This weekend, a friend/former boyfriend came up to visit. I smelled trouble from the get-go but, eh. The main plan was to get very, very drunk. I'm sure we do this because we're just oh-so-tortured in the cells of our brains when we're sober. Blah blah blah. On Friday, we started drinking at about 2:30 in the afternoon. We took the train into the city, got dinner, went to a bar, did an obscene amount of walking. It was nice out. My mood started off gloriously. I love the city and I love showing it to people. But as the night wore on, other things happened.
We missed our train by about 3 minutes, so we had to wait an hour for the next one. Early in the wait, he went in for a kiss. I stopped him and straight up told him it was a bad idea, that I know he gets emotional and attached and I'm not there. He said it was too late for emotional and attached but I kept the line drawn and he respected that. Then, we slowly sobered up and conversation went a sad route. You know, the usual, discussing our self-sabotaging, disappointments, romanticism, and how none of it actually matters in the grander scheme. Oh, being 20-something.
After such a dismal train ride, we decided getting completely hammered was the only way to bring the night back to where it needed to be. So we went to my favorite local bar and started our run with tequila. We were wildly successful, then went home and went to bed. The next day we were lazy until later. We went back into the city, had dinner, drank some wine & beer, saw an improv show, then went back to my apartment for more wine. I downed an entire bottled, single handedly, probably within an hour and a half at most. I was very drunk by that point, lying on the carpet and listening to my favorite band. Then he made the move, and I was drunk enough to consent. I'm sure you know what happened next so I'll spare the details.
Waking up was... whatever. A warm body is nice enough but bitterness instantly followed. I tried not to be bitter because frankly I should have known better, but still. I affirmed that it meant nothing and it was best forgotten about. Surprisingly enough, he agreed that was probably for the best. We got food, I took him to the train, he awkwardly kissed me goodbye and told me he loved me. I did not reciprocate.
I am tired of being this girl, and also not. I'll admit, I sort of like this careless drunk I become sometimes, because I like being a little out of control, and I like the way it tears down my walls a little, because I have a lot of love but I usually shade it for reasons that escape me after a few glasses of wine. I don't, however, like waking up in the morning with cold indifference for the person next to me. I'm not even saying I want to be in love with everyone I wake up next to, but I'd like to at least like the idea when I'm sober, too.
Meh. I'm sort of a train wreck on paper, but I don't feel much of it. I do feel my wind escape me when someone in particular crosses my mind. But I shoo it away. Sometimes I consider what would happen if I laid it all out. It'd be very romantic and sincere, to be certain, and it probably wouldn't even fall flat. But in due time, it'd fall apart, which would be more painful. Maybe someday the time will be right, but it's still not now. And I'm far from where I want to be.
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