This is my gift to you

Today was pure torture. My first day back to school and imagine my delight to find that Cale has two of my classes. Well, I guess that comment was a bit sarcastic. It's his birthday today. I didn't acknowledge it the whole entire day, choosing rather to quietly seethe and wonder about other things. I started and ended this epic battle in my mind, one where I fought out whether I was going to acknowledge the day with some words. In the end, I chose not to. In the end, I decided that my present to him would be to continue to act as I had, to completely pretend that I don't remember all of the haunting things that have happened. I feel justified in it, but slightly disgusted at myself for being so...horrible.

I can suppose it's getting a little better...He said one thing to me today. Sitting in Stats, we were all separately working on a math problem, and while I desperately wanted to work with him and the three others around him (as they are fairly interesting and creative people who could add to the analysis), I sufficed to suck up the desire and pound through the math. He turned around to me and made a programming joke. I was desperately surprised, gleeful and a bit pleased, but still, I know I'm just settling for my small victories again.

Over the summer, while I was in Europe, I thrived for the conversation I would be having with friends. James and I talked a whole ton...about anything and everything. He told me to stop settling for my small victories and to aim for higher achievements. I have a feeling my small victories won't feel quite the same anymore...

The picture reads: "After we broke up you asked me to stop writing to you. I write about you to anyone who'd listen. I still love you, all of me." I think it's kind of fitting...that even after this large amount of bubbling of self-doubt and disgust, I still think of writing about him, of telling complete strangers about him, to engage anyone in some conversation about him. I wonder, truly do, if he lost his friends.

I Lost Myself

So, from midnight till 4 in the morning, I was out clubbing. Two people from my Uncle's company/office invited Jeremy and I out for the night and Jeremy being the wild one who always needs to try something, accepted. I was included and hell, I went. For days now, I was done being proper, done with being so very pure. So, midnight, we hit a Cuban themed discotheque (as they are called) and a group of seven of us danced for maybe two hours. At first, it was a little awkward. The grown ups danced while three of us between the ages of 15 and 17 moved lightly. Later on, emboldened, I joined in. Jeremy was pretty much resistant the whole night so we just let him be. One of the people from work coerced me into dancing when salsa songs started playing. Finally, I let in, knowing that I'd probably never see anyone of those people again. Afterwards, we left to hop to a new place. We stopped by a coffeeshop and four of us started passing a joint around. It felt very different...kind of suffocating. I have to admit: taking plenty of small drags from the joint, I feel no different. Jeremy instantly got sick, like really tired and he threw up a bit. We decided he had too much and took him home. The rest of us went back to the first disco and enjoyed our time. I was really bold! This guy (total stranger) came up to me and smiled. I smiled back and in a matter of minutes (since everyone was doing some variation of the salsa), we were dancing. Like pressed together dancing. Like halfway through the dance, another came up to me, pulled his arms around me and I entertained that one for a little while. They left, work people came back from dropping off Jeremy, and after a bit, I was dancing with the same work person. At 4, the kicked us out. I had spent the better part of four hours dancing.

The thing is, I moved to everything. The amounts of techno they played, the rap, the salsa, the Bob Marley after we had come back from smoking a joint, anything and everything. The only thing I didn't do was dance with the 15 year old boy there. I kind of wanted to, but eh. Every little part of me was lost to this newer addition: an adventurous spirit, a careless and amused being. Cale got really mad at me once for saying I gave up on it all, but maybe this time, I really did. Maybe, I gave up on keeping appearances, on being pure or perfect or proper.

It kind of hurts to take deep breaths...and if I try hard enough, I can pull up a breath that tastes like marijuana. I'm so done writing. Night!

Eh.

More general post being written at my other blog. Mr. Compartner, if you want, go check it out.