Ugh. I am completely and totally headoverheels in like with my StudentBoy, who walked me to the parking garage today after a completely phenomenal debate which he orchestrated almost completely singlehandedly. I adore him, I really, really do, and it's pretty ridiculously bad of me to be so clearly pining for him and thinking of bad scenes from even worse movies like Top Gun for the cheesy frustrations of kicking myself all the time I'm in his presence for the certainty that all in the class can see through my act and are snickering behind my backs at my blatant attraction to this man who is so clearly flirting with the prof for a good grade. Did that make sense? Whatever. He is tall, good looking, smart as all hell, talented, well-rounded, funny, and he makes eye contact when he talks to me and we are always falling into some of the greatest conversations I've had in a long long while with anyone. I want to hit myself when I have to leave because I either stayed too long in his presence and talked WAY too much to hide my interest in him, or because I had to leave and wanted so badly to stay and talk to him for just a few more hours. Bah.

In other news, I am having breakfast with BridgeBoy tomorrow morning, per his request and his and my follow-up at the pool this morning. He saw me in a suit this morning, and I have to give myself props for actually showing up, stripping down, swimming, and then getting out and drying off...all with his eyes in the vicinity and likely watching some if not all of said activities. If he still wanted to have breakfast after that, then, well, God be with him.

So, we're having breakfast, he's buying, and I'm trying to figure out just why the fuck it is that the two friends I talk to about this situation seem to think it's my job to make the next move. As in, it's MY responsibility to move this to a dinner-time arrangement, to suggest we take this to an evening thing. Why is that my job? Why is the ball in my court? Why can't the guy make the next friggin' move so that I don't have to continue being the lecherous coach who can't get a date anywhere but from the friggin pool where she coaches half-clad swimmers? Huh? Where is it fucking written that I need to do that? Why can't he just fucking buck up and ask me? Or, I don't know, fucking KISS me or something? Or, call me? Or, um, something more forward than following up on a breakfast-time offer to buy the next breakfast? Huh? Someone explain this to me, puhlease.

Right. So, I like the BridgeBoy, too, and that sort of complicates things, in a weird sort of way, because it's not like there's anything going on with the StudentBoy, nor SHOULD there be.... So wait, what's the problem again?

Okay, on to a different subject. There were four guys in here today ripping apart the foundation to the building with a jackhammer (yes, they were using a jackhammer in my bedroom) to find a leak in the pipes in the wall between me and the staircase. Not so fun. Also not so fun running all over the building last night explaining to tenants that they had an hour to shower because they would not have hot water after 11pm and throughout most of today. They were thrilled, to be sure.

So, tomorrow is breakfast with Bridge, meet with DD to talk banquet, plan workouts and trip to Sacto, and hopefully, somewhere in there, take a nap. I'm fucking exhausted.

Ugh, I really like the StudentBoy. What to do about this? I'm inches close to telling him he needs to switch out of my class because I can't grade him fairly...but how fucking psycho would that make me? Bah.

Also, I've lost my health benefits. Temporarily. I think. I have to call again tomorrow to make sure those assinine fucks reinstate me before they realize they've hit the jackpot by dropping me unintentionally the way they did. Meanwhile, I don't have meds, and I'm a little scared about it. The vertigo has been here and gone recently, and the tremors have increased in intensity over the last two weeks. And I'm fucking tired as all holy hell...all the goddamned time. I can't afford a relapse right now, but it'd be just my luck to have one right when I can't have one.

I'm not making any sense right now. I've been thinking a lot about the number of suicides I've survived and whether the StudentBoy's comment about how statistically odd I must be to know so many people who have gone out that way is true or just naive. I don't know. I'd like to weave it into a book somehow, and I feel like I'm on the brink of figuring out how to weave it all into something cohesive, but I'm just not quite there yet. Do I just start writing and hope it all comes together eventually? Or do I wait until the connection makes itself apparent and then start writing like there's no tomorrow so that I don't forget it before I get to it? Stuck. Stuck stuck stuck.

I don't want them to be forgotten, and I don't want my experience of being there when they're gone to be worthless. I think I'm still here so that they'll be remembered, or something. I don't know what I'm saying anymore.

I need to go to bed. I'm exhausted.

Oh, but I do like that StudentBoy.

Posted by twids at 9:34 pm