Sentimental, At Home

More interactions, but I have less to say.

I think this phase of my life is so overdue they’ve stopped sending late fees.

New Year’s Boy slept over at mine the week after. Both intimate and nothing. I made him whisper as to not wake my roommates. I showed him my new world. He worried about his car. We called when I drove to work in the morning. I flew home a few days later and he left me alone. I thought maybe he decided enough was enough. I called him when I was tired of thinking about it. We spoke then and the day after. I started to feel like I was talking at him.

I keep thinking about if, and maybe wrongly assuming, he will try to stay over after my birthday party. I don’t think he should. I think my birthday needs to be my own.

Because I’ve written it, he won’t offer or ask, or I will cave.

I think about a party from two years ago now, when I cried because a girl who doesn’t like me made everyone retake a group photo so that I could be included.

I think about making him explain himself, and how we will never find that moment. I think about him calling me sweet.

It’s just the more emotional.

It’s just the more emotional, but I think about purging my life and my idleness just as equally. I am tired of walking around my work’s campus. I am tired of my coworkers knowing so much about my personal life. I am tired of managers who are incapable of communicating. I am tired of being so aware and concerned about money, but also knowing I won’t escape that feeling anytime soon. I am tired and tired and tired.

I am still holding onto grief about my roommates, perpetuated by their continual lack of empathy.

I would scream right now if my parents weren’t asleep down the hall.

I don’t want to know where I will be and what I will feel by my birthday after this, but I want to feel like I have sure footing. I want to work harder.

I am having fun, but I don’t know if that’s happy.