Sometimes I wish I had more down time.
Then I remember days like Monday. I had the flu, so I called off work and skipped classes, and just laid in bed all day. And I was miserable, even after I started feeling better. I got so depressed and mopey. I wonder if that's a problem...that not even I can stand to be with me for several hours. Or is everybody like that? Does everyone drive themselves crazy sometimes? Is it ridiculous that I can't stand to be unoccupied for more than a few minutes at a time?
It's streseful as hell, what I do. Most days I go from 9 am to 9 pm with little to no breaks. Some days I go all the way until 11 until I actually get home. And I always have several hours of homework after I do finally make it back to the room. It's kind of ridiculous, really, the amount of time I spend doing things. Everyone talks about how they just have to have that midafternoon nap, and it really makes me want to laugh. Or hit them. The only time I ever get to sleep is at night and when I'm too sick for class and/or work. The really sick thing is, I kind of like it that way. My suitemates are on the other side of this wall, dead asleep, and here it is 11:11 am and my morning isn't even over yet.
The fact is, I'm far too afraid of missing anything. Last night, B. and I were playing this silly "truth-or-dare" type game, only it was all truths (a kind of get-to-know-you thing, it was incredibly corny but somehow slightly adorable), and he asked me what my worst fear is. I'll admit, I fibbed a little, but only because the real answer was far too long to detail, in the context of the game. I told him spiders adn being alone forever, which is the gist of the issue. But it's more than just being alone forever. I'm so afraid of time; namely, that I won't have enough of it to live the way I want to live and do the things I want to do. I'm afraid I'll never fall in love again. I'm afraid I'll never have a family, or the kind of career I've aspired to since I was a child. I'm afraid of seeing and doing and hearing and feeling too little. I have panic attacks over things like this. There are times when I realize that we only get one life, one chance, and mine is almost one-fourth over. What have I done with it so far?
But that's irrational. I've done a lot of things. I dare to say that I have even made a substantial impact on more than one life. That's what is important to me; that is what matters. If I can get that much done, I feel somehow that the rest will fall into place.
So you can see why I wouldn't want to admit all that so blatantly. I am an open person, but I don't want to seem crazy. At least with this there is the slightest degree of separation, of anonymity, to protect me.
God, I have missed being able to write like this.
2.25.2008
Could you save yourself?
Lately I've fallen into this habit of assigning songs to people or events. Typically it would be a song that I had not heard before, one that the person in question had introduced to me. The positive of this trait is that I end up having a new favorite obsession, and if it's a popular song, I get that little pick-me-up that comes with hearing it on the radio when you're not expecting it. The negative is that if things should go sour between me and the person in question (which tends to happen with me...I tend to fail in the relationship department), then the song is forever ruined for me.
It's kind of strange, really, the way I assign such meaning and significance to something so otherwise ambiguous. Like Dig, by Incubus. Last fall, I listened to almost nothing else. And parts of it fit, I suppose. At least for a while. This season the song is Save Yourself by Sense Field. Listen to it, but don't laugh at me. It fits, in some strange way. At least, for now.
It's kind of strange, really, the way I assign such meaning and significance to something so otherwise ambiguous. Like Dig, by Incubus. Last fall, I listened to almost nothing else. And parts of it fit, I suppose. At least for a while. This season the song is Save Yourself by Sense Field. Listen to it, but don't laugh at me. It fits, in some strange way. At least, for now.
2.20.2008
Memories that fade like photographs
So I talked to my mom today, and apparently the hard drive on the family's computer crashed. Everything is gone...pictures from the last six or seven years, my sisters' music, any essays or other school assingments in progress...everything. The thing that my mom and my next oldest sister are freaking out the most about are the pictures. Isn't it strange how years ago, when pictures cost money to take and develop, we took fewer and they seemed less vital? But now in the digital age, we take pictures of everything. Every laugh, every memory, every moment documented forever in bits and bytes in a computer's memory. And they're all so essential.
I think it's because the invention of the digital camera has given us such a micro view of our lives. It used to be that pictures told a thousand words, they told stories. Now they tell moments, but their value isn't diminished for that. If anything, it's intensified. The pictures I have--particularly the candid ones--describe how the subject felt in that moment. There's an elusiveness to them that you can't keep in memory alone. There is one photo I have in particular that always illustrates this for me. It's a picture from my senior year, when several of my friends and I decided to have a giant mudfight. We wanted to destroy the practice field after our final practice of the season. That was a year of last hurrahs, and the mudfight is defintely atop the list of Moments. It's not candid, but it caputres the essence of the moment so perfectly. The guys are flexing and being goofy, the girls are all throwing up fake gang signs, and even though everyone's face and clothes are covered in mud, the grins on our faces shine through and the exhilaration is apparent. It's like the signature quote from The Perks of Being a Wallflower: "And in that moment, I swear we were infinite." That's exactly what that picture depicts.
And that's not the only picture I have that so vividly describes a moment. It's just the first one that always comes to mind. I'd be devestated if I lost all of those. I'm going to Best Buy this weekend to buy an external hard drive. I can't imagine losing all those moments.
So to help my sister and my mom, I decided to go through all my pictures and make copies of ones that they might want. I'm making copies of anything with my family in it. The problem is...well, that narcisism blog that I posted a few weeks back? Well here it comes again. I have so few pictures of my family. Easily, 90% of my pictures are of me and my friends, or me and people that used to be friends but I don't talk to anymore, or me and people that used to be my friends who I actively hate now. Isn't that sad? I probably have just as many pictures of people that I dislike, as I do of my family. I don't hate my family by any means...pictures were just always my mom's responsibility. I was the one being photographed. And how egotistic is it that I took SO MANY pictures of people that were only important to me for the time? It's driving me crazy. I really need to learn to prioritize.
I think it's because the invention of the digital camera has given us such a micro view of our lives. It used to be that pictures told a thousand words, they told stories. Now they tell moments, but their value isn't diminished for that. If anything, it's intensified. The pictures I have--particularly the candid ones--describe how the subject felt in that moment. There's an elusiveness to them that you can't keep in memory alone. There is one photo I have in particular that always illustrates this for me. It's a picture from my senior year, when several of my friends and I decided to have a giant mudfight. We wanted to destroy the practice field after our final practice of the season. That was a year of last hurrahs, and the mudfight is defintely atop the list of Moments. It's not candid, but it caputres the essence of the moment so perfectly. The guys are flexing and being goofy, the girls are all throwing up fake gang signs, and even though everyone's face and clothes are covered in mud, the grins on our faces shine through and the exhilaration is apparent. It's like the signature quote from The Perks of Being a Wallflower: "And in that moment, I swear we were infinite." That's exactly what that picture depicts.
And that's not the only picture I have that so vividly describes a moment. It's just the first one that always comes to mind. I'd be devestated if I lost all of those. I'm going to Best Buy this weekend to buy an external hard drive. I can't imagine losing all those moments.
So to help my sister and my mom, I decided to go through all my pictures and make copies of ones that they might want. I'm making copies of anything with my family in it. The problem is...well, that narcisism blog that I posted a few weeks back? Well here it comes again. I have so few pictures of my family. Easily, 90% of my pictures are of me and my friends, or me and people that used to be friends but I don't talk to anymore, or me and people that used to be my friends who I actively hate now. Isn't that sad? I probably have just as many pictures of people that I dislike, as I do of my family. I don't hate my family by any means...pictures were just always my mom's responsibility. I was the one being photographed. And how egotistic is it that I took SO MANY pictures of people that were only important to me for the time? It's driving me crazy. I really need to learn to prioritize.
2.17.2008
Breaking bad habits.
I'm so utterly and completely exhausted by this whole situation. I really wish I could just crawl into peoples' heads and figure out what the hell they're thinking, why they do the things they do, what they are really all about. I'm sick of doing what's right. I just want to give up and do what's easy. Even if what's easy will hurt me. Because it's much easier to sink into the current than to fight it, especially if it seems likely that the outcome will be the same regardless. It's just so much easier to just let it happen.
I honestly can't even describe what it is about the whole thing, except that maybe I was so completely manipulated that it just screwed me up more than it should have. The self-esteem issue plays into it a lot as well. That's probably the biggest part of the problem. I let this stuff happen to me because for a moment, it makes me feel better. Just for that moment. And then I tend to wind up feeling worse than before. And therein lies my dilemma; my choices are to feel worthless now and empowered later, or to feel wanted and good now and worthless later.
The sick thing is, I know that I'll never have what I want here. I know things will never be the same, we can never go back. It's fucked forever and there's nothing I can do about it. I know that. But here I am trying anyway. And it's an utter waste of my time and energy.
Things with B. could be so good if I would just let them. But I'm not. I'm too afraid of being screwed with again, of being played, of being taken advantage of and used as an ego boost. How sad is that? I've done what I never wanted to do; I've let my past affect my present and I've grown to regret not just one event, but an entire relationship. I never wanted to regret anything. I want to trust him, but I can't. Maybe it's better this way. I mean, I do know how to find the worst guys for me. Probably, B. is just another one. Who knows.
I can't quite seem to get into myself today the way that I usually do. It's weird. I'm too agitated to sink into that trance I get when I write. And on a rare occasion, this isn't helping.
I honestly can't even describe what it is about the whole thing, except that maybe I was so completely manipulated that it just screwed me up more than it should have. The self-esteem issue plays into it a lot as well. That's probably the biggest part of the problem. I let this stuff happen to me because for a moment, it makes me feel better. Just for that moment. And then I tend to wind up feeling worse than before. And therein lies my dilemma; my choices are to feel worthless now and empowered later, or to feel wanted and good now and worthless later.
The sick thing is, I know that I'll never have what I want here. I know things will never be the same, we can never go back. It's fucked forever and there's nothing I can do about it. I know that. But here I am trying anyway. And it's an utter waste of my time and energy.
Things with B. could be so good if I would just let them. But I'm not. I'm too afraid of being screwed with again, of being played, of being taken advantage of and used as an ego boost. How sad is that? I've done what I never wanted to do; I've let my past affect my present and I've grown to regret not just one event, but an entire relationship. I never wanted to regret anything. I want to trust him, but I can't. Maybe it's better this way. I mean, I do know how to find the worst guys for me. Probably, B. is just another one. Who knows.
I can't quite seem to get into myself today the way that I usually do. It's weird. I'm too agitated to sink into that trance I get when I write. And on a rare occasion, this isn't helping.
2.16.2008
My life is the persistence of memory. You can call me Salvador.
Talk about surreal. I almost expect to wake up in a moment to realize that this whole week was just a dream. I'm still reeling from Wednesday, and then Thursday night, and Friday night, and now here it is Saturday and I can't help but wonder what other mindfuck will hit me next.
On Wednesday, B. was here. For propriety's sake, I'll only say this: I am immensely proud of my self-control. I really want to try to make things right for once. And I'm doing better than usual.
Thursday. Oh, dear Lord, Thursday. A bunch of girls from the market decided to go to one of the bars uptown, and I figure, why not...I don't have class till 1 on Friday, and I have nothing better to do. So we all met up at J.'s house and eventually hit up the club. Just outside the door I got a strange sense of apprehension. I knew M.'s band played there on occasion. But what were the odds, right? It was like something out of a movie. I walk up to the door, and there it is: splashed in garish neon paint, the name of his band, and the words LIVE! TONIGHT! screaming at me. Naturally, I panicked. I mean, I knew I would have had to see him evenutally; the campus is only so big. But it took me completely by surprise. What was even more surprising was how everything went down. I always half-wondered what would happen when we finally did run into each other again. What happened was, I pretended I couldn't see him all night, that the person singing some of my favorite songs on stage was just a bodiless voice, until the band stopped playing and the lights came on. None of the girls wanted to stop dancing, so after a few minutes, the only people left were us and the band. And then it happened. He looked dead at me. Caught me with those stupid, stupid blue eyes. And I couldn't pretend I didn't see him. So I slurred hello, how've you been, what's new? He was polite. And that was it.
But now...
No. Absolutely not. M. got me the way he did because of his skill at manipulation. Not because of any genuine affection...it was just an act. I know this. So why is this driving me mad?
Friday was just strange because my sister came and visted me. And she met a lot of my friends. It was odd...like dreaming about something and then seeing it in real life. Two worlds that were never supposed to mingle suddenly collided. It was kind of like that with B., but more so with my sister because she's always been such a big part of my life.
I feel almost as though I'm in the middle of a tornado that's just whirling around me, careening out of control, and I can do nothing but watch. All these things just keep happening to me, and I can hardly even be a part of it. I'm just along for the ride.
On Wednesday, B. was here. For propriety's sake, I'll only say this: I am immensely proud of my self-control. I really want to try to make things right for once. And I'm doing better than usual.
Thursday. Oh, dear Lord, Thursday. A bunch of girls from the market decided to go to one of the bars uptown, and I figure, why not...I don't have class till 1 on Friday, and I have nothing better to do. So we all met up at J.'s house and eventually hit up the club. Just outside the door I got a strange sense of apprehension. I knew M.'s band played there on occasion. But what were the odds, right? It was like something out of a movie. I walk up to the door, and there it is: splashed in garish neon paint, the name of his band, and the words LIVE! TONIGHT! screaming at me. Naturally, I panicked. I mean, I knew I would have had to see him evenutally; the campus is only so big. But it took me completely by surprise. What was even more surprising was how everything went down. I always half-wondered what would happen when we finally did run into each other again. What happened was, I pretended I couldn't see him all night, that the person singing some of my favorite songs on stage was just a bodiless voice, until the band stopped playing and the lights came on. None of the girls wanted to stop dancing, so after a few minutes, the only people left were us and the band. And then it happened. He looked dead at me. Caught me with those stupid, stupid blue eyes. And I couldn't pretend I didn't see him. So I slurred hello, how've you been, what's new? He was polite. And that was it.
But now...
No. Absolutely not. M. got me the way he did because of his skill at manipulation. Not because of any genuine affection...it was just an act. I know this. So why is this driving me mad?
Friday was just strange because my sister came and visted me. And she met a lot of my friends. It was odd...like dreaming about something and then seeing it in real life. Two worlds that were never supposed to mingle suddenly collided. It was kind of like that with B., but more so with my sister because she's always been such a big part of my life.
I feel almost as though I'm in the middle of a tornado that's just whirling around me, careening out of control, and I can do nothing but watch. All these things just keep happening to me, and I can hardly even be a part of it. I'm just along for the ride.
2.14.2008
Deja vu, only different
I always say it. This time it's different. And to a certain degree, it always is. Different people, different times, different situations. The details change. Only the outcome remains the same. But this time...this time, I don't want to let that happen. Things are different, because I'm making them different. I'm not going to make the same mistakes, fall into the same patterns. I know I'm not doing it, because this is so much harder than everything else ever was. I'm fighting my instincts, because when have my instincts ever helped me? Pretty much never. Or at least, not since I was about sixteen years old. I wasn't the same person as who I am today.
The thing is, B. is on his way here now. He lives back home...a good three to three and a half hour drive from school. In a year and a half at college, not one person from back home has visted me. Not my best friend...not my sisters...no one. Just my parents last year when I needed a ride home and didn't have a car. It's not that nobody wants to; they all tell me how much they wish they could be here. It's just such an annoying drive.
So B. probably won't be here until around 3ish...maybe a little earlier. And he'll probably leave around 3ish tomorrow, when I have to go in to work. So he's driving 6-8 hours, to hang out with me for about 12...most of which will be spent sleeping. Does anyone have any idea how flattering that is for me? That's effort. That's the kind of effort that only one other guy in my life has ever shown me.
I'm not going to pretend that this means happily ever after. Hell, I'm not that stupid. Not anymore. But this is a good first step. Maybe we'll start dating. Maybe we won't. But this is a good start.
The thing is, I don't really want a relationship; that is, I'm not out looking for one anymore. If it happens, it happens. I just want some sort of stability in my life. If I'm single, then fine; I'll stay single for a few years and be stable in that I can do what I want. If I'm in a relationship, then that's fine too, but I want it to be a relatively longer-term thing. I don't want to start a relationship and end it in less than three months. I don't want to keep doing what I've been doing for the past two or three years. I'm sick of that.
I think the old adage about "slow and steady wins the race" deserves more credit than what I've been giving it. God knows that I've only lost by going fast.
The thing is, B. is on his way here now. He lives back home...a good three to three and a half hour drive from school. In a year and a half at college, not one person from back home has visted me. Not my best friend...not my sisters...no one. Just my parents last year when I needed a ride home and didn't have a car. It's not that nobody wants to; they all tell me how much they wish they could be here. It's just such an annoying drive.
So B. probably won't be here until around 3ish...maybe a little earlier. And he'll probably leave around 3ish tomorrow, when I have to go in to work. So he's driving 6-8 hours, to hang out with me for about 12...most of which will be spent sleeping. Does anyone have any idea how flattering that is for me? That's effort. That's the kind of effort that only one other guy in my life has ever shown me.
I'm not going to pretend that this means happily ever after. Hell, I'm not that stupid. Not anymore. But this is a good first step. Maybe we'll start dating. Maybe we won't. But this is a good start.
The thing is, I don't really want a relationship; that is, I'm not out looking for one anymore. If it happens, it happens. I just want some sort of stability in my life. If I'm single, then fine; I'll stay single for a few years and be stable in that I can do what I want. If I'm in a relationship, then that's fine too, but I want it to be a relatively longer-term thing. I don't want to start a relationship and end it in less than three months. I don't want to keep doing what I've been doing for the past two or three years. I'm sick of that.
I think the old adage about "slow and steady wins the race" deserves more credit than what I've been giving it. God knows that I've only lost by going fast.
2.05.2008
Mix tape
I really need to stop procrastinating my homework. At my best estimate, I'm about three hundred plus pages behind in my reading...yet here I sit, blogging and burning CDs and coloring the fronts in disgustingly elaborate detail. And oh, the mix titles. What a misunderstood soul.
Tonight B. and I had a really interesting conversation regarding sex. Well, I consider pretty much any conversation regarding sex to be at least a fairly interesting one (I daresay most people would agree), but this one was more than the typical "I want to bang you" exchange. I think his celibacy claims are admirable, if not somewhat farfetched. Call me a cynic, but I find it difficult to believe a guy, especially at this age, who claims that he had too many problems with sex and is now "waiting for the right girl" before he does it again. Guys just aren't wired like that these days. Guys are, for the most part, impulsive creatures who think with their heads, not their brains (sexual pun...I'll take a moment to let the immature snigger and the slow catch up).
But if he's serious, then I think I'm okay with that. Those of you who know me can stop laughing; I mean it. I'm not implying that I am slutty or easy...I am just impulsive. To be perfectly honest, I really only cared about two of the guys that I have slept with in the past; both of them completely crushed me, M. in particular. As a result, my views on sex are much more casual than those of most girls. I've noticed recently that I'm more coarse and vulgar about it; I'm much more likely than my friends to use the word "fuck", as opposed to "sex", "sleep with", or (this one actually makes me cringe a little) "make love to". I'm sorry, but that last one just sounds so absurdly misleading. I have this tendency lately to only sleep with guys in whom I have no romantic interest whatsoever. Again, I would like to stress the fact that I am not a slut. It's just that I've been so fucked up in the past by using sex as an emotional attachment that it just seems safer to not get involved like that. Even that disaster in November...I didn't do it because I thought that sleeping with him would fix things. It was like an exorcism, a chance to prove to myself that I could sever the tie between emotion and physical intimacy. It was almost a test, a conquest, an achievement. The same concept applies to the situation on New Year's. I went to the boys' house knowing what I was getting myself into. I just wanted to prove to myself that I could sleep with someone and not let it fuck me up inside.
I never thought I'd turn out like this. Not that I regret my choices; I'm definitely not unhappy with the way I am today. But if this blog somehow found an Internet wormhole and was flung back two or three years, and my sixteen- or seventeen-year-old self had seen it, I wouldn't have recognized it as my own words. It just doesn't fit with who I was. I used to be such a hopeless romantic, so gullible and naïve and trusting. Now I'm this cynic buried in this shell, this armor that I've built up around myself. And it's hard, because I remember what it was like to be in love. And I miss it. I'm probably the only cynic who wishes she could fall in love. I'm a walking oxymoron.
Then again, pretty much everything I do is contradictory.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
Tonight B. and I had a really interesting conversation regarding sex. Well, I consider pretty much any conversation regarding sex to be at least a fairly interesting one (I daresay most people would agree), but this one was more than the typical "I want to bang you" exchange. I think his celibacy claims are admirable, if not somewhat farfetched. Call me a cynic, but I find it difficult to believe a guy, especially at this age, who claims that he had too many problems with sex and is now "waiting for the right girl" before he does it again. Guys just aren't wired like that these days. Guys are, for the most part, impulsive creatures who think with their heads, not their brains (sexual pun...I'll take a moment to let the immature snigger and the slow catch up).
But if he's serious, then I think I'm okay with that. Those of you who know me can stop laughing; I mean it. I'm not implying that I am slutty or easy...I am just impulsive. To be perfectly honest, I really only cared about two of the guys that I have slept with in the past; both of them completely crushed me, M. in particular. As a result, my views on sex are much more casual than those of most girls. I've noticed recently that I'm more coarse and vulgar about it; I'm much more likely than my friends to use the word "fuck", as opposed to "sex", "sleep with", or (this one actually makes me cringe a little) "make love to". I'm sorry, but that last one just sounds so absurdly misleading. I have this tendency lately to only sleep with guys in whom I have no romantic interest whatsoever. Again, I would like to stress the fact that I am not a slut. It's just that I've been so fucked up in the past by using sex as an emotional attachment that it just seems safer to not get involved like that. Even that disaster in November...I didn't do it because I thought that sleeping with him would fix things. It was like an exorcism, a chance to prove to myself that I could sever the tie between emotion and physical intimacy. It was almost a test, a conquest, an achievement. The same concept applies to the situation on New Year's. I went to the boys' house knowing what I was getting myself into. I just wanted to prove to myself that I could sleep with someone and not let it fuck me up inside.
I never thought I'd turn out like this. Not that I regret my choices; I'm definitely not unhappy with the way I am today. But if this blog somehow found an Internet wormhole and was flung back two or three years, and my sixteen- or seventeen-year-old self had seen it, I wouldn't have recognized it as my own words. It just doesn't fit with who I was. I used to be such a hopeless romantic, so gullible and naïve and trusting. Now I'm this cynic buried in this shell, this armor that I've built up around myself. And it's hard, because I remember what it was like to be in love. And I miss it. I'm probably the only cynic who wishes she could fall in love. I'm a walking oxymoron.
Then again, pretty much everything I do is contradictory.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
2.03.2008
Here it goes again...
So B. really surprised me today. It's kind of sad, but all he did was pick me up when I told him to come get me. Saw Cloverfield, which was slow in the beginning, exciting (if somewhat stretched where plot and detail are concerned) in the middle, and predictable at the end. But as monster movies go, this was a good one. The thing had an aura of mystery about it; although allusions were made, its origins were never actually revealed. For the most part, the audience doesn't even see the monster directly, which is a nice effect, I think.
And now, for a semi-rant on the ridiculous and overbearing ways of my parents. I really wish they would accept the fact that I am an adult, a grown woman capable of making her own decisions. Mature, responsible, rational decisions. But no...they insist on treating me as though I were still completely unable to take care of myself. It is fully expected that I not only come home every night, but that I wake them up when I do so. I wish they'd just be okay with me spending the night elsewhere when it suits me, but they're completely uncomfortable with it. And they just guilt me so much about it later. That's the part that really gets me. I know that if I let my mother see what I'm really like, tell her the truths to all the lies I've been feeding her over the years, she would consider herself an utter failure as a parent. Nevermind the fact that I am a Dean's list student with a full-time job. Nevermind the fact that I am much more mature and self-sufficient than the majority of my peers. The fact is, we have different morals. And in her eyes, her inability to stamp me with her beliefs is failure. It is not failure. It is called raising an independent person who can think for herself.
But enough ranting. I kind of wanted to get to bed before two tonight, but I definitely sabatoged that myself by refusing to stop pretending to be asleep at B.'s...so I have no one to blame but myself. It's okay. It was worth it.
And now, for a semi-rant on the ridiculous and overbearing ways of my parents. I really wish they would accept the fact that I am an adult, a grown woman capable of making her own decisions. Mature, responsible, rational decisions. But no...they insist on treating me as though I were still completely unable to take care of myself. It is fully expected that I not only come home every night, but that I wake them up when I do so. I wish they'd just be okay with me spending the night elsewhere when it suits me, but they're completely uncomfortable with it. And they just guilt me so much about it later. That's the part that really gets me. I know that if I let my mother see what I'm really like, tell her the truths to all the lies I've been feeding her over the years, she would consider herself an utter failure as a parent. Nevermind the fact that I am a Dean's list student with a full-time job. Nevermind the fact that I am much more mature and self-sufficient than the majority of my peers. The fact is, we have different morals. And in her eyes, her inability to stamp me with her beliefs is failure. It is not failure. It is called raising an independent person who can think for herself.
But enough ranting. I kind of wanted to get to bed before two tonight, but I definitely sabatoged that myself by refusing to stop pretending to be asleep at B.'s...so I have no one to blame but myself. It's okay. It was worth it.
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