Here comes that same wave of panic from last freaking time.

School, that is. I'm picking out potential classes for my registration and I'm freaking out double time from meeting with the advisor and getting my 12 hours. Making sure they're the right classes, making sure they meet requirements, etc. I bet this is easier for other people. It's like, a freaky outy thing for me. What if these classes suck? What if I suck, again? I kept staring at the requirements for my Liberal Writing class and thinking, "oh FUCKIN HELL GOD JESUS!!!! I CAN'T DO THAT!!!" I could literally hear myself screaming in my head, running around, and rolling on the floor. It scared my lazy inner self to know that I'd have to be doing a research paper in a class--for the whole damn semester. And I have to take the class in order to get my BA. It just freaked me out. Researching and I do not get along. When I think I have enough, it's never enough. I keep setting myself up on a pedestal of esteemed knowledge (due to the fact that I write on the regular) that I need to fall from immediately. I don't want a repeat of St. Xavier. I want to get through this semester and frolic amongst the college flock. I've already got the whole "she's just a late bloomer" thing over my poor little fat head. But here I go again with the freaky outy.


o_o I don't know why I'm so nervous or so lazy feeling. College isn't supposed to be all sugar and spice, all day. I know this. But it's not supposed to be a huge stress fest, either. I need to breathe and stop, re-think, and re-do.

And lay down. D=

I usually don't go for the skinny guys. And the skinny guys usually don't go for me. But there's this lean, deep-voiced tall drink of water doing splits for prince.org that has my eyes wiiiiiide open, and my tongue a-waggin'. His username is nyse, and yes indeedy do, he is very nice to hear and to see. All the girls and women of the general discussion thread were all over his post explaining how to do splits. We all admitted to watching three or four times just to take in the sexy, handsomeness. I'm not sure if the video is still up, but I'm going to post it anyway. It's way too...delicious to not show.

*fanning self*

The highlight of my day was getting thanks from him. I loves the cuties.

I had a "crazy moment" last night where I talked to God as I had a midnight snack and tea.  I told him I finally understood why He kept bringing certain people to me. He was trying to teach me about 5 things at once stemming from one of his own troubled creatures. The hurt from these thoughts isn't as strong as it used to be. It's funny how we try to pretend things don't hurt us. I stopped kidding myself a long time ago. When you truly love someone, the hurting never stops. Well, I told God I understood why He sent him to me in the first place. Way back, many months ago (I can't even remember when he dumped me...wow...) I was beside myself. I cried all day, listened to sad music all night, and wore Xanga and my fingers out. I kept asking myself "what the hell is wrong with me?" as if I were that bad of a person. I blamed myself. So in desperation with a lot of things on my mind, I prayed to God every single day at the same time--4:30, after my workout--to bring him back to me. I would always say "if it's meant to be" and "only as friends because he's an important part of my life....like family..." and "bless those who hold contempt against me..." Always in tears, always sitting down in the yellow chair with the dark wooden legs. Always looking up to the ceiling wondering if I got the details right. I didn't want to skip out any words for any random answered prayer loopholes. I felt like I was doing the right thing by speaking from my heart to my God. This was the first lesson and the first test. In my head, I thought it was a "love thy neighbor, be friends with thine enemies" type of deal where he and I would heal and be the buddies we were supposed to be. Instead, this was a lesson about being careful what we pray for. See, I met the top layer of him. I didn't meet the stranger or the person who kicked me out of VIP. I met the demure, "quiet soul" with a story to tell. He's a different person and said so himself when we were dating. I never expected that and tried to do things right. I think no matter what I did, it would have still happened for one reason--he never saw me as his equal. I was just familiar territory all along for someone too lazy to get out there and find a new friend or girlfriend. I was to be used. I exited not really understanding the lesson. I just felt fucked over and introduced to what I called "Part 2". It also made me realize that a lot of things I asked him to do (like, cut his hair, etc) that went un-answered, ignored, or eventually addressed would have been bigger things that went undone had he decided to keep me around.

I know I've told this story before, but, I have the insight and the understanding those former parts of myself did not have. I could not see then what I see now. Well, anyway, months passed and he returned again. By this time, I was sure I had things down. I hadn't talked to God in a long time and sort of figured out that he (my ex. Keep in mind the italics I keep using are my refusal to use his name...but I'm kinda gonna stop now.) wasn't the same person. Or that we probably would never be the same again. My hopes were high this time. I figured he got his act together. At this time, he seemed to be going through a lot. A part of me felt good about it in a sinister way. I kept thinking about good it was that karma seemed to have reached the untouchable man. Then he disappeared. It was "Part 3" and I felt like this million dollar dumb ass. I felt bad for being angry, worse for being impatient, and an ass when his sister finally reached me and said "our father died." I cast my bitterness aside and began feeling like shit on the ground. It wasn't until well after all the drama had I realized he was still in the wrong. I learned more about his personality outside the VIP lounge than I did locked in the warmth of his arms and unique voice. This made me very angry. Especially when he kept giving me updates and no answers to my offers of help. I didn't want to impose and hoped he'd say yes. He never did and I felt pushed away. I kept asking why I got the updates but not the person. I kept saying how "fucked" his priorities were. And they were. He never could prioritize things correctly. I also felt like he had a bad time with admitting things. Or facing them. Especially in the critical form. Like he didn't want to hear it, we could all move on from it, and two to ten sentences was enough. I hated it. Without having spoken to God, I still felt like a test was going on. In this test, it was all about being patient, caring, and holding on for real friends. I felt bad because I failed. Yet I hadn't even learned the lesson. Yes, being patient is great. But being respected, thought of, and sought after is just as wonderful. Not being forgotten or told things by a third party. It let me know how much he valued me as a confidant, etc. And it hurt. But that was part of the lesson. You NEVER really know a person. Experiencing all that, I never knew, it seems.  Months later, We had a mini altercation via texts. Which is tacky but hey, when you can't be bothered, it's the only way. Jeff got involved and handled things for me. Well...not really. He just sort of annoyed him a bit.

A very long time passed before I would ever hear from him again. I'd reached a place where I felt it was okay to think about him or wonder. Him popping up, however, was not in the cards. My dad kept telling me (as he has always told me...) that he wanted something. Of course he did. By this time, I was armed with a great deal of cynic under my belt. So I played 50/50. Half cynic, half...."okay, what's your story?" I figured myself this one would be come and go. That it probably would bother and annoy me. As he came, I sort of decided to invest a little trust, a little faith. 15% for physical measurement. To this day, I feel like my cancellation due to my illness on the day we were to meet messed things up. After that point, I never heard from him again. Of course it hurt more than it should have. I wanted my friend back. I figured a little time, a little lonely may have changed him. Nah. He's 25 and still the same. Set in his ways and probably not going to change, unless some dynamic woman who can put up with his shit will change him. More power to whomever she is. Maybe he wanted something I wasn't giving up fast enough. Maybe he got tired and didn't feel like proving himself because I wasn't worth it. I don't feel bad about it because it's all a lesson learned. I can't perform miracles. Things in his life happened to make him who he is. If he can't/won't fix them or address them honestly, how can I? This was the most important lesson ever--some people are set in their ways. They will always do what they want and may or may not consider you in the process.

I talked with God for that short while and told Him I understood. I also understand that life can throw you some interesting curve balls. When we are inside of a moment, we may not see all of the big picture. Once we are out of it, everything becomes clear. And just like that over-forwarded saying about seasons goes, people do indeed come into our lives for moments and seasons and reasons. I doubt I will ever see this person again. But instead of being an ass in case I do, I've got it under control. But as of now, we're in our respective worlds and I hope it stays that way. I hope he finds what he needs and that someday all I need and want comes true. Until then, the lesson is really learned and I've got a new outlook on getting to know people. I've learned not to be so hard on myself. Or not to give everything to everyone. Some people really don't deserve it and will take it for granted. Though I have my evident hard days, I know there is someone out there in the world who will honor and cherish me and see me as their equal on the level. I won't be an object or a "familiar rest".