im not the type. of girl. to steal your boyfriend. i swear.
i cried last night while at true, complaining because that was my night, a night i worked for 9 months before being ousted by some fuckin cheese ass mother fucker who i would not fuck. he is gone now, and i am back there in some respect. i lost my shit and felt slightly humiliated, being as broke as i am, but not wanting to make a huge deal out of it, i left. only to then discover in the train station a slipping of two fiddy dollah bills in my bag, which were definitely not there when i got there.
sometimes it’s good to have people around you who are that badass, but it’s an uncomfortable situation to be in. people like to help, i guess, and given the same opportunities and allowances, i would do the same thing for anyone else i care about. but i don’t feel comfortable taking that same help. it’s a pride thing, i think.
married boy got back from moving his wife here the night before last. apparently spilling the beans in some respect to his naughtiness while they had been apart. he left her a couple weeks after meeting me, but not because of me. i had it pointed out to me that i always am attracted to men who are attached because they exude a confidence that some single whiney boys don’t have. i wonder if i could turn a whiney needy boy into something confident and self-assured. i doubt it. i am not about changing anyone. i am about moving in the direction of change (which I think is natural) with someone else.
you either grow together or you grow apart. which is the absolute truth and most of the reason that relations break down like they do. communication and expression. two things i have had little problem with in the past couple years. i have been wondering about a certain someone i shit on a couple of months ago, and can say i have actually entertained the idea of iming him and apologizing. not to open the floodgates to hell. if you do read this, i am sorry. i was wrong for what i said, but you were wrong for how you handled the situation. or maybe we were both wrong. either way i am sorry for saying what i said, realizing i was wrong later and never having the balls to apologize.
the adoption thing. i have been consistently keeping in contact with mark and barbara, my birth parents that have recently come into my life. the entire reason that i chose to seek them out at this point was for the disease i have, which is a genetic mutation that is generally passed along from one parent to the child. it is called marfans syndrome and has made my life slightly more interesting than it was previous to the surgeries and hospitalization. it makes your heart and all the surrounding blood vessels weak. as a result i have had the entirety of my abdominal and thoracic aorta replaced (down to the illiac arteries) as well as my ascending aorta and aortic valve. i have one more conceivable surgery outside of the fact that i have only one functioning kidney. the aortic arch, which connects to your head and your arms. i mention it on occasion, but generally try to sway away from using im as a sounding board. this is a more in depth explanation of my adoption situation for a couple people who have asked. in any case, my mother was 17 when she had me and my father 19. if they were to have waited a couple years to the “normal” age of procreation then their kids (i assumed), would have been the age now which was the age the shit hit the fan for me. i turned 19 in surgery, in other words. so i was looking to protect any family they may have had. outside of the fact that i was born in colorado, which doesn’t have the most slamming medical community in terms of new advancements. this disease has only been actively studied since 1991, and i still have never seen a talk show on it.
In any case, i got a hold of the social services worker who then contacted them on my behalf. Suffice to say, things are going well with the communication, and i am happy as my dad has said, “you did it”; meaning i found them and let them know as i believed it was a moral and ethical obligation.
so this is why i have zero interest in modifications like cuttings and brandings as a general rule. not for myself, and my scars are so personal i would expect people could respect that. i drowned in pain for every staple and every stitch. every scar and every cut. i felt all of it. some people have told me my scars are “beautiful” and some others have indicated they wish they had scars “that cool”.
enough of my rant. that is it.
