I start freaking out and nihilistically blew a deadline after sitting with my first argument with R----- for a few hours. This isn't an omen. Don't take it as that. By no means was the conversation a good one. I was called out for a shitty set of moves I made a night ago, and I think I addressed it in conversation and on my own time with some dignity and respect for all parties involved. I am by no means done the work laid out for me, but I'm no longer despairing over being convinced that I've blew it with the girl I've liked more than any other as it stands. However, it made me realize something: I still don't know her very well. I started hanging out with her a few days over 2 months ago. I started dating her a month ago and officially started calling her my girlfriend exactly one month ago today. I still desperately want to be a team player here, but I'm relieved upon realizing how early into the game it is. Like, profoundly early. Don't-lose-your-shit-over-it early.
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It's the holiday season, and E--- and I are in new leagues of miserable. At least I am. I'm managing, but truth be told, I'm losing it. I'm in the same boat I'm always in where I stack the end of my term with an Evel Knievel stunt of work to do that would send the average person into a week-ruining panic attack. The same shame and desperate desire to be better wanders outside these weeks, but I'm a year and a half past not being used to it. A week ago, R----- hit me with, "Hey, have you ever considered if you have depression?" That made me sob embarrassingly for like an hour. To my credit, I tried to have class about it. Like, it feels obnoxious to sob in front of someone else. I'm all for emotional vulnerability, but I'm from a very keep-your-fly-zipped-up household, and venturing into hysterics just feels impolite. This went out the fucking window when she sang "Lover" by Taylor Swift for me, which made me cry like a baby. She sings like P.S. Eliot-era Kate Crutchfield. When she hits the high note, her lips curl, and she smiles and closes her eyes wistfully. I don't see her as ethereal. She's significantly more wonderful than that.
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Edmonton has a nationally unique misery to it, especially in the winter. It can feel distinctly bereft of hope in its seaside-looking postindustrialism and severe suburbia. Occasionally, you can find the warmth of my hometown in some neighborhoods, like the one I live in now. The other night, R----, N-----, and I watched the Christmss lights on the front lawn play a prerecorded "Silent Night" under the cover of the first pleasantly silent dark this city has seemed to have gotten all year. I thought of everyone I ever knew that I don't anymore, which I told the two of them. (1)
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Sometimes, I sincerely hope somebody would cut off Julian's penis.
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We're (you and I) are about to go on a year of our Little Dark Age. I'm worried about it, too. I've been talking about it, too. I mentioned it to the fellas before we went up to that lawn and listened to "Silent Night." I don't know what to do about it. A lot is different this year, so that's in our favour, but I'm not sure exactly what has to change to be sure we avoid it, if anything. We might be fine. I'm not sure, though. I will always be your friend.
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Sometimes, I think I desire to drink myself into a GPA-destroying stupor, forever to be mothered by the golden womb of a drunk. But every day, and this is entirely out of habit, I sing to myself "If We Can Land A Man on The Moon, Surely I Can Win Your Heart" by Beulah.
I'll fight,
If you want me to fight
I'll laugh
If you want me to laugh
And cancel out the sun
I will, I will
You know I surely will
I'll fight.
