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2018-01-23 01:30:29 (UTC)

Private: "Alabama Pines" by ..

"Alabama Pines" by Jason Isbell, the 400 Unit

I moved into this room, if you could call it that, a week ago.
I never do what I'm supposed to do.
I hardly even know my name anymore.
When no one calls it out, it kinda vanishes away.

I can't get to sleep at night. The parking lot's so loud and bright.
The A.C. hasn't worked in twenty years.
Probably never made a single person cold,
but I can't say the same for me. I've done it many times.

January 23, 2018 Tuesday 12:32 AM

It's been a time, haha. I moved back to Brown on Saturday. That night, I hung around with Moby and his friends. And god, I do find Moby attractive among his buddies. I like the way he's always laughing. I like it when a boy laughs. And I also like that it makes him... boy-ish. He does stupid fun things with his stupid fun friends. Like lighting a rotten pear on fire with my box of contraband lighters (we're not allowed to keep that stuff in the dorm) and a (very flammable) bottle of spray sunscreen that I'd noticed, rolled and dusty under the metal shelves by my bed. I am happy I was able to provide them with the tools needed for this entertainment. And I am happy that Moby's friend lit an empty teabag and that it burned up and floated away into the night like a gray ghost all hoppin' around and cute in the cold thin air.

It's January and the other day I think it was over sixty degrees, but today I was shivering violently in the cold and I wished he was there so I could just nudge myself into his arm. But I figured I already spent too much time with Moby these last few days and that is Dangerous. Because when I'm not around him, I want to be around him (not all the time, but lots of the time. I assume these are Feelings). But when I am with him, I am often a little let down by the Nothing of it? It's not much; it's just us on a bed watching TV. Or more like talking over the TV. And no, not talking—not communicating at least. Saying words, I guess, little stupid teasing things, fake fights that he usually wins because we both think he is smarter than me and Thinking that is enough to make it true.

I went to therapy today. I started crying almost immediately, which surprised me because I didn't think I was all that repressed emotionally but also it makes sense that I am. So I cried a lot, and it seemed like Lance was a bit taken off guard, and I kept trying to distance myself from the "leaking" as Lance called my crying. Well, he also called it weeping, but I was like, "no that makes me feel like a renaissance painting?" although I actually was thinking more of the odd cubic drawings from the dark ages. I hope that is the right period of time, at least. Like that one painting of a guy with a knife through his head, and it's kind of cartoonish and ancient. Sorry. This is useless.

I was still crying when I left and he gifted me a tissue box, which I needed actually because I ran out of tissues the day before. And he set up an appointment for tomorrow and sometime later this week which makes me worried and grateful. I am glad he is paying attention to me. I am glad I did not have to insist he pay attention to me. I'm glad he offered and all I had to do was accept. It makes me feel less guilty, less terrible. I am always feeling terribly guilty for everything. And you might think that's an exaggeration. It's not. Earlier I declined watching a movie with Karina and I used a lame excuse like "I can't focus on a movie right now," (it's just that I didn't feel like trying). Her friend saw me in the hallway a bit later, asked me how my attention span was.


And he said, "Not from what I hear."

And I said, "Oh, you mean the movie?"

"Yeah, haha."

"Yeah, hah, not good enough for that." And then I felt guilty because maybe Karina knew it was a lame excuse and I just didn't feel like watching a movie tonight. And maybe that's why she told her friend about what I had said. And maybe now they think less of me. And it's stupid when I put it that way, but this is how I think, in measures of disappointment.

Lance told me his wife says this thing. When people are tired, she says they look like, "two burnt holes in a blanket," and I identify with that. Oh, I love that.

After I left therapy, I hid out in Moby's room. I was worried my roommate would be back and I didn't want to risk an awkward run-in with my tears all red and glowing stuffed up in my nose. I felt kind of embarrassed, and I regretted letting Moby hang around while I calmed down because what I really wanted to do was bury myself in his blankets and sob. But I couldn't sob in front of him. I instinctively distracted myself with stupid conversation, questions about the shape of his letters, and intermittent apologies that were heaaaavily seasoned with self-deprecation lol.

I thanked him, again, about an hour ago when I was suffering from the urge to touch him again. I texted him the apology, though, because like I said—I've seen a lot of him and I need to calm down and remember that he is a person that I don't want to hurt.
I said: (hey. thaaaank you for earlier. I owe u... tree dollars... or four... or idk some moneys for ur kindness but just Thank. You)

And he said: Seriously, don't worry about it, you don't owe me anything—you needed help so I helped, you did the same for me last night. If you ever need help, please don't hesitate to ask
You can tell people are serious when they use proper punctuation and everything. He was drunk last night, very very drunk off of 14 various drinks. Mostly fireball whiskey. He threw up something like six or seven times over three trips to the bathroom (first time, he did not puke at all). And I was there the whole time, sitting on his bed, watching him be stumbly and drunk and stupid. And then, because he promised he wouldn't remember it in the morning, I told him about all the stuff with Stephanie and I talked about Adrian (since the end of our friendship still digs at me painfully, makes me sad and angry). And then, haha. Then we watched High School Music and we cuddled for the first time in over a month.

It was comfortable and I liked that he smelled like alcohol, but I couldn't sleep because his body produced so much heat. And he made those cooing noises guys make when cuddling, when they pull you closer and just ravel their arms around your body and kind of over your face in a way that is awkward and endearing. Or maybe that last part only applies to Drunk Moby. He kept apologizing and saying, "Why do you put up with me? Why do you put up with me?" and Laney says that this question means he feels he isn't good enough for me. Which is to be expected. It's what we all think. It's why I kept apologizing for crying in his room even though Moby insisted it was fine, and I actually believe that he believes it was fine. I am still so sorry.

He asked me: what is this? And I was flustered by the question. We decided it wasn't a conversation to be had while Moby was drunk, but we will have to have it eventually. Are we friends or what? He says he needs to know, or he'll think about it and turn it into something bad. And I know how that goes, so I respect it.

Okay. Goodnight.