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And now for something entirely random because I have some time to kill.

November 26, 2014

FastCar called me “hun” the other night. That’s not happened before. I melted a little inside. And it helps, too, that in yet another sordid conversation about pigtails, he was torn between coming home early from his most recent stint on the road just for some pigtail related fun and staying to, you know, get paid.

We’ve never messed around. I know he’s no prude, either, since he’s openly admitted to getting himself covered in rugburns at a raucous party. Why haven’t we fooled around? Why haven’t I slept with him? I’m starting to wonder if there’s something wrong with me, and starting to wonder if maybe I’ve finally gotten something RIGHT. We’ve been dating four nearly four months, and sure, he’s been gone for three of them and you can’t really fool around with someone a thousand miles away unless you’re into a good iBoning, but… but… I don’t know. I’m being stupid.

We have talked EVERY day for four months from wake to sleep. I’m afraid I’ll screw something up when he DOES come home. For the love of god, FastCar, PLEASE put some moves on me when you get home. When he comes home again, it will be for a month, and I’m thinking that it would be a good time to officially establish a relationship status. If he doesn’t know what he wants by then, then it clearly isn’t me. That’s fair of me, right? Four or five months of dating? I don’t know that I’ve dated someone for four months without a hayroll in, like, well, EVER. Hell, I once got engaged after two months (yes, that was a bad choice, yes).

I want my goddamn happily ever after.

And I might get it. Because you don’t plan a vacation with someone six months out if you don’t plan on being together, right? Maybe we’ve both screwed up enough in the past to proceed with caution because we want a happily ever after. I should really just ask him. But I’m still afraid of the answer – let’s not forget that the last three guys I thought I was legit dating didn’t want a relationship; it’s hard not to walk away from that without scars.

Hahaha…scars. Ha.

Despite the temptation, I’ve managed not to engage in any (socially unaccepted) “body modification” in almost a year. But when I visited my parents’ recently, I discovered that my mother took a picture of me that she liked on Facebook and had it printed as a magnet. It’s a great picture, don’t get me wrong, but it freaks me out: In that picture, my arms are COVERED in perfectly parallel cuts, and I carefully photoshopped them out. But I know they’re there, and it’s weird to see that picture as a freaking fridge magnet.

I’m trying to keep careful distance from MTIA – it’s so easy to get sucked into his gravitational pull, and aside from the fact that I’m a virtual vicodin junkie as of late because of pain I’ve been in, I’ve been doing much better than I was a year ago when I was staying up until 3 and 4 am and trying to get to work by 7am (and failing entirely). A part of me still wishes I could make it work with MTIA, especially after our sketch comedy group’s first performance a couple weeks back my having to fight the urge to get down and dirty with him in a backstage broom closet, but a considerably larger part of me is in love with FastCar and refuses to do anything to jeopardize that. So I’ve buried myself in work beyond all reason: I’m back to working 7 days a week (until the end of December), 80+ hours, not counting my artwork, which is picking up considerably as of late, thank GOD. But man, not being a slut seriously sucks sometimes.

But at least I’ve got some scruples for the first time in my life. Is that how love works?

Oh, Fastcar, the things I’m going to do to you when you get home from being on the road… I’m tired of waiting to tell you and show you just how much you mean to me. I’m tired of dicking around about it.

And eventually, I’ll take myself off vicodin again. Really. But not today.

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