shit

I have forgotten everything I learned in college thus far except for how to skate.

It's not for lack of passion. There were many consecutive skating lessons during which I had no desire to be there.

I hate school but, even more, I hate dreams about school. Typically I'm late for class, or registered improperly, or skipping class or failing tests. Usually I'm skipping class with Brenden which is actually pleasant until I return to the school building (even though it is meant to be BU it is actually the annex to my elementary school and my boss at the College of Engineering is teaching LF112 and girls I went to middle school with are in the class). What the shit does that mean? School haunts me, I suppose.

I feel as if college is 4 years of perpetual school. In high school, from around 8:30-3:30 I was at school and then I was at work or play. Every minute of every day feels like school to me here because I either have assignments pressing down upon my free time or I'm learning a terrifying lesson in how people behave, or how they are crazy or how they like to live out the romantic aspect of their lives as selfishly as they can muster. The pressure to understand all of that diversity in order to socially survive hasn't stopped since about two days after I got here in 2004.

I have forgotten everything I learned in college thus far except for how to love. And skate. Those two things are mine and they can't be taken away from me.

Except one is being taken away from me. I'd rather have broken a leg.

"I would rather stay with you than take a year and a half to grow as an individual." It hurts a great deal less. On paper, the notion sounds demented with a touch of a problem with dependency. But I lived before him and I can throw myself into the same pattern as before.

And I know I've lost acquaintances because they're tired of seeing me bruised and healing, bruised and healing, writhing and kicking. And I know I've made enemies which hurts most of all because I don't like being pitted against people because we want the same thing, or very different things, or we want it all.

In five years none of this will matter. So what matters? That my memories of him will make me feel like I'm not as detached from this writhing kicking screaming bruised and healing mass of flesh as I grew up thinking I had to be in order to survive. If the mere shadows of memories hold so much power, try to imagine how strongly I could ground myself out of my shitty dark cloud to see him standing there and hold him close these past two years.

So now it's my turn to know, baby. And I know this:
Fuck all of you, I don't love you. I love him.

For those of you that don't care, kindly disregard this message. For those of you that pretend to care, choke to death. For those of you I've hurt, I don't care. For those of you that want me, that window closed two years ago. Bad timing, really, but if you genuinely care about me, you should be happy for me because he and I are much better for each other than you and I. For those of you that want him, you don't want him like I do and you never have.

When I want something, I fucking get it. And I always know what I want.

Now if I can only remember that I feel this way the next time he and I argue...