the diary of antoine roquentin

Well, drama happened today.

I can’t get my virtual machine to launch, it just crashes my system. So no voice-rec.

I should email their tech support, I actually paid for the VM program.

Long story short, Adrian called me as I was leaving work today. We talked for a while…

It felt good to talk to him again. But I’m still pissed that he’s with some girl.

It’s a horrible feeling…at the same time I picture the terrible, scripted fights we would have…the times I would have given anything to beat the shit out of him, and then the times when I couldn’t have loved him more.

I think the thing that I’m most mad about is that I’m never going to really get over him, and he’s already plowing away at some new vag.

Vag, guys.

Vag.

I was talking to Patrick at True Love tonight, and I was saying that I shouldn’t have been surprised that he was only able to find a girl. All the gay guys in this area know all about him.

I was actually feeling sort of OK and not being too self-pitying, besides blasting Muse all afternoon. That was my one indulgence.

I went down to True Love, had some Yerba Mate, and finished The Bell Jar. I only had about fifty pages to go, but they were the end where she goes totally bonkers and wants so badly to kill herself. Well, to be honest, once I flipped that last page, it sounded like a wonderful idea.

Me and Annie had a big talk on the phone, and we were sorta kinda going to hang out, but she didn’t seem to have her heart in it, so I just went by myself.

I felt like a total loser reading a novel around these cool-looking people. Well, I think the novel had something to do with that…she sees herself as behind glass, and everyone’s on the other side…and I couldn’t help feeling that way around all of those well-dressed strangers.

I got stopped on the way home by this stupid alcohol checkpoint. I really expected them to ask me in a German accent if I had my papers. God I hate cops.

Really, it is a bad idea to start talking to Adrian again. That conversation ripped off all of my scabs. I feel like such a sniveling loser. And I am.

I think of the week that we “broke up,” and I remember feeling downright SUFFOCATED by him and his ridiculous way of existing, but that doesn’t make me stop wanting him.

He is such a bad habit. But there isn’t a chance in hell I’ll ever stop wanting him. This craving just comes from the pit of my soul and I can’t stop it…all those dreams where I was crying and pleading with him to take me back, that’s how I feel deep under my facade of hatred.

Last night I had a dream that me and Adrian were in my room. He was sitting at my desk, and I was sitting on the bed. We were talking about our relationship and we reached a sad consensus that it was over, we just couldn’t keep it together. “Can I just hold you one more time?” I asked, and he came and cuddled with me on the bed. Isn’t that weird that this was the day he chose to call?

Fuck. I need to stop talking about this.

He knows all my buttons. I do feel better now, but I really just need more time for that white-hot need for him to cool. What if it doesn’t? What if he becomes my Tod (the guy who one endlessly compares the current boyfriend to)?

Did I ever mention that all through growing up I had planned to kill myself when I grew up? It was just something I knew in my bones from a very young age. But then I graduated and life got better, and now it is still better than elementary and high school, but really…what is the point to living? I’ve been considering starting smoking this week. I’ve also started jogging on a more regular basis…I think I’ll have to choose one or the other.

Moving to a larger city seemed to be a panacea for my soul, but in moving away from Crescent City I just feel weightless and like my life is not my own. I don’t know what it’s like to have the life I wanted. I guess I’ll be happier when I go to a four-year school. Maybe.

He is an addiction.

and you might say it’s self-indulgent
and you might say it’s self-destructive
but, you see, it’s more productive
than if i were to be happy

and sappy songs about sex and cheating
bland accounts of two lovers meeting
make me want to give mankind a beating

and you might say it’s self-destructive
but, you see, i’d kick the bucket
sixty times before i’d kick the habit

And I need to stop it.