I don’t want to go to sleep. Not yet. I have to be at work tomorrow at five, but I don’t want to go to sleep. Not just yet.
I wish I could just write and not think before the words pour out. I’m sure it’d end up bad. That’s what editing is for. I’m sure I wouldn’t edit.
A Her just called me. Do you think they’d be offended if they knew I now referred to all of them as Her. I haven’t lumped them altogether. And it’s not a sexist thing (if there were a bunch of guys I liked/used-to-like I’d call all them Him). I just don’t know what else to call them. I don’t want to use their names. I don’t know if it’s out of respect.
I know she’s not going to call, but I’m going to wait up for her to call anyway. Since I know she’s not going to call I guess I’m waiting up for her not to call. I’m not waiting up ‘just in case’ she calls. I’m not. I know she won’t call. I’m waiting up so I can tell The Universe, “I told you so.” Why does it feel so good to say I told you so even when the I told you so was bad news?
I can’t write about this particular Her anymore. She might actually read this. Not soon, but someday. Probably when it’s far too late, but I don’t want her ever knowing how I feel.
I freeze up when she calls. Save the Day’s Freakish, “As I’m talking my words slip to the floor and they crawl through your legs and slide under the back door rendering me freakish and dazed. Well here I am. I don’t know how to say this. The only thing I know is awkward silence.”
At work there’s this older girl. We do stuff. It’s not talking, it’s not flirting, I’m not quite sure what it is. It’s words. Her words are always better then mine. Yeah, I have a little bit of a crush on her even though I know very little about her. Sometimes I get crushes on people and worry it’s less about me liking the person and more about distracting me from someone I like so much more but can’t be with.
There’s a running theme in everything I write and it’s that I’m not funny anymore. Even when I was sad in the past I used to write and I would attempt to be funny. That’s all I ask of myself. At least an attempt.
If she got pregnant I’d be devastated. I wonder how her boyfriend would feel?