i hate that you're living my dream.
or rather, that i can't afford to do so.

flashbacks.

Looking at Jesse reminds me of all the times at Oasis and my freshman/sophomore years in high school. He has changed so much, really just as a result of growing up. He isn't the scrawny soccer player anymore, now he's got these ridiculously solid arms. Surprises me every time. We go to Joelle's and I'm only planning to stay for a short period of time. I see her and immediately we start talking about the past, about Joel, Dan, Oasis as per usual, Bill, drinking, and basically gossiping about how everyone's lives had turned out. Being there 20 minutes, Dan calls. Then Joel calls.

When Joel shows up I find myself in a very unnerved state. The four of us have our history, and having just heard all the stories about Joel and Joelle's lives, I look at him and see sheer discomfort. What are you doing here, what are we doing here, and how is this okay? He wasn't ok. I knew she lied. Seeing him in that state, as drunk and frustrated, and completely uncomfortable being in that environment, brought back all the years of my being frustrated with whatever girlfriends he had, because they all made him this way. Insane women love him. I couldn't believe that these were people I spent a lot of time with.

I don't understand my relationship with guys like this. I hate their girlfriends for mistreating them, but I never would go as far as to say that it's because I want a relationship with them. It may just be the fact that I enjoy taking care of other people. Or maybe I'm just ridiculous.

livejournal.

I looked at our old livejournals today. It nearly broke my heart and I felt the most overwhelming nostalgia for my junior year. I don't miss high school, but I miss what it felt like.

My stepfather pointed out that it was my decision to take the next step and that sometimes the next step means realizing that you can never go back to what it was like before. I didn't want to admit he was right then. I think I have to now.

What's funny is the things that I miss and think about now, and when they come late at night when I'm disturbed from sleep and forced to wake up because of these dreams I keep having. For the most part, they're sillier events, and things that I would've normally not thought about, but other people bring up, most likely because of their silliness. Or, times where I wouldn't have felt any sort of jealousy. I remember certain choices I'd made, friends, moments, etc. I have changed so much since then. (and for the record, I think she was right.)

As cliché as it sounds, it hits hardest when I can't sleep.

home.

I have been home about a month now. It's a surreal feeling. I'm not aching to get back to New York, more so to leave my house, as I did at the end of winter break. I am enjoying the relaxation and time spent outside of the city, though I am there once a week.

I forget how truly wonderful and absolutely beautiful my friends are at home. Heather finally came home, and though our relationship has been rather erratic and relatively rocky for quite some time, I was overwhelmingly excited to see her. She has become the Heather I always thought she was, and having her home is comforting. I was shocked at just how much I was looking forward to her return. I was most excited for her out of anyone else, most likely because she was one of few who always made a really conscious effort to see me every break we had. Not that it's imperative that everyone do that; just that it was so incredibly sweet that she did.

Valerie made a comment about her relationships this summer, saying that she was too busy to start something new. I feel forced to agree with her. I feel a sense of comfort coming home and meeting new people who want to get to know me; it's flattering. I just don't have time for some of them, or just don't feel the need to make the time for them, especially not when I am still fascinated by older acquaintances. I shouldn't be as dismissive about it, or rather, so pretentious. I'm sure Alex could prove himself to be interesting if I made a point to go through with potential plans. Coming home to see what could happen with Vinny or Nick just made so much more sense; though I still have yet to see one of them. Seeing Vinny is always confusing because I never know what his situation is, and I never know at what point our relationship will change again. I'm not expecting anything, but I don't know if I should.

My face to face therapy sessions have really showed me just how inappropriate my relationship is with my therapist and how complicated the sessions are because of my diction. She thought I had been sleeping with people when I told her about "hook-ups" I had had, and I had to clarify to her that really, it was never sex. Mostly sleep or overwhelming making out, and for some reason, as always, my clothes just come off. I will never understand that; people just really enjoy taking clothes off when there's no real reason for it. Aside from that, she made a point of telling me that I should sleep around more than I do. I was completely and utterly shocked by this, because it seems like it would be much more destructive than anything else.

On another note: Lesportsac bags are not waterproof. If you get caught in Central Park in a thunderstorm, try to save your cell phone by wrapping it in something that may stay dry. And don't bring all your favorite electronics with you if there's a chance of showers.

À bientôt.

i worry that people don't respect me (or themselves) nearly as much as i would hope they did. it's baffling, to say the least. respect me and my home.

i also find that everything comes full circle and that being home means running into people or running from people, particularly those you thought would never find you. i thought you would never find me, that i hid so well, and yet, you managed to do it. now i can't figure out how to hide again and protect myself. i don't know how to respond to all these messages, a day after you manage to contact me. i fight with myself and think i should tell her, that i owe it to her after the past and the things that i did. i hope she finds this and puts two and two together. i can't speak to you.

the offer stood a few years ago. you can't expect to come back and become comfortable. it's not there.

summer in the suburbs means work, work, work.

my first year at nyu.

this entry will be edited multiple times. i will re-read it constantly and i will remember more and more details that i want to include. i do not know what to make of this, typing this all out, though i am allowing myself the privilege of being incoherent.

last night was my last night on the town. i went to a smalltime asian bar in the west village with a bunch of people i don't know and someone i know very well. i received a frightening phone call telling me that my father was in the hospital. immediately i started tearing and it made me realize, this is why i go to school in new york. So that on the given day where I would receive such a phone call I would know I was not too far away. A good friend calmed me down, and convinced me out of making a bigger mess of myself. This is the first time I felt like I could do something without the help of people from home. I didn't need to call the same people I called all the time. I wanted to, but was told I didn't need to. I was proved wrong. I didn't really need to I just wanted to think I needed to.

Today I am sitting in my room and it is completely barren. My art and posters, Ali's men and photos, everything has been taken down. She has been gone since Saturday. I have never missed her so much. My bed is bare to the mattress and it hurts me to look at and think of all the times I spent in that bed. You always forget just how much time you spend sleeping, which is what I've realized I did a good amount of time here doing. I spent the night out of that bed, my first time doing so at college. I hated every second of it. I have an enormous attachment to the place I sleep. Which is why I should probably avoid having sex in a bed unless I plan on buying a new bed every time I start a new relationship. To think of it, that's not a terrible idea. My desk is bare and looking at it, I just think of all the hard work I did here at this same spot, in this chair. I have never felt so accomplished, so incredibly proud of myself for all of my work here. I still cry over the grades I got, in awe of how impressed my professors have been with me, and in even greater awe of the fact that, with the help of a few good proofreaders and my own skill with language, I was able to acquire A's on every single major paper I had written. In the English language of course.

I look out my window and I remember the winter months when it was much easier to see Bobst and see inside the windows of the library I have used twice this year. I remember being able to see the pedestrians walking through Washington Square Park and thinking to myself how fortunate I am to live on the park. It has been beautiful. Falling asleep to jazz musicians or students chatting while walking down the sidewalk. I now have a hard time falling asleep to silence.

I didn't think I'd cry every day when someone else left. I think I could cry more today if I could say goodbye to the few who are left. I couldn't cry over others for fear I'd give myself away, or for the simple fact that I know they would not cry equally. Since Tuesday I have been a mess of tears and stress. My friends, my friends separate from those at home, have left and I am always the last to leave. I suppose that's going to mean something some day. I am the last to leave for every vacation, for every break, with everyone in my life. It sounds ridiculous. I have a feeling I'm supposed to take something from it and embrace it. Or make something of myself so that my leaving last does not hurt nearly as much as it always does when you or someone else leaves.

I will not be able to miss the city the way other kids will. I will never have to. I will be here every week, working at the same internship, for the same two women, for one who I am quite certain appreciates me and for another who seems to be entirely too self-involved. I will take the same subway line and possibly see the same similar faces to enjoy a meal or two with on those days. Life will not necessarily change for me. It will be as it always is. You will all miss the city, you all miss the city always, but I will never have that. I don't know if that's what I want.

The talk of transferring comes up always. I discuss it often and consider it daily. But when I consider it I look around and I wonder if I could truly leave. They say you should experience something you're not familiar with. I'm not all that familiar with living in New York. Sure, I'm not living in Arkansas and watching people drive tractors, or watching people go cow tipping in the midwest, but I think that's because I know there is nothing for me in an experience like that. I need to be somewhere greater, more moving, passionate, loud, boisterous, fabulous, excessive and incredible all at the same time. The city is excessive. But excessive is not always such a terrible thing.

I am nervous to go home to the friendships I didn't care to maintain and to those I know are dangerous to become involved in. Coming home winter break I realized that I had lost a few more friendships than I had counted on, though I maintained a few, and only one that really has true strength. My best friend of longevity will be gone all summer, something I'm used to but am not necessarily pleased with. I feel this weight in my heart and as I sit here waiting for my mother to pick me up, I feel an equal sense of excitement and dread. I don't want to come home for anything or anyone. I don't really want to come home. I want to go back to my life a year ago, when I didn't have these new people to miss or care for.

Goodbye Washington Square.
I'll be seeing you shortly.