I'm really no good at this whole aloof and distant thing. I can close the book and act like I don't care because I have Grown As A Person and I am an adult now and I will no longer be consumed by petty things and overanalyzations of things that weren't really things and mother.fucker. I was doing really well until right around last night. I'm starting to feel some cracks in my stony exterior - you know, the one that keeps all the squishy feelings inside where they belong. Just say no to squishy feelings.
I'm not questioning that it was the right thing, I still truly believe it was. But I miss him. It's only been a week. I'm not sure what that means. A week isn't very much time. Maybe it's too soon to even be thinking about this, because I'm still too close to the situation. How could I possibly miss him, it's hardly been any time at all since I've talked to him. And maybe it's too soon to even feel like there's a difference. But there is a difference. The difference is I drew a line and I can't cross it now. I'm too stubborn to admit that I'm hurt or to even talk to him, and even if I wasn't so fucking stubborn, it wouldn't matter, because what would I even say? Nothing's changed.
Besides, at least with my refusal to open the lines of communication, I don't have to listen to any sort of confirmation that he doesn't give a shit about me, that the absence of my presence was greatly welcomed, and, well, any sort of other things that will just make me feel bad if I hear them come from him instead of my own nagging self-hating brain. I'm willing to bet he doesn't give a rat's ass that I've removed myself from his life. Why should he? I wasn't what he really wanted. And now he doesn't have to pretend like he cares.
In case you're wondering what the fuck has triggered this little bout of self-flagellation, it was something incredibly minor. Like it always is. He unfollowed me on Twitter and this bothers me more than it should. The fact that it bothers me more than the fact that it happened. I mean, sure, I was on one of my I'm-sick-and-thus-mildly-delirious tirades, but I was kind of hurt by it all the same.
I have formulated three theories as to why: 1. I was clogging up his feed with my whining. 2. He no longer cares what I have to say. 3. Seeing my excessive adorableness on the twitters was too heartbreaking and painful and he couldn't watch anymore. (I'm going with Option 1.)(Possibly option 2.)(Maria was nice enough to cast her ballot for Option 3.)
Whatever. It's one of those things that doesn't mean anything but I've forced it to mean something because on some level I am still seventeen and everything is indicative of something else. At the end of the day, I'm still the same stupid girl I've always been, and something tells me that even when I'm old and in a home, I will still be overanalyzing what is happening with that handsome widower across the hall. Just kidding. I'm totally going to be a cougar. I'll hit on the orderlies instead.
Really, though, I'm not sure who the bigger idiot is here. Me, for being hung up on someone who's hung up on someone else... or him, for being hung up on someone he CAN'T HAVE and alienating me in the process.
(I mean, obviously him, because I'm awesome and he should be so lucky, but that's just false bravado talking.)
Maybe we're both stupid and slightly masochistic. At least I was smart enough to realize it and make an effort to untangle myself from the situation.
TRIANGLES ARE FUN, GUYS.
Also, I hate everything and I am possibly going to wear sweatpants to my family Thanksgiving tomorrow because fuck-all. I don't care. I need some pajama jeans. That's what I need.