It is 1:14 AM on a Monday night (Tuesday morning) and I'm listening to Lady Gaga on repeat while waiting for my load of laundry to finish up in the washer downstairs. I spent most of the night in front of the computer, searching for meaning on the internet instead of accomplishing things that need to be done such as washing my fucking work clothes or emptying the litter box (which stinks, by the way). Hence my late night ramblings.
I've been more than a bit distracted since realizing that the guy I've fallen hard for has directed his attention elsewhere, which sucks extra hard because he's the first guy I've made a move for since the epic breakup of my last boyfriend. He was also the one who chased me, bringing me to the point of anticipatory climax before deciding his ex-girlfriend was worth giving another shot.
He hasn't told me this but I figured it out through a mixture of eavesdropping and common sense.
So I sit here with the ache of rejection sitting uncomfortably in my heart. Arms are shaky from deciding it's time to get better at doing pushups. Notebook on the table is full of phone numbers and things to do that will help get my life back in shape. If there's one good thing about rejection, it's that it pushes me to better myself if only to make myself feel better, not necessarily to prove a point to anyone nor even to encourage anyone to change their minds.
I have a journal in the bottom drawer of my nightstand. It is covered in a dark brown material resembling leather and the pages are perforated and lined with just the right amount of space to hold my handwriting. I bought it last week when I realized that writing in dollar store notebooks made me feel cheap, and notebooks covered in beautiful photos of nymphs and butterflies, gilded page edges, just made me feel pretentious, as though my words could never live up to the beauty enclosing them.
I feel better now, more like me. For the first time in a long time, the words flow freely as though a floodgate in my brain has opened a crack, trickling just enough to quench my thirst. But there's something big coming soon. I just know it.