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.