My Bra and My Boy
The Boy is horrid as usual. Every so often he makes me go home to my apartment to live. This doesn't sound horrible but when I put hours of effort into the upkeep of his flat and then find mine looking as if it were dumped on its side... Well, that gets my dander up and never mind telling me it's my own damn fault because I know that. I know that damn well, thank you very much.
I know that he won't change and that I have to get my ass in gear and find a life all of my own. I have to slowly make him less a part of it because this is what he wants. That isn't what I want though. I want to share my life with someone, namely HIM. That is also something that won't be happening on his part, at least not anytime soon or too willingly.
I would tell a friend in a similar situation to get her tail moving and out that door. I am pretty damn sure that I would tell her that no matter how great someone is there you still have your choice of them in the sea and why not get out there and get to fishing? Love, my pretties. I love him and its got me stuck. Or maybe what I think is love has got me stuck? Does it matter whether it is the real McCoy since it has the same results?
I'm thinking that I should be walking down that path towards counseling and medication and all those horrible things that have to do with depression. I put up a road block at the very thought of it. A big huge road block with a gaggle of policeman guarding it.
Perhaps my counselor will tell me that the Boy has to go. Would I listen to her? Would having a counselor and a big fat bottle of prescription medicine make me capable of moving on? I'm not sure what I need and I'm not so sure I like the idea of the pharmaceutical companies putting ideas in my head.
Right now I'm sad that I've gone in to work late in the day again. I'm worried that I'll do repeat of this tomorrow. I'm anxious about a presentation I have to give to my inferior superiors tomorrow. I'm also DAMN broke. This year though I managed to get a few presents bought before that happened and thank god for that.
And I most definitely need a new god damned bra. All the ones I own are currently at least a cup size too small. Ever worn a bra that's a cup size too small? Ever feel like you were going to rip it off and then hit people on the head with it? It's miserable. I don't know how my breasts managed to grow so damn much so quickly. I'm 27. I thought that I was done with that crap. My body can pretend that it's preparing for childbirth all it wants but it better be willing to shell out the clams for new brassieres.
Thus ends my entry.
