge tonight. I went out for a quick bite to eat with him and Simon last night, but it was only about an hour and afterwards he went back to his phD. Which is cool, it needs to be done. But I do want to see him at least a little bit on my four days off, and I'm hoping to get him to the pool or beach. While it's still hot, and I have nothing else to do, and I can splash around a bit. Fingers crossed.
And I miss you.
--K.
Another super rare totally awesome lazy day at work today. I'm counting down the hours (two and a half) until home time, and my four day weekend. How fabulously awesome.
I came to a slightly disconcerting realisation the other day, after having dinner at Angie's. She cooked a roast and it was very grownup, and I suppose you should probably get some of the credit for the fact that the dinner was freaking delicious. Anyway, I realised on my way to work the next morning that all of my friends are in happy, stable relationships right now. There was a time when the whole lot of us were single and a bit sad, but not at the moment. Angie and Simon have been living together for a few months and seem to be going pretty well, Katie and Matt are adorable together and totally disgusting, and this week have just moved in together. And Anita's been going with her girl for a while now and from what I can gather, things are pretty good there, too. All these people living together and being grown ups! And me, too, in a happy little relationship with Squidge. So weird.
I was also the last one to couple up, and so my relationship is the least serious out of everyone else's, but I don't think it'll stay that way. Which is good.
I was talking to Katie about Matt the other day, actually. Because of her broken engagement and all that crap that happened a few years ago, she's since been pretty phobic about relationships. She's been a total girl player in fact, the second a guy's gotten even an inch too close she's dumped them, refused to return their calls, and pretended they didn't exist. One guy got the inside of both of his lips tattooed for her, and still nothing. Of course I'm not condoning that behaviour, that's freakin insane, but that's just what I mean about guys really, REALLY, wanting to be with her. Damn her.
Anyway. Now she's with Matt and it's good and they're living together. It took her a really long time to be ok with that, and she said the day she moved in she freaked out a bit, but otherwise good. She thinks they're going to be together forever, and will probably get married and have kids, and I asked her if that freaked her out and she said no. That it was actually kind of nice, and she wasn't worried because she knew she was with the right person. And I said, oh.
Maybe it's just too early for me to be thinking that way about Squidge, but I don't feel that way. Not that he's not the right person for me, because he is, but the idea of being with one person forever still gives me the heebies. I found her confidence that everything would be ok both refreshing and bizarre. Good for her.
I do think that Squidge and I will get to that point eventually. But I don't know, I don't know.
Should just stop thinking about it, and just enjoy the moments I have with him for what they are. And mostly I do, it's just when I'm at work and bored that I start over analysing everything.
Hopefully I'll see Squidge tonight. I went out for a quick bite to eat with him and Simon last night, but it was only about an hour and afterwards he went back to his phD. Which is cool, it needs to be done. But I do want to see him at least a little bit on my four days off, and I'm hoping to get him to the pool or beach. While it's still hot, and I have nothing else to do, and I can splash around a bit. Fingers crossed.
And I miss you.
--K.
Monday, January 21, 2008
January 21
Dear Kay,
Occasionally so many things happen, and are so dramatic and insane and completely overwhelming, that I don't particularly want to write it all down. Last night was one of those kind of times. Not that it was bad, just that there was a lot of it.
So...the weekend. Friday night was great, I caught up with all sorts of people I haven't seen in ages, and met some new awesome people, and was social and good. That night Squidge called me at about 12:30, asking if he could come around. I was about to go to bed but of course I said yes, because I'd been missing him all night like a complete and utter loser.
Anyway. He came around, it was lovely. Saturday morning we met up with some of my mates and some of his and had a big breakfast which was also lovely. He then went off to do writing and I went back to bed for a coupla hours.
Sunday he worked, but we were planning on having a BBQ in the park. He messaged me to say he postponed it because it was raining and in the too hard basket, but that he'd call me later. I assumed that meant after work, and that we'd still be going out for dinner. I slept for a bit, then woke up feeling really not quite right. In fact that morning I felt NQR, and it didn't go away. Mum and Dad had people over for dinner and they were in the kitchen screaming their heads off about politics and some other shit, and it was so loud and I couldn't really handle it. I went down there for two seconds, felt dizzy and disorientated, out of sorts, fuzzy in the head. Went back upstairs after barely tasting some chicken, lay on the floor and stared out the window for about half an hour. Became irrational and scared about how strange I was feeling, and decided to get out of the house and go to Squidge's where he could look after me, since I seemed to be incapable of doing it myself.
Didn't call or anything, just got in the car. Before I even turned the engine over, burst into tears. Drove to Squidge's trying to keep it together, cried in the car for another ten minutes when I discover his car isn't there, and I have no idea what I'm going to do now. I can't face the idea of going home and lying on the floor in my room again, but also have nowhere else to go. Get out and knock on his door anyway just in case, heart pounding. No answer. Back to the car, drive around the block for a bit. Know that he's at a friend's BBQ with his sister and that I'm not there with him. Drive around to friend's place to see if his car is there but only vaguely remember where their house is and can't find it. Come back and see Squidge plus his sister in the car, crossing the intersection where I am to his house. Know instantly he was at the BBQ without me and feel inexplicably angry and jilted. In a, 'how dare he be having fun while I'm balling my eyes out and feeling horrible?' sort of way. Feel left out, unwanted, pissed off. Drive home and realise with startling clarity that I don't factor in his equations. Wait to see how long it'll take for him to call since I know he just got home...try to think of somewhere to go but have no appetite and am still crying. Try to find the perfect song on my mixed CD to cry to, and do, several times. He calls, I ignore it, listen to the message he's left twice. He sounds concerned, as though he does know psychically that I'm freaking out. Call him back, knowing I'm being a dickhead but still feeling angry. Tell him I've had a collosal freak out and he tells me to come right over. I drive back over with a strange sense of de ja vu. Have been crying for a solid hour, and when he opens the door he grabs me and I get tears all over his shirt. He takes me upstairs, lies me down on the bed, and I cry on his shoulder. Literally.
Oh GOD, Kay...thank GOD he was there. He had me giggling in about ten minutes, if that. And he never, ever let me go. All that stupid anger about the BBQ at our mutual friends disappeared, and later he confessed that he hadn't known I also knew them. Didn't really care, though, had stopped caring long ago. He tells me I act like a 28 year old, but I am still only 23, and sometimes there has to be some sort of overlap, some sort of watershed. He's right and I know it, and I value his opinion more than anything, but all I can say is '...yeah.'
I apologise for being nuts and crying all over him and he says it doesn't matter. He says that on Friday night he was freaking out and so he came to see me, and I made him feel better. And he knew that I would.
I stop crying, we move on to talking about other random crap. I ask him what he wants to do when he finishes his Phd and he talks about going to England for a couple of weeks, asks me when I have time off, and I know that he's factoring me into the equation, really. Mentions he wants to learn french, might do a dip ed, might do a TSOL course and teach ESL. I say so long as he's not planning on ditching me and running off to an ashram and he says 'Ashram...no...' And I swat at him, saying 'Right, but you're ditching me then?' He says no, and then kisses me so I know he means it.
In the morning I still feel weird and he tells me to call in sick. I do, and then sleep with him beside me. A few hours later we get up, and I'm shakey and dizzy, and feeling pretty weird. He takes me to breakfast, then brings me back to his place and plants me on the couch. I try to stay awake but get increasingly drowsy and out of it. Eventually, while he's putting the washing on, I fall asleep. I wake up a few hours later and he's reading beside me. In a weird way I knew he was there the whole time.
And when he sees I'm waking up he sits on my couch and cuddles me, throws his weight around to make me laugh.
And I thank him for looking after me. He says it was fun. I kind of laugh. Because it was for me, but I never thought it was for him.
So that's what's happened. I love him, but I want him to say it first because it will mean more. I might explode in the process, a thousand words screaming to get out of my head. He's amazing, and I tell him, and he blushes.
--K.
PS. Puke, I know. I'm sorry.
Occasionally so many things happen, and are so dramatic and insane and completely overwhelming, that I don't particularly want to write it all down. Last night was one of those kind of times. Not that it was bad, just that there was a lot of it.
So...the weekend. Friday night was great, I caught up with all sorts of people I haven't seen in ages, and met some new awesome people, and was social and good. That night Squidge called me at about 12:30, asking if he could come around. I was about to go to bed but of course I said yes, because I'd been missing him all night like a complete and utter loser.
Anyway. He came around, it was lovely. Saturday morning we met up with some of my mates and some of his and had a big breakfast which was also lovely. He then went off to do writing and I went back to bed for a coupla hours.
Sunday he worked, but we were planning on having a BBQ in the park. He messaged me to say he postponed it because it was raining and in the too hard basket, but that he'd call me later. I assumed that meant after work, and that we'd still be going out for dinner. I slept for a bit, then woke up feeling really not quite right. In fact that morning I felt NQR, and it didn't go away. Mum and Dad had people over for dinner and they were in the kitchen screaming their heads off about politics and some other shit, and it was so loud and I couldn't really handle it. I went down there for two seconds, felt dizzy and disorientated, out of sorts, fuzzy in the head. Went back upstairs after barely tasting some chicken, lay on the floor and stared out the window for about half an hour. Became irrational and scared about how strange I was feeling, and decided to get out of the house and go to Squidge's where he could look after me, since I seemed to be incapable of doing it myself.
Didn't call or anything, just got in the car. Before I even turned the engine over, burst into tears. Drove to Squidge's trying to keep it together, cried in the car for another ten minutes when I discover his car isn't there, and I have no idea what I'm going to do now. I can't face the idea of going home and lying on the floor in my room again, but also have nowhere else to go. Get out and knock on his door anyway just in case, heart pounding. No answer. Back to the car, drive around the block for a bit. Know that he's at a friend's BBQ with his sister and that I'm not there with him. Drive around to friend's place to see if his car is there but only vaguely remember where their house is and can't find it. Come back and see Squidge plus his sister in the car, crossing the intersection where I am to his house. Know instantly he was at the BBQ without me and feel inexplicably angry and jilted. In a, 'how dare he be having fun while I'm balling my eyes out and feeling horrible?' sort of way. Feel left out, unwanted, pissed off. Drive home and realise with startling clarity that I don't factor in his equations. Wait to see how long it'll take for him to call since I know he just got home...try to think of somewhere to go but have no appetite and am still crying. Try to find the perfect song on my mixed CD to cry to, and do, several times. He calls, I ignore it, listen to the message he's left twice. He sounds concerned, as though he does know psychically that I'm freaking out. Call him back, knowing I'm being a dickhead but still feeling angry. Tell him I've had a collosal freak out and he tells me to come right over. I drive back over with a strange sense of de ja vu. Have been crying for a solid hour, and when he opens the door he grabs me and I get tears all over his shirt. He takes me upstairs, lies me down on the bed, and I cry on his shoulder. Literally.
Oh GOD, Kay...thank GOD he was there. He had me giggling in about ten minutes, if that. And he never, ever let me go. All that stupid anger about the BBQ at our mutual friends disappeared, and later he confessed that he hadn't known I also knew them. Didn't really care, though, had stopped caring long ago. He tells me I act like a 28 year old, but I am still only 23, and sometimes there has to be some sort of overlap, some sort of watershed. He's right and I know it, and I value his opinion more than anything, but all I can say is '...yeah.'
I apologise for being nuts and crying all over him and he says it doesn't matter. He says that on Friday night he was freaking out and so he came to see me, and I made him feel better. And he knew that I would.
I stop crying, we move on to talking about other random crap. I ask him what he wants to do when he finishes his Phd and he talks about going to England for a couple of weeks, asks me when I have time off, and I know that he's factoring me into the equation, really. Mentions he wants to learn french, might do a dip ed, might do a TSOL course and teach ESL. I say so long as he's not planning on ditching me and running off to an ashram and he says 'Ashram...no...' And I swat at him, saying 'Right, but you're ditching me then?' He says no, and then kisses me so I know he means it.
In the morning I still feel weird and he tells me to call in sick. I do, and then sleep with him beside me. A few hours later we get up, and I'm shakey and dizzy, and feeling pretty weird. He takes me to breakfast, then brings me back to his place and plants me on the couch. I try to stay awake but get increasingly drowsy and out of it. Eventually, while he's putting the washing on, I fall asleep. I wake up a few hours later and he's reading beside me. In a weird way I knew he was there the whole time.
And when he sees I'm waking up he sits on my couch and cuddles me, throws his weight around to make me laugh.
And I thank him for looking after me. He says it was fun. I kind of laugh. Because it was for me, but I never thought it was for him.
So that's what's happened. I love him, but I want him to say it first because it will mean more. I might explode in the process, a thousand words screaming to get out of my head. He's amazing, and I tell him, and he blushes.
--K.
PS. Puke, I know. I'm sorry.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
January 12
Dear Kay,
You'll have to forgive me, I'm in one of those disgusting, loved up head spaces tonight. It's pretty much all Squidge in my head right now.
I had a shocker on Thursday. The hearings went ok all week, but then I was fronted with a mountain of work I needed to have done but couldn't, plus the additonal work of sorting out what had gone down during the hearings, and dealing with the mountain of written submissions, and I had no idea what to do and the database was playing up and I didn't know if I was doing the right thing or the very wrong thing, and there was no one to tell me how to do the mail merge, and I couldn't do the mail merge without getting the database straightened out. Plus it was about 41 degrees or something insane, and I don't work in the heat. I prety much cease to function. So, there was frustration, and anger, and total hopelessness, and when I got home I did that really pathetic, awful weeping.
The night before I sent a few back and forth smses to Squidge, and he told me he was going to Bendigo for the funeral. I tried not to worry about him driving for hours in that sort of heat, and I tried not to be a bit miffed that he didn't ask me to go with him (because it's not like I knew her. But still, that's fairly typical girlfriend duty. Anyway, I know I'm being totally irational and that's completely beside the point, and it was his family time and blah blah blah, I'm really not a bad person. Promise).
Anyway. I knew he must have had a shitter day than me, but I still sent him a text asking if he wanted to chat, and about an hour later he called me, and I cried on the phone telling me about my shit day and he told me about his, and we shared our burdens I suppose. I cried and whinged while simultaneously feeling awful for dumping my shit on him. He said he didn't mind, that he was glad it was making me feel better. I told him we could dump on each other, he could handle mine if I handled his.
He came over last night and he told me that after he got off the phone he had 'a bit of a sob in the bathroom.' And I was going to make a 'so is that a typical reaction after you talk to me?' joke but instead I just...I don't know. Fell a bit further, I suppose.
And today we went for breakfast and then shopping for a bit, which was exhausting and I remembered, like always, why I absolutely hate shopping centres, and then it was about 3 in the afternoon and we were driving back and I consciously decided to pre-empt his telling me he was just going to go home and write, by asking him if I could just drop him off at his place. I thought it would feel better to be the one with shit to do, not that I did, rather than always being the one that is sort of, asked to go away, but it didn't really. Because then I spent a while obsessing that he wasn't going to do and write but actually wanted to spend time with me and I'd fucked it up by trying to head him off at the pass to make myself feel better. Because I am that insane, apparently.
Anyway. He gave me this great idea about writing in a notebook rather than on computer, so I can't constantly retype the first paragraph and not get anywhere. It's a good thought, but I haven't done it yet. I write too slowly, and I type really fast, and I'm just used to that, I suppose. He also gave me a first line to work with, which is hard. It's 'She was born in the wrong time, she should have been born in the future.'
I can't do much with that, unfortunately, because it's not really my style. But I'll try and humour him, I guess. I don't know, I probably won't let him read it. I should just think of some crappy plot and...I'm not going to finish that sentence.
Anyway, anyway, anyway. After this week I won't have to dread going to work anymore. It will all, mostly, be over. For a couple of months, anyway. I've worked like such a dog for the last three months, it's kind of insane to think that I won't have to do that anymore. I won't need to rock up with a mountain of papers on my desk and quietly bury myself underneath them, only to clamber back out again by 5. I'm looking forward to doing something less full on. I'm looking forward to not getting to work on a Monday and having 32 emails from the same panicked student. I'm looking forward to doing what everyone else is doing in the office, and not being the odd one out. I'm looking forward to the others having some sort of almost idea about what I do all day.
Oooh, text. Squidge just asked me how the writing was going. I suck.
I had a dream about Squidge last night, sort of. I dreamt I was with some black guy, and that Squidge and I weren't together anymore, and I was sort of...'oooh, black guy' but also really, massively sad and disappointed that Squidge wasn't around. Just the knowlege in the back of my head that he wasn't there, and that I wanted him to be. And I woke up and didn't know where I was and then I rolled over and saw Squidge's jacket on the back of the door, and then Squidge himself lying next to me, and I was so relieved.
I warned you. Squidge, Squidge, Squidge. I kind of like that stage where they completely take over your brain, though...I just hope his brain's doing the same. Y'know?
I miss you.
--K.
PS. He just texted that he's writing all night. Damn.
You'll have to forgive me, I'm in one of those disgusting, loved up head spaces tonight. It's pretty much all Squidge in my head right now.
I had a shocker on Thursday. The hearings went ok all week, but then I was fronted with a mountain of work I needed to have done but couldn't, plus the additonal work of sorting out what had gone down during the hearings, and dealing with the mountain of written submissions, and I had no idea what to do and the database was playing up and I didn't know if I was doing the right thing or the very wrong thing, and there was no one to tell me how to do the mail merge, and I couldn't do the mail merge without getting the database straightened out. Plus it was about 41 degrees or something insane, and I don't work in the heat. I prety much cease to function. So, there was frustration, and anger, and total hopelessness, and when I got home I did that really pathetic, awful weeping.
The night before I sent a few back and forth smses to Squidge, and he told me he was going to Bendigo for the funeral. I tried not to worry about him driving for hours in that sort of heat, and I tried not to be a bit miffed that he didn't ask me to go with him (because it's not like I knew her. But still, that's fairly typical girlfriend duty. Anyway, I know I'm being totally irational and that's completely beside the point, and it was his family time and blah blah blah, I'm really not a bad person. Promise).
Anyway. I knew he must have had a shitter day than me, but I still sent him a text asking if he wanted to chat, and about an hour later he called me, and I cried on the phone telling me about my shit day and he told me about his, and we shared our burdens I suppose. I cried and whinged while simultaneously feeling awful for dumping my shit on him. He said he didn't mind, that he was glad it was making me feel better. I told him we could dump on each other, he could handle mine if I handled his.
He came over last night and he told me that after he got off the phone he had 'a bit of a sob in the bathroom.' And I was going to make a 'so is that a typical reaction after you talk to me?' joke but instead I just...I don't know. Fell a bit further, I suppose.
And today we went for breakfast and then shopping for a bit, which was exhausting and I remembered, like always, why I absolutely hate shopping centres, and then it was about 3 in the afternoon and we were driving back and I consciously decided to pre-empt his telling me he was just going to go home and write, by asking him if I could just drop him off at his place. I thought it would feel better to be the one with shit to do, not that I did, rather than always being the one that is sort of, asked to go away, but it didn't really. Because then I spent a while obsessing that he wasn't going to do and write but actually wanted to spend time with me and I'd fucked it up by trying to head him off at the pass to make myself feel better. Because I am that insane, apparently.
Anyway. He gave me this great idea about writing in a notebook rather than on computer, so I can't constantly retype the first paragraph and not get anywhere. It's a good thought, but I haven't done it yet. I write too slowly, and I type really fast, and I'm just used to that, I suppose. He also gave me a first line to work with, which is hard. It's 'She was born in the wrong time, she should have been born in the future.'
I can't do much with that, unfortunately, because it's not really my style. But I'll try and humour him, I guess. I don't know, I probably won't let him read it. I should just think of some crappy plot and...I'm not going to finish that sentence.
Anyway, anyway, anyway. After this week I won't have to dread going to work anymore. It will all, mostly, be over. For a couple of months, anyway. I've worked like such a dog for the last three months, it's kind of insane to think that I won't have to do that anymore. I won't need to rock up with a mountain of papers on my desk and quietly bury myself underneath them, only to clamber back out again by 5. I'm looking forward to doing something less full on. I'm looking forward to not getting to work on a Monday and having 32 emails from the same panicked student. I'm looking forward to doing what everyone else is doing in the office, and not being the odd one out. I'm looking forward to the others having some sort of almost idea about what I do all day.
Oooh, text. Squidge just asked me how the writing was going. I suck.
I had a dream about Squidge last night, sort of. I dreamt I was with some black guy, and that Squidge and I weren't together anymore, and I was sort of...'oooh, black guy' but also really, massively sad and disappointed that Squidge wasn't around. Just the knowlege in the back of my head that he wasn't there, and that I wanted him to be. And I woke up and didn't know where I was and then I rolled over and saw Squidge's jacket on the back of the door, and then Squidge himself lying next to me, and I was so relieved.
I warned you. Squidge, Squidge, Squidge. I kind of like that stage where they completely take over your brain, though...I just hope his brain's doing the same. Y'know?
I miss you.
--K.
PS. He just texted that he's writing all night. Damn.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
January 8
Dear Kay,
Good GOD I am so tired. Not sleepy, though, just completely knackered. Two days straight of academic hearings are really taking it out of me, and another day to go. Cry.
Still, I only collapse when I get home, at the time I'm quite awake and perky and listening brightly paying attention. It's really quite interesting, even though also extremely depressing, to hear these people's stories. This was actually why I wanted to get into the job that I'm in, and I think I'm naturally a bit ok at it, the people part at least. There was a guy today who would have been in his late 50s, and who had been going ok except for the last year when it all fell over. We asked him what had happened and he suddenly told us his mum had died. Oh dear, we all thought. I thought he was about to cry. I asked him if he'd picked out a major yet and he said he hadn't really thought about it, and I told him to go sort it out with a course adviser because it's really hard to study if you don't have a direction. I was actually pretty proud of that advice. I think he listened, too. He seemed pretty down and out, and I don't think we heard the whole story, but it seemed like he was coming out of the shit storm. Slowly.
Other students have been good, others not so good. Some are so blase and you sort of wonder what's going on in their heads. Others are barely listening/comprehending. Some of them have such terrible English that they can't really understand what you're asking, or saying, and you can really tell. But short of acting it out with sock puppets and amusing props what are you supposed to do?
Squidge has gone AWOL for the evening, which is sad because I was looking forward to seeing him. I called him about an hour ago and there was no answer, so maybe he's writing or he's gone to the movies or something. On Monday morning I was stressing out about the hearings, and he stayed over that night (after some coersion) and when I woke up at quarter to bloody 6 freaking out about all the things I had to do that day, he was right there, and he let me molest him while I talked about how we should flee to Tuscany and have grape vines and red wine. He could write on an old timey type writer and I could teach English to the local village primary school kids, and we could siesta and eat cheese, and he could walk around without his shirt on. The more I was talking about it, the more I wanted it to actually happen. That would be fucking awesome.
Anyway. As he was leaving he gave me a loving look and rubbed my neck and that gave me the warm and fuzzies for the rest of the morning. As he left I told him I'd him in Tuscany, and he laughed.
It's so nice, I feel like we're reaching new levels of coupleyness. It takes him a while to warm up because he's a bit shy whenever I first see him, but we usually get there in the end and it's lovely. It could be me and him in a room with lots of pillows for ever and ever and I wouldn't really mind.
And I miss you.
--K.
Good GOD I am so tired. Not sleepy, though, just completely knackered. Two days straight of academic hearings are really taking it out of me, and another day to go. Cry.
Still, I only collapse when I get home, at the time I'm quite awake and perky and listening brightly paying attention. It's really quite interesting, even though also extremely depressing, to hear these people's stories. This was actually why I wanted to get into the job that I'm in, and I think I'm naturally a bit ok at it, the people part at least. There was a guy today who would have been in his late 50s, and who had been going ok except for the last year when it all fell over. We asked him what had happened and he suddenly told us his mum had died. Oh dear, we all thought. I thought he was about to cry. I asked him if he'd picked out a major yet and he said he hadn't really thought about it, and I told him to go sort it out with a course adviser because it's really hard to study if you don't have a direction. I was actually pretty proud of that advice. I think he listened, too. He seemed pretty down and out, and I don't think we heard the whole story, but it seemed like he was coming out of the shit storm. Slowly.
Other students have been good, others not so good. Some are so blase and you sort of wonder what's going on in their heads. Others are barely listening/comprehending. Some of them have such terrible English that they can't really understand what you're asking, or saying, and you can really tell. But short of acting it out with sock puppets and amusing props what are you supposed to do?
Squidge has gone AWOL for the evening, which is sad because I was looking forward to seeing him. I called him about an hour ago and there was no answer, so maybe he's writing or he's gone to the movies or something. On Monday morning I was stressing out about the hearings, and he stayed over that night (after some coersion) and when I woke up at quarter to bloody 6 freaking out about all the things I had to do that day, he was right there, and he let me molest him while I talked about how we should flee to Tuscany and have grape vines and red wine. He could write on an old timey type writer and I could teach English to the local village primary school kids, and we could siesta and eat cheese, and he could walk around without his shirt on. The more I was talking about it, the more I wanted it to actually happen. That would be fucking awesome.
Anyway. As he was leaving he gave me a loving look and rubbed my neck and that gave me the warm and fuzzies for the rest of the morning. As he left I told him I'd him in Tuscany, and he laughed.
It's so nice, I feel like we're reaching new levels of coupleyness. It takes him a while to warm up because he's a bit shy whenever I first see him, but we usually get there in the end and it's lovely. It could be me and him in a room with lots of pillows for ever and ever and I wouldn't really mind.
And I miss you.
--K.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
January 6
Dear Kay,
I did something bad this morning. And even though, funnily enough, I know it's bad, I also don't feel too terrible about it. I feel terrible for not feeling terrible, I suppose.
Anyway. I read Squidge's diary. I know, I know. BAD.
BUT...in my defense, it was from a year and a half ago, and it was just lying around in his room (in a drawer under a pile of other books). OK I was snooping. And I've snooped many times before on boyfriends, but...doing so has enabled me to discover Internet discretions, lustful wishings for others, and also a little bit of insight into the person I'm trying to fall in love with.
After I last wrote, Squidge went to see the body and spent an hour or two with his family. I then went over and we went to see The Darjeeling Limited. He'd sounded better on the phone, and I'd been cracking jokes to try and lighten the mood, and going into the movie it was ok. I was struggling to find things to talk about and it wasn't quite comfortable silence, but we also weren't sitting there feeling tense. It was tension free, I just felt like we should be talking to take his mind off things. After the movie, though, it was worse. It should have been better, really, and we talked about the movie and our mutual disappointments but there was the whole unspoken subtext going on. We got home and his sister and housemate were up and being chatty, whinging about the heat and their total lack of air conditioning and past shitholes they've lived through. Squidge went and did the washing up, dropped a glass and swore a lot, which I thought was possibly the most emotionally honest thing he'd said all night, and I helped him clean it up. It was perfunctory, silly conversation along the lines of 'can you pass me the broom?' and 'can you get a plastic bag?'. I helped/watched him do the rest of the washing up and at one point he looked up at me. I was standing with my hand on my hip, staring intently at his hands in the water with a frown on my face. He kind of laughed and said
'I feel like I'm boring you.' And I said
'I'm worried about you.'
He said that he would eventually deal with it but that he was putting it off. I told him it didn't really work like that and he said he knew it. We still didn't talk about it, and he finished the washing up, and he referred to me as 'Boo Boo', and we went to bed.
It probably wasn't as bad at the time but now that I'm remembering it...it wasn't good. I didn't want it to be like I was prying, but at the same time, it was awkward and I wanted it over. And it was so stinkingly hot, I really wasn't in the best mood either. Cuddling was completely out of the question, so not even token physical comfort would really work.
It was about a million degrees and sweaty in his room but I fell asleep anyway. He got up at some point to go sleep on the couch downstairs, and I was alone in his room. I woke up at about 9:30 and waited for him to come back for about 45. Eventually he rushed in, pulled on his jeans and ran out the door, explaining that he was late. I do this thing where if I wake up first I pretend to be asleep and listen to what they do around me. Like if they'll glance down and sigh contentedly or some such shit. Squidge did that once, a little mini giggle sigh. That was nice.
Anyway. I wondered if it was really worth all that waiting, and then I rolled around on the bed topless for a while, enjoying the breeze that had come with the cool change overnight. And then, of course, I snooped.
And now I'm kind of just mulling it all over. Feeling guilty but also curious, and also just trying to process it. He has a beautiful soul, and the thing I think resonated most was that he felt lost. He felt confused. He mulled over every little thing and felt different to everyone else and worried and whinged and tried to hope and tried to encourage and felt hopeless and felt helpless and felt pride and felt achievement. He was honest, and he was vulnerable, and if you'll excuse the cliche, I saw his true colours.
So now I feel especially terrible that I read it all behind his back, of course.
Still. I left him a note on his bed, keeping in mind that he freaks out and feels like an outsider and a loner as well, and that he wouldn't judge me the same way I wouldn't judge him, and that it wasn't stalkerish or weird but actually nice and lovely to leave him a note, and that he would be GLAD to hear from his girlfriend (I have to keep repeating that to myself...and to keep thinking how lovely it would be if he left me a note when I came home from work. I have to keep remembering that, in particular, we're not that different and we're both vulnerable and we both want to be loved. Repeated times a thousand).
The note said, and I'm quite proud of it actually because it was funny and sexy and also genuine, that if he ever needed to talk I was around, even at 3 am on a Thursday morning if needs be, but not to expect me to be particularly coherent at that hour. And that 'I think you'll find 24 hour emotional support' under section 14.B of the Good Girlfriend Contract, right next to 24 hour sexual services and 14.C - 'Chocolate therapy for the tired and grumpy.' Cute, right? And that I just wanted him to be happy, and for him to know I was there when he wasn't. I had to rip a page out of one of his notebooks (NOT his diary, for I be not totally stupid) so at the end I wrote 'PS. Can I borrow a piece of paper???'
Awesome note. Very proud of that one. I made his bed and left it on the pillow, and he won't get it for a couple more hours but I'm hoping he'll read it and come right over and just, y'know, ravage me.
Anyway. If he's still weird and quiet after that I don't know what I'll do but I don't think he will be. But whatever, I won't have time to deal with it because this week at work is going to be insane and intense and busy, busy, busy. I might make my dinners now because I'm anticipating being that emotionally, physically and mentally drained after hearing 25 students a day tell me why they shouldn't be kicked out of university. Fun fun.
And also, I miss you.
--K.
I did something bad this morning. And even though, funnily enough, I know it's bad, I also don't feel too terrible about it. I feel terrible for not feeling terrible, I suppose.
Anyway. I read Squidge's diary. I know, I know. BAD.
BUT...in my defense, it was from a year and a half ago, and it was just lying around in his room (in a drawer under a pile of other books). OK I was snooping. And I've snooped many times before on boyfriends, but...doing so has enabled me to discover Internet discretions, lustful wishings for others, and also a little bit of insight into the person I'm trying to fall in love with.
After I last wrote, Squidge went to see the body and spent an hour or two with his family. I then went over and we went to see The Darjeeling Limited. He'd sounded better on the phone, and I'd been cracking jokes to try and lighten the mood, and going into the movie it was ok. I was struggling to find things to talk about and it wasn't quite comfortable silence, but we also weren't sitting there feeling tense. It was tension free, I just felt like we should be talking to take his mind off things. After the movie, though, it was worse. It should have been better, really, and we talked about the movie and our mutual disappointments but there was the whole unspoken subtext going on. We got home and his sister and housemate were up and being chatty, whinging about the heat and their total lack of air conditioning and past shitholes they've lived through. Squidge went and did the washing up, dropped a glass and swore a lot, which I thought was possibly the most emotionally honest thing he'd said all night, and I helped him clean it up. It was perfunctory, silly conversation along the lines of 'can you pass me the broom?' and 'can you get a plastic bag?'. I helped/watched him do the rest of the washing up and at one point he looked up at me. I was standing with my hand on my hip, staring intently at his hands in the water with a frown on my face. He kind of laughed and said
'I feel like I'm boring you.' And I said
'I'm worried about you.'
He said that he would eventually deal with it but that he was putting it off. I told him it didn't really work like that and he said he knew it. We still didn't talk about it, and he finished the washing up, and he referred to me as 'Boo Boo', and we went to bed.
It probably wasn't as bad at the time but now that I'm remembering it...it wasn't good. I didn't want it to be like I was prying, but at the same time, it was awkward and I wanted it over. And it was so stinkingly hot, I really wasn't in the best mood either. Cuddling was completely out of the question, so not even token physical comfort would really work.
It was about a million degrees and sweaty in his room but I fell asleep anyway. He got up at some point to go sleep on the couch downstairs, and I was alone in his room. I woke up at about 9:30 and waited for him to come back for about 45. Eventually he rushed in, pulled on his jeans and ran out the door, explaining that he was late. I do this thing where if I wake up first I pretend to be asleep and listen to what they do around me. Like if they'll glance down and sigh contentedly or some such shit. Squidge did that once, a little mini giggle sigh. That was nice.
Anyway. I wondered if it was really worth all that waiting, and then I rolled around on the bed topless for a while, enjoying the breeze that had come with the cool change overnight. And then, of course, I snooped.
And now I'm kind of just mulling it all over. Feeling guilty but also curious, and also just trying to process it. He has a beautiful soul, and the thing I think resonated most was that he felt lost. He felt confused. He mulled over every little thing and felt different to everyone else and worried and whinged and tried to hope and tried to encourage and felt hopeless and felt helpless and felt pride and felt achievement. He was honest, and he was vulnerable, and if you'll excuse the cliche, I saw his true colours.
So now I feel especially terrible that I read it all behind his back, of course.
Still. I left him a note on his bed, keeping in mind that he freaks out and feels like an outsider and a loner as well, and that he wouldn't judge me the same way I wouldn't judge him, and that it wasn't stalkerish or weird but actually nice and lovely to leave him a note, and that he would be GLAD to hear from his girlfriend (I have to keep repeating that to myself...and to keep thinking how lovely it would be if he left me a note when I came home from work. I have to keep remembering that, in particular, we're not that different and we're both vulnerable and we both want to be loved. Repeated times a thousand).
The note said, and I'm quite proud of it actually because it was funny and sexy and also genuine, that if he ever needed to talk I was around, even at 3 am on a Thursday morning if needs be, but not to expect me to be particularly coherent at that hour. And that 'I think you'll find 24 hour emotional support' under section 14.B of the Good Girlfriend Contract, right next to 24 hour sexual services and 14.C - 'Chocolate therapy for the tired and grumpy.' Cute, right? And that I just wanted him to be happy, and for him to know I was there when he wasn't. I had to rip a page out of one of his notebooks (NOT his diary, for I be not totally stupid) so at the end I wrote 'PS. Can I borrow a piece of paper???'
Awesome note. Very proud of that one. I made his bed and left it on the pillow, and he won't get it for a couple more hours but I'm hoping he'll read it and come right over and just, y'know, ravage me.
Anyway. If he's still weird and quiet after that I don't know what I'll do but I don't think he will be. But whatever, I won't have time to deal with it because this week at work is going to be insane and intense and busy, busy, busy. I might make my dinners now because I'm anticipating being that emotionally, physically and mentally drained after hearing 25 students a day tell me why they shouldn't be kicked out of university. Fun fun.
And also, I miss you.
--K.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
January 5, 2008
Dear Kay,
It's stupidly hot today. I only managed to climb out of my pyjamas at about 4 in the afternoon, and that was after getting up at 12 and having a nap at 2. My entire body shuts down when it's hot, and I still spend the whole of winter, autumn and spring waiting for my summer. It's very rarely ever the right temperature, it seems.
Squidge's grandmother died today. I'm fairly sure that she was his last grandparent, and I feel pretty bad for him, I think. I went over to his place before because we were supposed to be going out to the beach and dinner, but he dropped it on me basically as soon as I walked in the door. I kind of knew what he was going to say by the way he lead up to it. Not that I knew her, I only just met his other triplet. But still, we spent an hour being awkward on the couch watching test cricket (I couldn't really contain my rampant ambilvance, unfortunately), and then he left for the hospital. He asked me if I'd ever seen a dead body, and I told him that I hadn't. I asked him if that was what he was anxious about, and he said no. I told him Dad and had seen Grandma's body at the hospital after the died, that Mum had been there when she went. That it was one of those strange things hospitals do, because you won't see them after that. Not usually, unless you want to.
He was just really quiet and did that boy thing where they're obviously upset and quiet, and then you ask them if they're ok and they say they're fine. Give you a weak smile and carry on being quiet and upset.
He asked me if I'd been to many funerals, and I said one. Because I didn't go to yours.
I remember Angie calling me from Japan after I emailed her the news, and her abusing me for not going to your funeral. In her typical pushy way. I had to work, I think, but I hadn't really tried to get out of it. I didn't want to feel like I was intruding, and I didn't know if it would be appropriate. I hope that lots of people were there. I hope you know I wanted to be there.
But I didn't tell him about all that. I told him about Grandma, and that was all.
I miss you.
--K.
It's stupidly hot today. I only managed to climb out of my pyjamas at about 4 in the afternoon, and that was after getting up at 12 and having a nap at 2. My entire body shuts down when it's hot, and I still spend the whole of winter, autumn and spring waiting for my summer. It's very rarely ever the right temperature, it seems.
Squidge's grandmother died today. I'm fairly sure that she was his last grandparent, and I feel pretty bad for him, I think. I went over to his place before because we were supposed to be going out to the beach and dinner, but he dropped it on me basically as soon as I walked in the door. I kind of knew what he was going to say by the way he lead up to it. Not that I knew her, I only just met his other triplet. But still, we spent an hour being awkward on the couch watching test cricket (I couldn't really contain my rampant ambilvance, unfortunately), and then he left for the hospital. He asked me if I'd ever seen a dead body, and I told him that I hadn't. I asked him if that was what he was anxious about, and he said no. I told him Dad and had seen Grandma's body at the hospital after the died, that Mum had been there when she went. That it was one of those strange things hospitals do, because you won't see them after that. Not usually, unless you want to.
He was just really quiet and did that boy thing where they're obviously upset and quiet, and then you ask them if they're ok and they say they're fine. Give you a weak smile and carry on being quiet and upset.
He asked me if I'd been to many funerals, and I said one. Because I didn't go to yours.
I remember Angie calling me from Japan after I emailed her the news, and her abusing me for not going to your funeral. In her typical pushy way. I had to work, I think, but I hadn't really tried to get out of it. I didn't want to feel like I was intruding, and I didn't know if it would be appropriate. I hope that lots of people were there. I hope you know I wanted to be there.
But I didn't tell him about all that. I told him about Grandma, and that was all.
I miss you.
--K.
Friday, January 4, 2008
4th Jan 2008
Dear Kay,
This hasn't been a good day. It started out well, with Nick giving me a belated birthday present, wrapped and all!, which turned out to be a Shrek mug. I am to drink out of where his brains should be, apparently. Barb gave me a card which would have been for Christmas, I imagine, which was embarrassingly touching and lovely. I was stupidly moved, just in that she'd obviously been paying attention to my whining and ridiculousness over the last few months. It's nice to work with nice people. It makes this job almost less depressingly awful.
This morning I was running stupidly early, and decided to run (drive) down to Bakers Delight to pick up some breakfast/lunch, since I had a good 20 minutes to spare. You wouldn't have been proud of what I got, but that's not the point of the anecdote. The point is, I was leaving the shop with a great deal of fattening cheesey ham food and discovered, shock of all shocks, Marty my high school Maths teacher. I almost said something when I remembered that he was always sort of bumbling and awkward, and I don't think he liked me very much. I was not the maths type, and those classes were two hours long. I mean, come ON.
Anyway. I should have said something and I sort of regret that I didn't. I wanted to tell him that I remembered, and that even though I hated maths and have forgotten basically everything that he taught me, I still appreciated the effort. And that he contributes to my overall memories of that place which are, against all odds, good. And I wanted to tell him what I was up to now, and for him to think maybe he was a part of what I'm doing today, and for him to both feel good and be proud. Does that mean I'm proud of what I'm up to lately? Does that mean I want to brag?
But this afternoon, I don't think I have much to brag about, really. The students are driving me mental, the people I work with are also kind of driving me mental by proxy...just by being the people I work with, and me working while being with them, they piss me off. Even the ipod is giving me the shits, it seems stuck on a crap shuffle run. I do like this song, though.
So here it is. 23 years and 4 days old. Working. Not writing. Possibly, or really not possibly but probably, falling in love.
And I miss you.
--K.
This hasn't been a good day. It started out well, with Nick giving me a belated birthday present, wrapped and all!, which turned out to be a Shrek mug. I am to drink out of where his brains should be, apparently. Barb gave me a card which would have been for Christmas, I imagine, which was embarrassingly touching and lovely. I was stupidly moved, just in that she'd obviously been paying attention to my whining and ridiculousness over the last few months. It's nice to work with nice people. It makes this job almost less depressingly awful.
This morning I was running stupidly early, and decided to run (drive) down to Bakers Delight to pick up some breakfast/lunch, since I had a good 20 minutes to spare. You wouldn't have been proud of what I got, but that's not the point of the anecdote. The point is, I was leaving the shop with a great deal of fattening cheesey ham food and discovered, shock of all shocks, Marty my high school Maths teacher. I almost said something when I remembered that he was always sort of bumbling and awkward, and I don't think he liked me very much. I was not the maths type, and those classes were two hours long. I mean, come ON.
Anyway. I should have said something and I sort of regret that I didn't. I wanted to tell him that I remembered, and that even though I hated maths and have forgotten basically everything that he taught me, I still appreciated the effort. And that he contributes to my overall memories of that place which are, against all odds, good. And I wanted to tell him what I was up to now, and for him to think maybe he was a part of what I'm doing today, and for him to both feel good and be proud. Does that mean I'm proud of what I'm up to lately? Does that mean I want to brag?
But this afternoon, I don't think I have much to brag about, really. The students are driving me mental, the people I work with are also kind of driving me mental by proxy...just by being the people I work with, and me working while being with them, they piss me off. Even the ipod is giving me the shits, it seems stuck on a crap shuffle run. I do like this song, though.
So here it is. 23 years and 4 days old. Working. Not writing. Possibly, or really not possibly but probably, falling in love.
And I miss you.
--K.
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