I had thought I was doing so much better, and maybe I am a little better, but it turns out that I'm still digging shards of David out of my heart. It's like trying to eat rainbow trout, only one hand is throwing away the bones and the other is sneaking them out of the trash can and sticking them in my pocket. I dreamed about him last night. A really sweet, we're-still-together type dream. I can't remember it now though.

I really hate living at home, and yet I'm still here. F you, inertia. I'm 24. I'm supposed to be an adult. Why am I living and acting like a spoiled little kid? I fought with Chloe on the phone, I fought with my dad after I got home. I spent a chunk of the evening curled up in a ball, crying in the dark. I almost wish they'd just kick me out and force my hand.




In brighter news, Kelly and Sara and I are going to the beach tomorrow. It's just occurred to me that my dad might think we're going for the weekend, which is sort of stupid if you ask me. I never said we were going for the weekend, and he never asked me. But thinking back on our fight, aka me getting yelled at for not doing yard work, all his bullshit about me being gone for the weekend makes a lot more sense if he thinks I'm going to be at the beach. Actually I was planning on being here, unless I help Susannah and Mike move into their apartment.

Man, I did a great job getting out of the negativity loop there, didn't I? Let me try again.


Tomorrow we are going to the beach. For the day. To tan and read books and shit. In hopes of not being pasty for the wedding. We will drink Gatorade and eat sandwiches and try not to sunburn, and dammit, we will have fun.