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.
