Sitting here, enjoying the weather as only a northern girl could. Rainy, cold, unapproachable. In between cleaning, I read the story of Abélard and Héloïse, drink too much lemon and honey tea, and drift. Everyone's uninspired by everything uninspiring. I feel furious on P's behalf, because we function under the idea that working means making money, that working hard means rewards. And yet he worked so hard...internet, so damn hard this is the conclusion? Angry for him, with him, so sad. To see work degenerate into automaton status.

Sad for myself. Because I am never enough for anyone. I'm fine, just fine, don't read me wrong. I'm going through the motions, cleaning this apartment, getting up and dressed as soon as he's out the door. Getting things done for school. Just... I want to feel enough despite personal flaws. I want to feel loved unconditionally. I want not to be made to feel like a mess. Not like my every choice either qualifies me as a functioning or non functioning member of my age group or your life. I want to feel like this is home. I want to feel loved without having to sort through the fine print for evidence. I want a hug. I feel like I haven't been hugged, really hugged, since coming back from Connecticut. I want to be there for you. I want to be a bright spot in your life. I want to BE bright for you. I want everything, too much, probably. So I'll wait for that hug and try to be satisfied that everything else comes in time.

But our reality is ours; the most important reality is that which we construct. And with your bursts of negative energy (not frustration, general anger, I get that, it's legitimate) we are BOTH thrown into one shitty reality. And just because you can rationalize saying things to me, feeling certain ways, does not mean that you didn't throw it out into space and give it a life of its own. And that there are not consequences for that.

Drifting, drifting.