Love it

For breakfast. All day every day baby. Love it. Today I slept all day long. I dreamt powerful dreams, dreams about old lovers. Agonizing dreams about losing them, trying to get them back, wishing there was a way we could work it out.

The dream was funny. It involved a variety of social media devices. Like Facebook and MySpace and what not. I talked to my ex girl friends mom on the phone. She told me to contact her, to ask how she’s doing, to show that I care. I also consulted one of my best high school friends. His advice was relieving. He told me that I should get in touch with her, but if she doesn’t respond, not to worry because in a few months, or as soon as I find another girl, she’ll be nothing to me. It just doesn’t matter. I explained how my feelings get involved quickly. We could relate to each other.

In my dream, I was constantly looking heartbroken, constantly checking various locations and social media to monitor her life apart from mine. It was pathetic really, but it felt good. Sickly good.

No matter. Even now I’m resentful. Why did she break up with me? Why hasn’t she showed any interest in me? Why one day was she crying, telling me how much she loved me, how afraid she was that I’d break my heart, and the next day she’s completely emotionally dead to me. No interest in my life. No interest or remorse or regret. No text or phone calls.

I remember at one point in our relationship she was concerned when I met up with her for a formal dinner with her sorority. I was emotionally distant, not feeling exactly up to the challenge of being Mr. Right to her, and she panicked. She thought my feelings would change and that I was done with her. That wasn’t case, of course, but it struck me as odd. Why would she think that I’d be capable of losing all my feelings for her in a single day? Over night? Has someone done that to her? It turns out someone has done that to her. No matter. I always think that our opinion about other people is less indicative of other people’s character than it is about our character.

One day, all about me, the next, nothing. What did I do? What the hell happened? I need to stop thinking of it to be honest.

The past two weeks have been atrocious. There are four of my six classes that I have Incomplete grades in. I missed one final. I haven’t written three 10 page essays. It’s messy. It’s sad. I’m sitting here and my friend Conrad got all A’s and one A-, meanwhile I failed one class, and all the other classes I have Incomplete grades in. I need to write these essays in the next three weeks. I’ve been sleeping all day every day, my work habits, my overall responsibility as a person has been at an all time low. Any who.

I haven’t even completed my work application for this summer. I need to do that. I attribute that to the stress of school, of deadlines, of feeling like a piece of shit because my girlfriend, whom I pretty much lost interest in anyway, completely rejected me before I could even blink. I mean, I tried the whole emotional routine, crying and getting choked up, and it worked, but not really. She was moved of course, but not swayed. She left that night, we kissed one last kiss, and she drove off. I told her to leave whenever she wanted because I wasn’t going to be the one telling her to leave. She was the one breaking it off with me. Anyway. It’s not exactly the most uplifting memory. I think she’s an insensitive little cunt, but whatever. I actually thought she was a good girl, and she probably is in all her boring unhygienic ways. Yes. I’m getting a little messy. A little cruel. She’s unhygienic. Messy. Not exactly clean. That was the number one turn off since the beginning, but I told myself to overlook it, that I just wanted a girl to be intimate with, to fuck. Fuck.

There are two reasons to get a girl friend. One is emotional needs. The other is physiological needs, or sexual needs. Lets not shit our selves; it’s possible to separate these needs. Some people get them mixed up and confused, like you really can’t separate the emotional intimacy from sex. But I call bullshit, and if you have sex with enough women, it comes as second nature. You’re friends can fill the intimate needs. Women, well they’re good for the sexual, and that’s about it, because relying on them for any other need is a fucking risk. They’re flaky and emotionally unpredictable.

I got to remember to remind myself that familiarity breeds contempt. I will never, ever tell a girl about my past ever again. I realize that it is entirely unnecessary.