I'm not meant for you and you're not meant for me

Tomorrow night I have a first date. But tonight I'm crying. For some reason, Facebook sent me our message history. Messages from 5 years ago. Back in 2006 when you had an ex-girlfriend you desperately wanted back and I wanted to start something with someone new. 5 years later and those people still fuck us up. 5 years and we're still talking.

My friends won't listen anymore. They're done with it. They say "He's an asshole, move on, you can do better." But to me I can't. I can't do better than you.

You are a god in my eyes. I close my eyes and think of your chest and can't imagine ever wanting someone else the way I want you. I spend my days convincing myself that we're friends. Very Callie & Mark from Grey's. Except minus the lesbianism & the baby. But we're more George & Meredith from Grey's. Except I'm George, but plus the Meredith tears.

But you don't feel the same.

So I'll go on this date, but I know when I go home I'll have a text from you.

And I'll respond.

And I'll try to say something witty. Or maybe you'll insult me. Or maybe both.

And then he'll text. Saying he had a great time and loved my eyes and my stories about my cat and work. And in reality, that's pretty much perfect.

But I'll blow him off. And probably text you "where have all the good guys gone?" And you'll say "I saw that girl tonight, the one I dated, I'm freaking out." And then we'll get drunk on vodka and probably text "Throbbing cock" / "Wet pussy" to each other.

And I'll wake up and go to work and so will you. And nothing will be different.

Except everyone's heart is broken.

I wanna wake up where you are/I won't say anything at all

There's that way I feel when I wake up in your bed. My eyes crack open and I see that it's daytime. I feel my bare skin against the sheets. I breathe in deeply. It smells simple and clean, like recently done laundry. I roll over to the right, because I always sleep on the left, and see you. I want to trace the lines of your body with my fingers. But I close my eyes instead. I always imagine that this will be the last time I see you. The last time I touch you. It's this sinking feeling that I feel every time. You always get out of bed first. But not this time. This time I opened my eyes, looked at your back, and sat up. I want to pull you close and kiss you and hear you say "see you soon!"

But you don't. And so I won't.

Snow, work, and fake shovels

In case you live somewhere warm and sunny, this is what the rest of the country has been dealing with.



And snow like that makes me think I should have been a teacher. Or chosen any type of job that doesn't get worse when you don't go combined with weather like this. So Tuesday I was driving to work and lost control of my car blah blah so I made an adult snow day. I watched stupid tv, ate girl scout cookies, and got drunk by 5 p.m. But then today I was all, ugh, seriously time to dig out and go to work like a real adult. But I'm not a farmer or construction worker so I don't own a shovel. So I spent an hour digging my car out with this:



And then I went to work and had 42 voicemails. From people in Florida saying "Bitch you better call me back, I've called you 4 times today, this scratch on my car has to be fixed ASAP."

Then to top it all off, I get home at 7 p.m. and then realize my face is red. And rashy. And gross. And at first I'm like what kind of face disease do I have?! But then I was like maybe this from an hour of laundry basket snow scooping at 8 a.m. in 4 degree weather. Maybe.

Is it too late to be a teacher? Also, as I drove out of my apartment I saw a guy shoveling with a pizza pan. I wonder what his face looks like.