That was a 14 month time sink,
The boyfriend and I finally broke up -- and I'm left unbelievably angry and miffed. The relationship, essentially, was fine because whilst I worked and took classes and had the baby around for most of my time -- I still drove over to him or forced myself to go to his house just so that we could spend time together. As time went on I became increasingly tired. In the middle of fucking me one night I collapsed from the force of his thrust and, even more alarming, I couldn't lift myself back up -- my arms were shaking and they were just done. I decided to voice my concerns and told him that -- since he has a license -- I needed him to start pulling his weight on that front and driving. He only worked 5 days a week so that was his only obligation and it would be a lot easier for me to not do all the driving all the time and consistently pulling time out of my ass if he pulled some time out of his netflix binging of horror movies or playing his terrible PS3 games to help me (I didn't mention the netflix thing or the PS3 thing but I definitely thought it). He said he would. This was in February. Fast forward to late April -- because I've still been pushing myself, overextending myself, thinking that hey -- maybe he's actually practicing like he said (though it didn't make sense to me why needed to practice since he already has a license) -- I bring it up with him. He admits he hasn't been practicing at all. I get upset. Frustrated. Infuriated. I told him that's it, I'm not overextending myself anymore, I'm not pushing myself to drive here and back and then I'm struggling to stay awake on the Van Wyck Expressway at three in the morning. He needed to start to drive and pull a little bit of the weight or it would destroy us. This was in late April. I did exactly what I said I would do. We had one opportunity to be intimate at AnimeNEXT because everyone left the room to go to the shopping center -- but it couldn't happen because, just like the other times, he would lose his erection way too easily and quite frankly, at that point, I was not emotionally invested enough to sit there BORED OUT OF MY MIND and work on it for an hour or more only to not be fucked anyway. Then comes July. I start my summer class, which is basically a 4 week class condensed into 15 weeks, and I worked 30 hours a week in 3 days -- on top of having the baby with me a few days of the week. I spent all of my Sundays crying because I was too tired to move from the bed. Finally, in August, he drops the we need to talk bomb on me whilst I'm in Chelsea walking to Doughnut Plant. Fine. I decided this wasn't really a conversation to have over the phone like this -- so I decided to have it in person yesterday; which we did. He admitted that the reason he refuses to drive to me or drive anywhere to meet me halfway or something like that is because he is just too lazy to do it so he won't. I think that's when a switch went off in my brain that it would never work. Eventually, when I offered to go back to the way things were because part of me wasn't ready to lose this yet -- he flipped out and told me he didn't want that, he didn't want anything. I grabbed my dog, my things, and my laptop and I ran down his stairs and out of his house and to my car. I had managed to remain stoic the whole time but I was starting to get upset. Not even because he had broken up with me. He was gone from the moment I put some pressure on him to aid in maintaining the relationship. But because I have never really dealt with anyone who was simply too lazy to do their part in the relationship -- because they just couldn't care enough to do it. I was angry. I cried. A not in service bus was nice to me at the stop sign and stopped traffic so I could go. I started texting this one friend of mine in particular who has always been sweet to me. It was nice getting reaffirmation from my other male friends that my now ex was pretty much an idiot. And they're right. What am I really losing here? I can buy myself Attack on Titan issues every month and I can remember to pick up female Thor comics when they come out in October. Other than that, I haven't lost anything.

I am still pissed beyond belief, though. I think I will be for a while.

People fall out of the world sometimes, but they always leave traces.
I'm going to try this journal thing -- and try to break out of the life long habit of stopping to update simply out of sheer laziness (and the fact that I don't do many things with my life except study and work). I might not fully enjoy what I do daily but that doesn't mean it's an excuse for me to not physically log it in some way. So, here it is. My millionth attempt and hopefully not my millionth failure.

Life has been okay. Pretty stagnant. My routine is usually the same day in and day out. The only differing factor is the time upon which I have to wake (but I still grumble while walking to the shower). The commute to school is long. Sometimes I do that commute 4 times in one day just so I can squeeze a nap in a safe place before I return to campus for more classes. Right now, actually, I should be doing homework instead of updating this thing. I've never been one to use time wisely and I'm always the one who worries that there's never enough of it.

I take the Harlem crosstown buses often and I see the same things day in and day out. If I've managed to be lucky enough to grab the front, isolated seat right behind the bus driver I get glares from all the majorly overweight and, or elderly people. I sit there and pretend not to notice but begin to feel self conscious when I make the decision to keep sitting in that seat -- even though I have really bad achilles tendon injuries and walk around with ankle braces and have to put in significant effort to not cry and give up when it comes to physical therapy exercises for the achilles tendons and just healing. If you were to ask me how I got those injuries to begin with -- I wouldn't really know what to tell you. Except mere ... thoughts. Most of the time I chalk it up to those brutal 13 and 14 hour work days from not so long ago because that was when I had first noticed that I had some kind of problem occurring within my feet. I ignored the problem for a long time and kept pushing myself. Only five more hours before this work day is over and I can go home and sleep. Except I would then have to face the same kind of brutal work day the next day where I would console myself, my depression, and my aching feet with the same only five more hours before this work day is over ... and then, as I continue to sit in the isolated front seat behind the bus driver, I feel angered. Angered because the majority of us are wasting this life away and barely getting ahead. Everyone looks so tired. Even the children look tired.

I'm a little luckier now because, while going to school, I don't have to work as much. The commute in itself is kind of like a job. Sometimes it takes two hours just to get to campus if the buses are really off schedule. But, it's okay. The classes aren't really that hard. Except Calculus. I have everything under control so far in Biology and Physics (and their corresponding labs) but somewhere along the way I fell off the Calculus boat and I've been drowning in continuous limits and derivatives ever since and am actually quite convinced that this is the first class where I will receive an F. And there goes that golden key honor society membership thing. Not that it matters, really. It just felt nice knowing that I was in the top 15% of my school, cumulative GPA wise. Shit happens. Sometimes we fail -- and if this is going to be the first time I fail in that way then let it be a great lesson to me (and not something I end up beating myself up over).

The boyfriend is okay. We don't talk that much. Mostly because with school and work -- I just don't put in the energy to text anyone unless it's my really, super close friend. I do talk to my boyfriend. I feel like I'm giving the impression that I don't. I'm just not attached to his hip every day. And I don't really think about him that much which is probably why I forget to respond to him here and there. Maybe that means I don't love him. Who knows? I loved someone, once, and it felt very different than the general feeling I have towards my boyfriend now. In the beginning of our relationship, I just desperately wanted animalistic sex. We both quickly learned that my vagina was too tight for that to happen. Every time he's tried to stretch me out -- I subconsciously tighten up around him and then I start crying and having a panic attack. I think I'm gay. I MEAN I KNEW FOR A WHILE THAT I WAS PANSEXUAL because my love for people (even though I don't socialize very well or at all) IS VERY IMMENSE but ... I'm starting to think I'm full blown gay. When I walk around manhattan or a convention or anywhere crowded with people really I take notice of all the girls holding hands. My heart hurts. I want that. I had that. But I want it again -- even though it hurt SO MUCH (and still hurts, actually) after having lost it. I don't think we ever recover from the people who leave us specifically because they leave little impressions on us. Things that we don't normally take into account. Like their favorite food, or the tiny every day thoughts about every day things that shift the way we think about things, or the far away and fading echo of their laughter from a time when they were happy with us. These things stay and although they hurt -- you just learn to live with them.

But, yes, I think I'm gay. BUT AGAIN I DON'T KNOW. I'm not repulsed by the idea of having sex with my boyfriend -- I'm just repulsed by his equipment. I can still give blow jobs and not feel disgusting while doing it (because I keep imagining it as just a REALLY BIG CLIT) but, when we're laying next to each other in the dark and he's snoring -- wrapped in the glow of the Arnold movie playing on his television -- I find myself wishing he were a woman. Not a different person. Just a different biological sex. And ... yeah, I'm probably gay.


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