I haven't been writing in my actual journal much lately. Or in general, I suppose. But when I have, the locations have been scattered. Here, in random notebooks, scribblings on pieces of scrap paper. Maybe I just need to start carrying it with me. Or maybe the scattered notes are somehow more indicative of my character.

What have I been thinking about?
I've been noticing how I've been keeping my life so much smaller than I used to. That has led me to a question: Is this a sign of maturity, or a sign of cowardice? I will make a case for both and see if it brings me any clarity.

Maturity. I used to have tons of friends and hang out with people whenever possible. I don't need that any more because I don't need constant reassurance that I am well-liked. I don't need other people around all the time to make up and define my personality. I am now able to decide for myself who I want to be and am comfortable being myself, by myself.

Cowardice. I've been burned so I'm afraid of involving myself too much. I don't want to invest myself because something might not work out, I might be disappointed, I might get hurt.

There's probably some truth to both of those. I just don't know if one outweighs the other or not. I think it makes a difference.



A big topic I've been thinking about is my relationship. Tony is, in some ways, very very different from me and from anyone I normally surround myself with. This has sometimes been a struggle for me to understand his behavior and attitudes. At other times, I just fucking love it. I love that he can be so different from me but we still share the same important values/views. I visited this weekend for the first time in his new apartment. He seems really happy with it, which I'm very glad for. We made dinner both nights and I know he loved that.

On the second night, we got pretty drunk off of very strong margaritas he made with dinner. We ended up talking a lot. He told me he had gone out to Seattle a few years ago and hadn't planned on coming back. Then he hadn't heard from his mom for a while and had a bad feeling that she was in the hospital. He called around and sure enough, she was. So he came back and as soon as he was back he felt like it was a mistake. This story stood out to me for a couple reasons. For as much resentment as I can see he harbors towards his mom, he still really cares about her and he's tends to be very loyal (I've seen this in many ways). But listening to him also made me sad. I was pushing for him to get his own place because I could tell how unhappy he was at his parents' house. But he just doesn't want to be here. He wants to be in Seattle. He said he's not unhappy here but I can't totally believe that. He wants to be out of this place. The only thing holding him here is his job/ the fact that he wants to show he can stay steadily at one job for a long period of time. I guess it just distressed me because I really want to see him happy.

After that we continued getting drunk then went to bed, and something stupid happened that made me feel like he wasn't really into it or focused or whatever. Something that probably wouldn't have bothered me if I were sober. But I was pretty drunk at that point. So I wasn't particularly rational at all. And when I get drunk, boy do the insecurities start flowing. He asked me what was wrong and kept urging me to tell him, I started crying. God, how embarrassing. After a lot of coaxing and convincing, I finally explained that I was just insecure, and told him something that had been worrying me. I told him about my "rough patch," also known as my "no self esteem slutty patch." I was particularly afraid of mentioning it because he had mentioned particular disgust with girls that go to bars and go home with guys. I hadn't been wanting to tell him that at all but I knew it was eventually going to have to happen... And he didn't even flinch. He was just comforting me and telling me it was fine and that everyone goes through a stupid phase like that and he didn't think any less of me. And that night we slept so well together and waking up was wonderful. I just felt really close to him and he seemed to feel it, too.

It scares me to think that I'm falling in love with him. The truth is, the word has already crossed my mind multiple times over the past couple weeks. It feels stupid because we've only been together for a little over three months. And just... gah, I don't know. It's the long distance bullshit. Seeing each other weekends actually is not that bad. But thinking about the long-run, it seems silly. I guess we don't know where we'll be in the next few years and time will only tell. I'm just really afraid of saying it, I guess. I'm afraid it will be foolish or he won't feel the same or whatever. So I keep telling myself to just wait it out, wait and see, get a better feel for things. But I think about it a lot, it's an itch I can't scratch. blaaaaaaaargh, I just don't like things being left undone in my mind like that. So it'll probably keep bugging me. Such is life.