I am writing to you from the hotel room in Gainesville. This evening was pretty fabulous, because Sam brought her scissors to our room and gave three of us haircuts. Webey got hers done on the balconey, but Shadey and I sat out in the lobby in a chair while Sam snipped away at our lustrous locks. The poor cleaning crew that works tomorrow won’t know what the hell was going on. There are tufts of blonde, red, and black curly hair leading from the balcony all the way out to the hallway. She pretty much just trimmed mine for me, and gave me some sweeping bangs. Nothing dramatic or wild (which is what I like) like my girl, London, would do for me back home, but it’s all good. I asked her to do it on an impulse, because I plan on letting my hair grow out until the summer.
No school next week, but I don’t really have any plans. I’m broke as a mother fucking joke, and I plan on working out and studying until the thirtieth. That’s pretty much it for me. I had a good day, but I’m feeling tired and homesick.
I decided to move to Florida because I was severely burned out and heartsick, and I just wanted to get away. I find it humorous that I am now homesick, and it has been all of three months since the move. What a baby! I couldn’t take any more of my situation, and realized that to finish school I’d have to go far far away. I created such a mess for myself, and I am still healing over nonsense that happened years ago. Sloowwwwww mover. Envision a turtle covered in a thick and oozing layer of molasses, buried under several sloths… that’s about how I roll.
I feel like sharing, so I’m just gonna go with it.
I had (still kinda have, I guess) this very strong crush on a guy for over a year that wouldn’t go away. It annoyed me so much that I went to Michigan, Tennessee, Florida, Iowa, and then back to Tennessee just so I could stay away from home allllll spring and summer. My hope was that if I stayed busy and traveled around I’d forget about having an obnoxious fucking crush on some dude with a significant other. I did a ton of super fun stuff, and had a dang cool time, and all the while I told myself I was “cured.” As it turned out, I wasn’t cured, I was full of shit. But none of that mattered since the plan was to move to Florida for school at the end of August anyhow.
Now that I’m here I ought to move on, right? Nope. Not this dunce. I still think about a person I don’t see and don’t talk to. I still wonder what transpires a thousand miles away. WTF?
I’m training to be a midwife. I am supposed to be this blending of medical science and traditional medicine, a bridge between spirit and technology, and I ought to be focused on empowerment and achieving personal success. But what am I thinking of at the end of the evening? Some fucking joker back home. I could kick my own ass.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in being part of a loving relationship. Honestly though, I’ve never really experienced a healthy and balanced relationship. Now I daydream about what it would feel like to be in one. The fact that I think about it so much kind of makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little. I want to focus on my goals and career, and be able to work out my own baloney, and I try to deny the fact that I’m still longing for companionship. I should be a rock. An island. I shouldn’t be wanting somebody to take care of me, and it pisses me off that I do.
It would be so bubbly and nice to be in love with somebody right now though.
I’m always so busy chasing my tail that it is highly likely that if a man expressed interest in me this very second I wouldn’t notice. Historically, this happens with the men I am truly interested in. They send signals, and I miss them and don’t realize it until years later. Tragic! Sometimes I am forced to compare my intelligence to that of a brick. There is something solid, heavy, and steady about me, and I come in some pretty interesting colors, but when all is said and done I’m kind of just a lump of soggy clay that’s been fired under extreme temperatures. Hmmmm. You may interpret that however you choose.
Something is missing from my life, and I’m nearly positive that it isn’t cake.
My thoughts are so tricksy that on different days I want different lives, and it is tough to know what thing I really want.
The truth is that I’m a hopeless romantic, and I prefer to drink rose scented, and jasmine tea out of chipped china cups.
My love for silk robes and racy lingerie is contrasted by my aggressive independence, a tomboy-ish nature, and a desire to engage in battle.
I may never figure it all out.