Early on in my relationship with the guy who would end up being my ex-husband much to my chagrin, we were laying in bed at my apartment as we had done from night one on. He was telling me that he had recieved free passes to Six Flags/Geauga Lake as a tip at work. He was pretty drunk, having downed several rum-n-cokes with little to no coke, which was a big oops for this kid. The important thing was not that he ended up tossing his cookies from motio skickness, wink wink. It was that before he did, he told me I had to go to Geauga Lake with him because I was his person. "You are my person", he kept saying over and over. Something on television reminded me of this as two girls discussing emergency medical contacts were calling each other "my person". I want to be someone's person again.
And I want to be a brunette, which I will be in ten minutes.
Monday may have been one of the worst days I've had in a long time and it taught me (I am trying to learn something from every day to keep from going batty) that I should never get my hopes up again because they are likely to be dashed in the most disturbing and painful of ways. What else did I learn on Monday? That I am, in fact, a whiskey drinker again for the first time in my life since the Ray Terry days. I learned that I love kissing and hand holding more than anything in the world and the first runner-up is a pair of sad blue eyes. I learned that I am probably falling in love with someone I know I shouldn't but that I can't stay away from. I learned that I can still violently cry myself to sleep at night and that doing so prevents hangovers and also reminds me that after the Ezra aftermath, I am still alive. I learned that despite how fucked up and lousy and inconvienient things are, someone, somehow, has room for me in their life.
Sometimes I sit at home and wonder if she's sitting at home thinking of me and wondering if I'm sitting at home thinking about her...or am I just wasting my time?
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