The cat's out of the bag.
Mood:  d'oh
Now Playing: Maroon 5 - Secret (Maroon 5 is such a fucking cliche but I don't care)

Well, that makes 5 commandments officially broken now, as of today. Shit, you could take 7-10 right off the list already, and I'm still only in my twenties.

Ah well. What's done is done.

Now I have to figure out how to put all the shit back in Pandora's box (no pun intended) without anybody knowing about it.

Moonstruck
Mood:  hungry
Now Playing: The Love Song of Ronny Cammareri

"Everything seems like nothing to me now, 'cause I want you in my bed. I don't care if I burn in hell. I don't care if you burn in hell. The past and the future is a joke to me now. I see that they're nothing. I see they ain't here. The only thing that's here is you - and me.

Loretta, I love you. Not like they told you love is, and I didn't know this either, but love don't make things nice - it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren't here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and die. The storybooks are bullshit! Now I want you to come upstairs with me and get in my bed!"

-Ronny Cammareri, Moonstruck

You've Got Mail.
Mood:  special
Now Playing: Aaliyah - We Need a Resolution

Thumb in the bum day. Literally.
Mood:  don't ask
Now Playing: Tori Amos - I Don't Like Mondays (cover)

So today B.'s all, "would it be different if I wasn't married?" and without a beat I'm like, "Uh, yeah? What the fuck?"

And then later I thought about what was said, thought to myself, "SHIT" and went back to him and made him swear he wasn't even thinking of leaving his wife for me.

Jesus, what a day.

And all that was before my crazy-ass pap smear, where the gyno accidentally got a glob of lube on the floor and the nurse slipped.. and before that she mistakenly handed him the giganto-clamp for maternity patients and when he showed me, ("she thinks you need this size, haha!") I nearly jumped off the gurney.

Jesus, what a day.

Oh yeah, and then I finally get home today and I drop all my (nicely organized) student papers into a big heaping pile in the parking lot. I'm pulling leaves out of homework papers as I type this.

Jesus, what... well, you know.

The Widowmaker.
Mood:  accident prone
Now Playing: Fiona Apple - A Mistake

Today was B.'s birthday, so I let him kiss me. I know, I know. But I can explain.. sort of. I wanted to have a day; just one day, without consequences, without worrying about what the next day or next week would bring. I always want to kiss him, I just know better. Today I decided to play dumb.

I was hoping that it would be awkward, that I would realize this isn't what I want. But he reached down and picked me up and kissed me so hard my eyes rolled back in my head.

You know, Maria was talking earlier about this susceptable blood pathway in the chest called "The Widowmaker." I don't even know why she mentioned it today. Anyway, apparently it's this thing called a "Widow maker lesion" that refers to a severely narrowed LAD (a major blood vessel to the heart muscle). Perfectly healthy older males can just drop dead from it.

As I pulled away from B. (on kiss #24354), I rested my head against his (very broad) chest. His pulse was racing, as though he just snorted a line of cocaine. I realized then that *I* was his "Widowmaker." I would be the death of him. But ooh, what a sweet slumber it would be.

So anyway. Suffice it to say, my brilliant plan of a "time out" was not so brilliant. Moronic, even. Ergo, I've realized I need a plan.

Here are my options.

A) I sleep with him once, and then end it. The chances of this happening are slim to none, though. I get addicted to everything. Coffee, cigarettes, cuss words. I can't even eat one potato chip for christ's sake.

B) I sleep with him lots and lots of times and just be his whore. Later on, I'll win the award for Girl with Lowest Self Esteem 2006.

C) I end it now. This, too, is highly unlikely, seeing as how I almost broke my vibrator when I got home from work today because I was so turned on.

D) He leaves his wife and we fuck all the time. Appealing, but, no. It would be an awesome fling, but it the end I just ruined his wife's life for a few months of fuckin'. And even though, apparently, this woman is a huge bitch on wheels, I still can't see destroying another woman's entire world for sex (ok, awesome sex) with her husband.

E) I move to Europe.


I'm thinking maybe a combination of A), B), and E).

Sigh.

Traveling without moving.
Mood:  quizzical
Now Playing: Ryan Adams - Come Pick Me Up


Two steps forward, two steps back.

Why the fuck do I even bother moving my feet?

cigarettes and cold showers
Mood:  not sure
Now Playing: Morcheeba - Never An Easy Way
I regret leaving without kissing him. But if I stay and kiss him, I end up regretting that, too.

So, today, I did a little of both.

The way he touched me earlier (even though it was just a light, gentle caress) makes me think that sleeping with him might be the hottest thing ever.

That's probably the most dangerous thought to have rolling around in my head right now, but it's there, and I can't help it.

I'm exhausted.

Still.
Mood:  down
Now Playing: Beck - Today Has Been A Fucked Up Day

Permission to engage the enemy, sir?
Mood:  amorous
Now Playing: The Cardigans - War
Today was day 1 of FCAT.. the state-wide standardized exams that every grade school child is required to take.

So that means myself, the three other teachers on my team, and 95 or so students all sat in the cafeteria for a few hours and bubbled in darkened dots onto gridded answer sheets. Well, actually, the students bubbled in stuff.. we teachers just sat around and watched them. Tomorrow I'm so bringing a magazine.

A seemingly inconsequential day, except for another curveball thrown by B. As I'm sitting at one of the small cafeteria tables (another teacher only a few feet away), he scribbles a note on one of the recycled-paper cafeteria napkins. It reads: "I still love you."

I immediately grab it and wad it up. What the fucking hell of fucking what the fuck of fuck. Love? He actually wrote 'love.' Not, 'I still like you,' or 'I still want to do it with you without my wife finding out.' I mean, those things I knew. I knew and we dealt with it.

We shook hands on Friday and went to our separate corners. I even built a moat with a little wall between us, to keep out the smooches, with his full approval. I wave at him on my side of the wall, and he waves back. But now it seems he's throwing catapults with little love notes attatched to them. Asshole.

In other news, I think a fellow co-worker is on to B and I. Her comment today, when I complained about doing something: "Why don't you ask B to do it? He'll do anything for you." Hmm. Ruh roh, shaggy.

Ugh. I think I'm coming down with something. Day-Quil, kick some ass!

Happy Accidents
Mood:  accident prone
Now Playing: The Notwist - Consequence
Last night, I dreamed of car accidents, one after the other. I don’t remember much, as is the case with dreams, but I do recall sitting in my car on a street gridlocked in traffic. It’s night-time. It’s always night in my dreams. Anyway, there was this car in front of me that got into a minor-fender bender with another car. I could see it coming a mile away, and I just sat there and watched. The cars maneuver around so that they can pull off the road, and again, I sit in my car and watch. And then I hear it. From behind me, I hear the sound of a speeding car; the sound of an engine roaring and a horn, blaring. It gets louder and the headlights appear from behind me, filling my car with white light. The car shoots past me and hits the two other cars, and just before it does I cover my face. I hear the explosion of twisted metal, and as I lower my hands from my face I see fire and blood.

And then I wake up.

As is the case lately, B. is my first thought upon waking; a happy melancholy that is rousing but at the same time exhausting. On these weekend mornings, mornings where I have nothing to do but remember and imagine, he’s a warm sip of coffee with a shot of liquor…the stimulating feeling of adrenaline that always leaves a bitter aftertaste.

I’ve come to hate Saturdays. I used to love the promise of an agenda-free day. A day filled with sitting on my ass, drinking a lot of coffee, watching endless, mindless tv and smoking as many cigarettes as I want. But now each sip of the mug, each flip of the channel, each drag of those cigarettes brings another question, or another possible answer, regarding B. This fucking guy. I liken my brain to an old-fashioned candy-press machine.. A hard brick of an idea will enter, and the gears and the grinders will work and work at it until it becomes taffy, stretched taut and malleable to any shape. I love him. No, it’s not love, it’s just lust. No, I hate him; he’s a married man. Grind, grind, grind goes the taffy.

I think I’ll go shopping today. I tell myself it’s only to waste the day happily wandering around clothes racks and spending money I don’t have.. a favorite past-time of the female. But I know I’m going to go so I can find a cute top to wear on Monday so I can trot around in front of him and show him how cute I am.

God, I’m pathetic.

We talked for a while yesterday about how we can never be together. He told me how he wakes up in the middle of the night, jerked awake with the uneasiness of an unsolvable equation. “I can’t figure out a solution where I’m not hurting someone,” he said.

“There’s no light at the end of the tunnel for us,” I say.

We talk for a little while about how not being ‘involved’ is the right thing to do; if we can’t be together-together, at least we can still enjoy the happy torture of working side-by-side.
“We crashed into each other,” I laugh. “We got into a minor fender-bender, but now we’re back on track.”

“But what a wonderful crash it was,” he said.