a new year

I feel like writing about this will either help work things out in my head, and I'll talk to myself less, sleep talk less, cease to feel constantly tongue-tied on the subject OR it will feed my inherent delusional paranoia and steer me towards self-destruction.

Well, alright.

Reading this blog makes me sad. I feel like I've wasted a lot of my latter college days beating myself up about something that was never meant to be, thinking less of myself and the world at large because I was so utterly misguided and depressed for so long. I guess that's just been a part of some maturation process.

I have a fatal attraction to tragedy. My need to fix people derives from some big sisterly superiority complex.

But you know what? I'm so good at being happy. I look my best with dimples. I'm starting to feel like myself again. I'm starting to feel like good things are once again on my horizon.

I guess I don't regret the events of the past year. It was just a dark and twisty time. But you know what? If it hadn't been for this whole diabolical merrygoround, I never would have met him.

I hope he likes me as much as it seems. But you can never really tell.

I still feel kind of soiled. Certain events of the recent past complicate matters. The fact that we haven't spoken openly about said past history complicates matters. It feels dishonest. I wonder if he wonders about it. I wonder if he wonders whether I have sordid motives.

I wish I could explain everything without the risk of oversharing. Without the risk of turning him off. But shouldn't he know where I'm coming from? Maybe it's stupid that I'm even obsessing about this. I know that he knows, but I don't know that he knows that I know that he knows. I just want everything on the table. What if getting into too many now meaningless details is a mistake?

I am very good at hiding. With him I feel no reason to. So why do it?

There is this issue of pacing. Taking it slow. And that sounds great to me, since I have no idea what I'm doing.
Should I worry that he hasn't made love to me yet?

I KNOW. I KNOW. I hate that I called it that too.
But I feel like it's building to that. And then sometimes I think we're losing momentum. And then I see him again.

I've never done this before!

His sweetness scares me. I don't deal well with flattery. I mistrust it. Not that he's given me any reason, whatsoever, to doubt him which is ironically SO petrifying. Or, at least that's how it was at first. Now we're approaching the three month mark, which is apparently significant? Now, I don't hear from him for 24 hours, and I privately freak the fuck out. I hear a strange tone in his voice over the phone and something MUST be awry. My crazy chick instincts are starting to flail about.

And I was so good at being indifferent to men. For a while there.

Sometimes it's just so good with him, I'm holding back happy sobs.

If you sleep with a guy after dating him for a month, it's still probably just screwing at that point. At two months it's probably a little more significant. But waiting three months to bone?

Why?

I wish we just fucked before I started asking myself whether or not I'm in love. Because now that I like him too much, I want it to be lovemaking. Not just screwing. And that's...fucking scary dude.

Maybe we haven't had sex as a precaution against falling too quickly. Maybe HE took that precaution to ward off that kind of serious talk. To delay, what does he call it? The up-keep? Maybe he's freaked out that less than a year ago I gave my virginity up to a dude he's known half his life. Maybe he's not over his ex-girlfriend. Maybe it's that I've become this awesome goddess of fellatio and he's complacent. Maybe it's that I'm not on the pill? I would be if I had a reason. Remember what happened the last time I got on the pill, prematurely?

I think it's safe to say, at this point, he won't break up with me before we've slept together. So I wonder how long he'll make me wait for it.

Oh, Tassia. He hasn't even called you his girlfriend yet.

3 weeks ago he admitted he had no excuse.

And then his basement flooded, and the ceiling caved in.
And then I went 12 days without seeing him.
And then I got my FUCKING period.

It's as if the island doesn't want us to copulate...

LOST joke. wocka wocka wocka

I don't know anything. I just have to shut up and learn.