It’s not that I don’t love celebrating new years, especially this year, my first without the parents and my first (of many?) with man. I’m just so overly sick of the new year’s predictions, resolutions, and every other topic surrounding the resetting of our calendars.
Another year. Yes. Hopefully this one will see a lot of new friends and relinquishing of unnecessaries in my life. No resolutions. No promises of a brand new start. It’s just like every other day, except with massive hangovers (not me, I wasn’t drunk enough) and company days off. How sweet.
Really. I enjoyed the time off. I needed the time off.
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I feel like I’m censoring myself. Forcing my fingers to touch on NYE and the champagne ride to the Pacific Ocean and burrito mojados in the dinky Saturn rental and my stumbling friends at “the Bar” in the Castro.
Delightful. A beautiful way to start the new year and the best combination of partying, mellowing among other things.
But in actuality, my mind is elsewhere. Muddled in the arguments and fights of the pre- and post-new year. Is there something wrong with me? What’s this sudden urge for impatience? To run away and hide for fear of pain? I did this with Ty, but I always thought it was because he wasn’t giving me what I needed; not I’m effing crazy out of my mind. I relish the honeymoon period. To feel the warmth of cocooning and whispers of I’ll love you for eternity before we have to face the battle of an actual relationship… or worse parents and society. (Yes, that’s an issue. I sure know how to pick ‘em… my parents will just love him.) Maybe that period only exists in my mind because I never get to have it. Maybe that’s why I’m so distraught and utterly unsatisfied, despite all warnings that I need to be patient or a.k.a “stop being a fucking bitch!” Just as I’m settling in to waking in his arms every morning, we have to part. Even in our vacation days, there’s not all of him for me. Not even one day. And I got sick of that. I got selfish and pissed because I hated him for not throwing everything irrationally away to be with me. I’m just not sure how long I can stand this. How many times I can be appeased before frustration and discontent freeze the seed from ever germinating (wow, what awful awful imagery…. maybe I should write burlesque novels).
Whatever.
We’re okay now. I just need to get this out of my system somehow, so I don’t ruin yet another relationship. *arg!* There shouldn’t be “el manuel” as much as “el manuel para la vida.”
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News flash: I’m fucked in the head…
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This unrelated to the post:
