Dear Diary, Love makes me boring

A pretty standard Friday night.  The highlight was going to get my bangs trimmed.  There were two teen goth girls outside the entrance to the subway with a poster board.  They were offering free hugs.  "Free hug?" one of them asked me.  "No thanks," I said, tears stupidly rising in my throat.  Anything will make me cry these days.  Ask me if I want a tall or a grande and you have no idea what you're getting into.  Next to these girls were the usual people selling things on ratty blankets and a cop politely pushed me out of the way in his pursuit of something bad. After I got my hair done I went to the tea shop and a cute boy smiled at me.  By boy I mean like 20. Someday I'll be attracted to adults.  All in all it wasn't too bad. Now I'm going to try to write.  In case you were wondering, this doesn't count.  

My new year's resolutions:  write poetry everyday, even if it's just a line, even if it's just an image. Even if it's just a word.  Come on, you don't have 30 seconds to write a word down, shrew?  That's what I thought.  The other things: meditate 5 minutes a day to start.  Do the clearing exercise my healer taught me.  That's 7 minutes.  Somehow I've convinced myself that I don't have time to do these things, things that will take a total of about 15 minutes a day.  So I'm going to give myself 15 minutes a day in the hope that it will turn into more.

I spent most of the day obsessing.  On the train, in the car on the way to see my neurologist. Something is shifting in my relationship.  It feels bad but I don't know if it is.  What is happening is that we're getting closer and it feels bad.  It feels bad because it's terrifying.  It is very terrifying and I can see all of the subtle ways I'm trying to sabotage it.  Now I'm going to get all Lifetime on your ass: I am afraid of intimacy.  Hence my past choice of men to whom I have no desire to be close.  It sure is a lot easier when you don't really like them or respect them.  But not as interesting.  I am so scared about him moving back here.  That I have not told him.  I'm really scared about opening myself up to someone, or what I will do in order to avoid it. I'm trying to be a detached observer.  It's pretty freaky, the things I've come up with to avoid intimacy with this person.  I'm too embarrassed to even write about them.  

I am on the mend.  This phrase popped into my head today.  Mending.  My back is a little better thanks to Sunshine and to the steroids that were injected directly into my nerve.  I'm starting to recover from my hellish job.  I'm starting a brand new shiny job in a few days.  I have a shot at trying to find out what a real relationship could be like, a relationship where you actually learn from each other and grown together.  I have this now, but it's a lot different when the relationship is long and sometimes sleepy conversations in different time zones and piecemeal Skype sex. But if I decide I can't do it or I don't want to do it when he comes back, it's ok. It doesn't mean I'm a failure at relationships.  It just means...something else. Tomorrow I'm going to look at properties that he might buy.  It's making me panicky.  Can I live with him? Can I live with anyone?  I don't think I can live with anyone.

Sorry, this is one of the most boring things I've ever written.  I was a lot more interesting when I was pissed off all the time.