The closest thing I have to a long-term relationship is somebody else's husband...and her.
(Yes, it's flattering that I am the spice in somebody else's marriage and that I have some cross-over appeal. It's also nice that somebody gets to see my fancy underwear, but it's not exactly what I envisioned for myself. It's getting harder to manage my role in all of this because lately I find myself looking at him and wondering what it would be like if I had met him first...)
(What if he found me on Lavalife and not her five years ago and I got to be married to an independently wealthy and really hot firefighter and live in a huge house with two dogs and quit my job just because I had a bad day and he would take care of me and pay for everything while looking really exceptionally hot in his uniform, which really should come with velcro fasteners instead of buttons because...damn...)
(What if he met me instead of her because I was single at that time and not involved in a lousy relationship with a guy whose cat peed on my clothes every day, for the four years we were together in Calgary? What if I can't stop thinking that I want to be the girl who stays and not the girl who goes home afterward?)
(Never mind. If he had met me first he wouldn't have called me again afterward, so at least I can stop wondering. Such a relief.)
I have no home.
(Well...I kind of have a home. I put yet another accepted offer in on one more condo, which has become my unofficial hobby. It's a nice place. I don't love it, but it's nice. I suppose it's my rebound condo. I'm waiting for the strata minutes and inspection before I start caring.)
(Also, it's not like I'm homeless. I live in an apartment, and it's a roof over my head in a neighborhood I love. It's just very...student like. It's not decorated with beer bongs and sci-fi posters or whatever it is kids these days are doing, but it still feels temporary. And the toilet, bathtub and sink are turquoise. And I left a banana peel in my garbage for two days and now I have fruit flies.)
I may lose my job.
(There are some people where I work who make more money than I do and have more power than I ever will who want to see me fired. It's not as though they dislike me personally, although one of them consistently stares at my tits like the answer to life's greatest mysteries may be found in my nipples and I respond with barely concealed disgust, but it's not personal. Nonetheless, my organization is going through some serious belt tightening and me and my nipples of wonder may become casualties.)
(It's starting to wear at me. Every day I go to work wondering if I'm going to be asked to clear out my desk, which would realistically take days. My desk is a mess.)
(This would not be such a terrifying proposition if I was married to an independently wealthy and hot firefighter. Just sayin'.)
I have some really nice shoes and purses.
(I love them all so much.)
I am now allergic to shoe leather.
(Seriously. It began on one of my last days in Thailand. I put on the shoes I'd worn comfortably for ages and my feet began to bubble and blister. It took weeks to heal. I've since worn other leather sandals I've had for years and the same things happen. Wherever the leather straps touch my skin, my skin makes a decent run for it. Apparently I've developed a sudden and extreme allergy to the tannin in shoe leather. As god as my witness however, I will sooner amputate my feet than wear crocs.)
I have family, friends and co-workers who love me, and I love them back.
(Even still, some friends of mine are urging me to move to Vancouver, because there are no men where I am and they don't want to see me morph into some crazy cat lady. Little do they know I've already spent years covered in cat piss through no fault of my own as per above, and that will never happen again. If anything, I'll be crazy guinea pig lady, or crazy gecko lady. Something more original. There are also more jobs in Vancouver in my field, but then I'd be away from my friends and family, in a city where I could never stop my car because I'm incapable of parallel parking.)
I miss Alex so much I'm embarrassed for myself.
(Alex was my boy in Kelowna who I lost gradually it seemed, instead of all at once. I've talked about him on this blog too much already. We don't talk right now at all. This time last year we spoke every day, for hours. This year he was the one person who told me how proud he was of me when I ran my first 10k, how proud he was that I finished my school program, how much he missed me. Gradually, we just spoke less and less. I refused to call or message him because he wasn't calling or messaging me.)
(He hasn't been online on MSN for weeks and weeks. This is unusual. It's not just unusual - it's unheard of. He was the type who was online every day. Every minute, of every day, for almost two years. Now he's not.)
(I haven't spoken to him in over a month. I logged on to Facebook the other night and saw some pics of him and some girl named Haley at her graduation with her parents. He'd mentioned her to me before, but I thought he was just sleeping with her, nothing more. It was like being sucker-punched. They all looked really happy. She looked really skinny. I hope she starves to death.)
(I seriously can't believe how much I miss this guy. I didn't miss my ex-boyfriend at all when I packed up my cat-piss soaked clothes and moved back to BC -- and we were together for four years. I want to call him, but I know it's a bad idea. Alex - not my ex-boyfriend. My ex can kiss my not insubstantial blazing white ass.)
(It's so juvenile. I find myself crying for no reason, just thinking about him. My friends can't understand what it is I ever saw in this guy, and continue to see. He sells cars for a living. He's a womanizing slut. His penis is average sized, if that. There, I said it. And still...I miss him so much.)
(I really want to call him.)
(SO pathetic.)
I lost 30 pounds. Gained back five.
(I eat when I'm stressed out. I eat everything. If there is a situation I can't do anything about that's bothering me, then the least I can do is eat, and be really, really good at it.)
(mmm...bacon doughnuts...)
I'm just not really happy right now.
(I don't know what to do.)
(I don't know what to change.)
(I really don't know.)
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