I'm not feeling creative today. I'm not really sure if I'm feeling anything besides anxious. We have agreed to talk Monday. Monday is 3 whole days from now; 72 whole hours from now--I wonder how many breathes I will take from now until then.
I just tried to count but math isn't my thing. I have so much to say and so many questions that I'm not sure that I will not burst by Monday. Not to mention, it is not until after 2:30PM on Monday which is after Spanish. It is 2:41PM right now. So it really is 72 whole hours from right NOW (taking into account the driving time since we are meeting at Starbucks). Why Starbucks? Well he says because there is food there and that will make me happy. I say because there will be witnesses. His explanation sounds nice, but I believe mine.
I wonder if I will cry on Monday. I hate Mondays. I wonder what I will wear. I should dress sexy and do my hair really nicely that way if we end us for good the last impression he will have of me will be a good one. I don't know if "good one" is what I really want to say. I suppose I mean I would want him to look back and recognize what he lost, although my outward reflection would never do the magnitude of his loss justice. Does that make me vain? He never tells me I'm pretty. I want him to think I'm pretty. I want him to regret making this pretty girl, who trusted him with everything, cry because pretty girls shouldn't cry--wrinkles. Am I pretty? Maybe not. Maybe that's why he does what he does. Maybe...
Monday. It will be exactly a week from when he dropped his boulder of betrayal and belittlement on me. Sigh (sigh with me please because brokenhearted pretty girls should not cry alone). Well seven is a number of completion so perhaps that means everything will be laid to rest on Monday. No more questions. No more anxiety. Just truth and clarity. However all that seems too optimistic for my life. My life does not work that way. Drama. My life stem from little evil seeds of drama...fuck Mondays.
You know what? I don't deserve this. Mondays should not happen to me. What did I ever do to him? I was a good girlfriend. Never asked more of him than what I expected he could produce. All I asked for was respect, and then love; honesty, and then adoration. What kind of man breaks a pretty girl's pride, integrity, and self-respect on a Monday? An inconsiderate, simple-minded, selfish, bowlegged one--that kind. Bastard.
I just tried to count but math isn't my thing. I have so much to say and so many questions that I'm not sure that I will not burst by Monday. Not to mention, it is not until after 2:30PM on Monday which is after Spanish. It is 2:41PM right now. So it really is 72 whole hours from right NOW (taking into account the driving time since we are meeting at Starbucks). Why Starbucks? Well he says because there is food there and that will make me happy. I say because there will be witnesses. His explanation sounds nice, but I believe mine.
I wonder if I will cry on Monday. I hate Mondays. I wonder what I will wear. I should dress sexy and do my hair really nicely that way if we end us for good the last impression he will have of me will be a good one. I don't know if "good one" is what I really want to say. I suppose I mean I would want him to look back and recognize what he lost, although my outward reflection would never do the magnitude of his loss justice. Does that make me vain? He never tells me I'm pretty. I want him to think I'm pretty. I want him to regret making this pretty girl, who trusted him with everything, cry because pretty girls shouldn't cry--wrinkles. Am I pretty? Maybe not. Maybe that's why he does what he does. Maybe...
Monday. It will be exactly a week from when he dropped his boulder of betrayal and belittlement on me. Sigh (sigh with me please because brokenhearted pretty girls should not cry alone). Well seven is a number of completion so perhaps that means everything will be laid to rest on Monday. No more questions. No more anxiety. Just truth and clarity. However all that seems too optimistic for my life. My life does not work that way. Drama. My life stem from little evil seeds of drama...fuck Mondays.
You know what? I don't deserve this. Mondays should not happen to me. What did I ever do to him? I was a good girlfriend. Never asked more of him than what I expected he could produce. All I asked for was respect, and then love; honesty, and then adoration. What kind of man breaks a pretty girl's pride, integrity, and self-respect on a Monday? An inconsiderate, simple-minded, selfish, bowlegged one--that kind. Bastard.
