I do hope that you call me again, and that it wasn't just a one time thing.

She said, "I think he likes you. But he's also a heartbreaker."

Inside, I nearly died laughing.

First, I would have to be in love for that kind of thing to even happen, and I'm not. Love is for other people who aren't me. Second, unless he sexually assaults me, beats me, or isn't respectful enough to be honest with me, there isn't much one can do to break my heart. All three of these things are not just crimes against my person, they're crimes against my soul. I'm a really tough bitch, but a fair one, and I'm a resilient creature. Life is so fucking short, I'm not about to waste it. I mean, yeah, sometimes I do with all the whining about not having a boyfriend, but it's just pity party whining and well, people sometimes feel sorry for themselves. But in my day-to-day life, the nitty-gritty of it, I just don't care.

But this makes me think of something larger that I've been mulling over. I can't really open up and be myself unless I drink. I try to sober, but I have to get to know someone enough to be comfortable doing that. And even then, I can't. I just can't. There are things that I just can never talk about ever. I can write about it, pages and screeds and a thousand words, but I just can't talk about it. Or, rather, the circle of people that I can talk about it with is getting smaller, and it irritates me. So instead I write, because I can, because that's all that I have left. Paper and pen have never let me down. Neither has the computer. And in writing that out, it almost makes me want to cry, because that's a bit pathetic, isn't it? That I'm trapped in a verbal world when all I can do is write.

Of course, she also said, "Christ! You're wearing Crocs!" like it was the most offensive thing in the universe. Which made me laugh. Hard. "Yeah, well, it's Sunday, and I'm walking around. I want to be comfortable," I replied, which is true. "I'm not going to wear high heels when I'm walking about." "You wear high heels?" "DUH! I'm short. Of course I wear heels, the higher, the better."

Really, I'm a classy broad. But Sunday is for milling about.

And I still hope that he calls again. And I think I'm going to stop writing right now, before I annoy myself with my pathetic ramblings.