I am a skinny little white girl. Well aware of this fact. And when reading books, blogs, anything, I automatically assume that the protagonist looks like me until I am given information to the contrary. And I just wondered, does everyone do that? Does everyone see themselves in the books and things they read until they’re told they’re wrong?

Also, I was reading back through my archives earlier and found this. And realized that I don’t feel that way anymore. I DO feel sexy, and pretty, pretty often. And it’s all due to the wonderful boy I’m now seeing. How often he tells me, the ways he shows me that he means it, how often it’s written all over his face, and the way his hands trace over my skin as if he’s in wonderment that it’s his to touch. And it thrills me that he helped me with that, and I’m so thankful that he did, because it feels amazing. So amazing.

I want to tell how much fun it’s been to have him home, how I’ve lost count at this point of things I was keeping track of, how I enjoy that my parents are okay with going to bed while he’s still here, how I’ve discovered I enjoy sitting on his lap, how I love watching movies with him, and how things I thought would be more difficult than they are are proving to be remarkably simple and easy. But I can’t say any of that. There are a hundred things I can’t say because I don’t want them known. And I can’t say why I don’t want them known, because that would entail admitting things to myself I’m not ready to acknowledge aloud.

That moment when you nod off on the couch talking to your boyfriend who is doing something mysterious that he won’t explain except to say that he’s doing it for you and when you wake up it’s one am and you think you should make your way to your bed some time that resembles now and then you remember that the reason the kitchen light is still on is that there are dishes in the sink to do, and then you decide you’ll get up and do them and collapse into your nice warm cozy bed but oh no, then you recall that it was laundry day, and you have to make your bed first because the sheets got washed, and also, you have clothes piled all over your sheetless bed and you consider the thought of just sleeping on the couch and saying you fell asleep there, except it’s Tuesday/Wednesday and the kids have school so they’ll all be up at some ungodly early hour for you and you decide you should get up and do your chores and then go to bed after telling your boyfriend goodnight but instead of doing all that you type all this up first so that someone somewhere someday might know the pain of being you that isn’t really painful at all, in fact being you is quite wonderful because you have a grand boyfriend who is coming home soon and told you that you should dress fabulously for him for when he comes home except won’t tell you when that is, but this is okay because you like surprises and are perfectly fine with dressing fabulously for him for the next few days until he gets home and you can spend much time with him and go see movies and play video games and take him to meet your best guy friend who mentioned as much today and startled you with this information and now it’s half past one and you should really be getting to bed because as an English major it’s probably a cardinal sin to write this many words without a period or semicolon in sight and you’re clearly very tired my dear and should go to bed immediately so that you can be up and dressed and showered and shaved and pretty in case your boyfriend arrives tomorrowday because you have a sneaking suspicion that he might and you’re super excited for this perfectly plausible scenario.

I found out five days ago, on the nineteenth of May, two thousand and twelve, that I was accepted to the college I’ve been hoping to go to. Screamed, when I checked the website and it informed me that I could attend this fall if I so chose (I so choose). Things have been going splendidly between myself and the boy I am with (even if a little fast, but I’m not stopping it, so it’s my doing also) and although I shouldn’t be, I’m mostly excited to go there because it’s his school. Of course there are other reasons, being back in school again (yes, I’m a nerd, I like being in school) it’s got great programs, beautiful, I already kinda have a few friends, and a roommate, and I just feel like I should be there. It’s six hours away. Mumsie’s not happy about that. I think it’ll be exciting, something completely new. 

My dad’s finally home. He’s been gone for months, his job didn’t allow him to move with us so he’s been a geobachelor since December. It’s good to have him back, and we all went to dinner tonight. He’s going to teach me to drive. I think for the most part, I know, but he’ll be teaching me mostly. My mother’s not happy about that either. 

My boyfriend is wonderful. Like, phenomenally so. And because I can say whatever I want here, I’m going to. I have a list on my phone of things I love to “hear” him say to me (usually through text) And I see him, talk to him. Yes, that sounds like a stupid thing to be happy about. Long distance relationships, though, SUCK. And those little things, those things most couples can take for granted, are wonderful. I love it when he asks to see me. I love when he appreciates seeing me. When he tells me he misses me. I miss him too, I miss having him nearby even though I only had it for a few days in a week. 

In nine days, I’ll be in the happiest place on earth with one of my best friends! And then the next day, my other best friend will be there! And my ex boyfriend and his new girl. Which will be interesting, but I think it’ll be okay. I’ve run into her a few times at the grocery store. I think the location will smooth over much of the things that may be amiss, including possibly strained relationships with three of nine members of our little posse.

Overall, life is good.  

I obviously don’t see him the same way you do. That’s stupidly obvious. Do you think, for two seconds, I would be with him if he didn’t make me happy? If he didn’t treat me right? Don’t you trust that I can make my own decision about who I’m with? That he’s a good person, that I trust him? Capital letters can’t explain how fucking pissed off I am at you. We had a guest over, and yes, I understand it’s just your boyfriend, but you had to let into my boyfriend in front of this guy that I don’t even know, and those were low blows, and I have never wanted to fly across the table and punch anyone more than I just did you. You upset me enough that I screamed at you in front of a perfect stranger! Any idea how that made me feel? Embarrassed, first off, pissed off that you were able to piss me off that badly. We had a guest! And you, you were the one who told me earlier “Don’t you scare him now.” I can’t even believe this, just look at what you made me do. You can take digs at me all day long, I don’t even care, but don’t you dare speak ill of him in front of company again. And now I’m gonna have to go downstairs and pretend like nothings wrong. Thank you, I really appreciate that. Shit. I can’t remember the last time I was this upset while the sun was up. I don’t know if you realize, or maybe you do and you just don’t care, it wouldn’t surprise me. But I don’t know if you realize just how often you belittle my emotions, sweep them away like they’re somehow beneath your concern. Like you’re better than me. Well, newsflash, you’re not. Maybe I used to think you were, maybe I used to live my life that way, and maybe you got used to that, so used to it that you don’t realize it’s not true. I’m better than that. I deserve better than that. I get better than that, from him. You’re my sister, and there are occasions when I feel I’m no more worthy of your concern than dirt. It doesn’t have feelings, and you seem to think I don’t either, with the way you treat me sometimes. He treats me like gold. If you’d give him two seconds, if you’d try not to judge him by what he’s wearing when he picks me up (i know it’s hard for you, as fixated on appearances as you are), you may find less reason to hate him (because right now, you don’t really have any reason. Maybe reasons to like him would cancel those out.) I know he doesn’t have your sense of humor, that you don’t find him funny. I happen to thing he’s fabulously funny. He makes me laugh all the time. I know you don’t exactly like the way he looks, but that’s purely based on what he wears. He wants to be a politician (which you’d know if you gave him half a chance) and he won’t always wear those black pants with all those pockets, or the shirt with the band on it you’ve never heard of. Find reasons to hate him then, why don’t you? It pisses me off that you’re trying to make me choose. That if I stay with him, if we get married, you’ll never come visit me. You don’t trust that I chose a guy who is decent, and you don’t want to give him the time of day, ever. How the hell do you think that makes me feel?

Boyfriend’s at work

His boss (not a jerk)

Says he needs him today

“What about me?” I say

“What if I need him,

If I’m out on some limb

Need him here

Far more near

To save me from myself

While my things sit on a shelf

Waiting patiently for him to come?”

(I never was the patient one)

Unexpectedly in my life

Saving me from much of my strife

He’s my buttercup, I’m his kitty

He says he always thinks I’m pretty

I miss you so much

I wish you’d break for lunch.

I’m not being wasteful. If you’d let me get my two cents in before you flew off the handle at me, you’d know that. I understand that your boyfriend did something stupid and got himself suspended, and that means you won’t see him at lunch, and you’re pissed off at the institution. And I understand that not eating as much as you’re used to makes you a bit cranky. And maybe you’re jealous of me too and that’s why you’re so hung up on the fact that I didn’t finish my dinner. But you’re not my mother, and I will eat it later, I’m just not hungry now. And while I’m at it, I might as well keep going. I understand you don’t like my boyfriend, but frankly, that’s not your choice to make, and it’s rather bitchy of you to bring it up every time his name is mentioned, and I’m sick and tired of hearing it. Oh, how you’d flip if you knew half the things that have transpired between us. He’s sweet, and much much better than you give him credit for. Yeah, he’s weird. You probably wouldn’t give him half a chance yourself, but I’m damn glad I did, because this is the best I’ve ever been treated (which I know, there’s not a lot to compare it to, but I don’t care.) So lay off him, lay off me, and leave your issues where they belong, if you don’t mind. 

Dear you,

     You seem happier now. I’m happy for you. And I know most of the time when people say that, especially in my situation, it’s meant with biting sarcasm and spitefulness. I swear, I don’t mean anything of the sort. I truly am happy for you. You seem to treat her better than you ever did me, and that’s good. You do cute things for her, and I think she and I at some point may be able to be friends, now that I have it out of my head that she’s in my spot and needs to leave. I’m glad you seem to like her. You deserve being happy like that. I am too. 

     I don’t remember what it was like, at first, with you. I don’t think… I don’t think it felt like this. It certainly wasn’t this fast. I think it could have been. Maybe if I was here. Maybe if we happened like this. But we didn’t, and to tell you the truth, I don’t think I would have been ready for it. I’m glad things happened the way they did. 

     I bet you’d be surprised, if you knew what I was doing now. I bet anyone would be. I am. I bet you’d be even more surprised if you knew how much I like it. I wonder sometimes, less and less frequently, what you’d think of some of the things I’ve said and done nowadays. I’m almost a teenager now, now that I’m almost not. 

     I wonder if I ever drove you up the wall. If I ever made you crazy, if you were ever crazy for me. If you ever felt like you were on the brink of losing control because of something I said, something I did. If you ever just wanted to fist your hands in my hair, push me back against the nearest flat, vertical surface and kiss me like I meant something to you. ((stop that you, you know that’s not fair. You know what happened that night when he dropped you off late and you went inside even later. Credit where credit is due, my dear.))

     I’m sorry. That was rude, that was mean, that was untrue. And I know all this feeling, well, these feelings, are due in part to the arms-length relationship we had. I know part of it isn’t your fault. And I’m not blaming you, I’m sorry, I don’t mean it to sound that way. 

     You only ever told me you missed me once. I remember, because it was such a strange thing. One time, in the eighteen months we were together. The rest of the time, it was me begging you to say it back. I was so scared that day I told you I loved you, do you remember it, how my hands shook? Because I was worried that, there too, you wouldn’t say it back. And that, well, that would have crushed me in the state I was in. I told myself I should wait until you said it first, but then I just couldn’t. (He tells me all the time, you know. That he misses me. That he wishes I were there with him. I wish I were too. How often did you feel like that, that you’d give anything if I could just be there with you?)

     I was always scared that something I said would send you running. There was no talk of a future because I didn’t want you to turn tail like a frightened deer. (he’s not afraid of it, in fact, I believe he looks forward to it)

     Rare were the times when I was sure how you felt about me. And you seemed to need me nearby to show me. 

     You never seemed to have time for me. Yes, I understand you were busy with school and such, you had things you needed to do, a job, etcetera. But a quick text when you got a moment, hey, thinking of you, missing you sweetheart, seeing you every now and again would have been nice.  

     I’m not saying this to try and be mean about it, I’m saying I hope you treat her better than me. I’m saying I hope you’re happy, I really truly do. I hope you call her and tell her goodnight so she can smile when she hears your voice. I hope you tell her you adore her, I hope she doesn’t have to question it. I hope you’re not afraid of being with her beyond the scope of next week or next year. I hope things are well for you, I really do wish you all the best. I know I have it now.

Sincerely, me

“Delicate,” they called her.
“Tame,” is what they said.
“Predictable,” and that one was the worst
“I’ll show you,” is what she thought
As she pulled on her best dress and
Walked out into the sunshine,
Adjusted her hat to keep the sun off her face
As she hiked up her petticoats
And strode off down the street
Heels clicking
In time to the calm pounding of her heart.
“Hello, we spoke on the phone?”
Said she to the gentleman, smartly dressed,
Who answered the door of the modest home,
Tucked into a corner of a quiet tree-lined lane.
“Yes, yes, come in please,” he bowed and gestured,
A wide sweeping motion that encompassed his entire abode
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Come into my studio” he said.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he queried the girl
“Absolutely.”
And as she posed he brought the piece de resistance
A ferocious lion cub, whom he lifted gently onto her lap
Snap-snap-snap the camera clicked away
And as she got more comfortable,
Layers fell off
Until she lay across the couch in nothing but lion fur
“Tame? Delicate? Predictable? Let them try and pin me down now!”

This was written for an anonymous contest hosted by the lovely Miss Lillian

(original post found here with all other finalists)

I should keep this up, even if nothing of real importance has occurred. Life has been progressing, and my new relationship that feels far older than it is (but in actuality, kind of has been. He knew things before we were even together that my ex-boyfriend still doesn’t know.) We’re constantly talking, we have physically spoken, phone and Skypewise, more than my ex and I did our entire relationship. It feels strange and a tad upsetting to go to bed without hearing him tell me goodnight. That whole relationship seems to have gone considerably faster than I had ever anticipated that one of mine could go, but I don’t mind, and find it quite exciting and wonderful. He’s brilliant and great and constantly telling me all sorts of lovely things, it feels like an infusion of… I’m not sure what. It feels great though. It feels ridiculously great. And I thought that what I had was so incredible, that there was no way it could be better than that. I was wrong. And I have never been happier to be wrong in my life. 

I’ve been trying to find ways to fix things I didn’t realize were broken, and I know that will take some time to do, I just hope they can be repaired.