woo hoo! google hit for "short little posers"!
ok, allow me to try to explain the situation(s) at hand a little further.
so much pressure!
i think i'll start with the boy, because that's the thing that needs most sorted out, i suppose.
commence stream of consciousness.
i get concerned with the idea that we're both just there. i need companionship and he needs money and a place to stay. maybe i'm just being pmsy and insecure. when i came home on sunday it was soooo nice to just fall into his arms -- or ... arms in general ... um.
maybe when he gets his own apartment it'll be better. it's hard enough living with someone you've just met, let alone in such a tiny-ass space.
yeah. so last night, we're cuddling with the pup in bed and i say that it's weird, it's like we have a little family. because it is weird.
later, i say, "be sure you take your dog out tomorrow morning if you hear him wake up." he says, "i thought it was our dog." i say, "no, it's your dog." end conversation.
he said last week, drunk, of course, that he loved me so much and he wanted to know every little thing about me. so i'll start in on a little anecdote and never finish because he interrupts to watch tv or take a bath or pet the dog. is that a bad sign?
ummmm. what else. sitting outside a minute ago i was thinking about him and the pup standing in the fuzzly (it's monday, ignore my diction) rain -- "do you have a moment for greenpeace?" -- and the feeling of extreme love?devotion?sympathy? washed over me.
do i love him? i hope so, but i don't know, so that leads me to think that i don't. but i do care about him a whole lot. the idea of being away from him for a night (the impending doom that is thanksgiving) is worrisome.
i don't get jealous when he says that girl is hot, because i agree, but he gets way too pissed when i joke about giving some guy a blowjob. if i go to bed early because i'm pissy he'll let me be, probably because he doesn't want to deal with it, but i'll delude myself into thinking it's because he knows i can't put into words why i'm feeling shitty and he can't help.
it'd be nice if he tried.
i've conditioned myself to get out of these things before i get hurt and i thought i had broken down my emotional barriers already but i had just crossed the proverbial bridge. my walls are thicker and more resistant than i ever could have imagined.
if love had never been brought up, i would call myself melodramatic, but that bed has been made and we can't get out of it.
let's see how many senseless cliches i can throw in here, shall we?
and i'll call myself melodramatic anyway.
i'm calling you tonight because i mother my friends too much.
enough!