The man across my street with a record.

I had lost and now have now found my little mind. Honestly, I much
preferred walking around mindless, smiling goofily, and being
chronically unaware of how ridiculous I sounded to people around me.
My mom told me that I was on the verge of a breakdown and how lovely
would that be? I wouldn't mind being the crazy girl, at least for a
while and so long as I was mostly unaware of my mental deterioration.

The sky is falling. Chunky, clumps of white white white snow cling to
the trees and the tires of fancy cars go spinning. Christmas is coming
they tell me but I am most looking forward to cramming pages of
delightful books between rapid fire synapses in my brain.

Nine credits more and I am finished entirely with my most recent
academic endeavor. And I hate it all but I will miss it dearly. It is
comfortable, familiar, and reassuring. No longer will there be kindly
yet authoritative academics to remind me of my brilliance. I don't
think any further pursuit of academia could be accommodated or
tolerated. The idea of focusing on one meager topic for an extended
period of time is frightening. People keep asking me what I will do
and I keep telling them I am going to be an astronaut or maybe a
supermodel. Everyone nods and says oh thats nice as if they are unsure
if I am serious or not.

"I miss you" he said.
"I miss you too" I replied, hesitant to even think the thought. And I
contemplated the words and him and what it was that he really wants
from me and what it is that I want from him. Thank goodness text
messages do not transmit signs of insincerity.

I'm not so sure I want to see him. I'm not so sure that I should but I
spent all yesterday wondering where exactly the reasons why not came
from. It was as if I had forgotten all the transgressions he committed
against me. I've said it a thousand times before, for some reason none
of it matters. There is a magical, mysterious, and dangerous pull in
his direction. The attraction grows stronger in moments of weakness,
anger, fear, loneliness. In the end, I will only disappoint myself and
I will swear to ignore his calls and his pleas only until the next
breakdown when I need someone to tell me it is okay even if it will
never be.

I think I have addictions to bad men and good coffee.

On Halloween I met a boy with a questionable profession. Everything
about him repulsed me but still I found myself being infatuated with
his cold blue eyes and his white hot touch. I stopped returning his
calls. I don't really know why and for the first time in a very long
time I feel like I maybe shouldn't have. He keeps calling, about once
a week. I could pick up the phone, I could call him back but I won't
because what do I say now? That sorry I ignored you for the last two
months I'm just kind of insane like that? Do I tell him that he scares
me just a little bit, that he hovers a little too far over the edge,
that he crosses the line more often than he should? He would probably
hang up on me but what is it that he wants to hear? I'm not sorry, not
really and saying so would just make it all so much worse. That might
make inconsiderate, rude, maybe even foolish. The truth isn't always
easy to say and it is almost never easy to hear.

And all this time, there have been two very decent, very deserving men
waiting. Waiting for what exactly? For me to tell them I chose you!
What a disgusting thought.

For Christmas I would please like someone, anyone really, who likes to
read books and draw pretty pictures. People like this are generally
good. If they wore some very distinguished glasses every so often or
dressed like a professor, that might help. Or if they happened to run
marathons in their free time or liked to walk my dog even, I would be
especially pleased. They must also tolerate silence, sarcasm, and my
disappearances. Blue or green eyes are recommended, though not
required. They must not seek out constant, relentless, and tiring
confirmations of my love and adoration for them. They instead must
just know that I do indeed adore them, otherwise they of course would
not be around. Like Beyonce says in that song of hers, I have another
one just like you and he'll be here in a minute. Or something.
Because, yes, there is always another one of you.