May 02/2017

Dear A,

1.I miss you! Uh. September is a long ways away.

2. I have decided to stop applying to jobs and start my own tutoring business. I should probably set up a WordPress for that too.

3. I had a tarot reading done, around finances and career. I liked it, I wish I could get once done once a week. Maybe once a month I’ll go. I don’t know how to write about it. Not because it was so mystical or profound per se. I’ll do a separate post perhaps.

4. I need structure to my life. I’m obsessed with structure. I think too much. I hate thinking too much. It doesn’t help get things done and it makes me feel alone.

5. Writing is frustrating. I wish I could just cut myself open and smear my guts onto a wall. It would be far more to the point. But it’d be sloppy. That’s why writing is good. We can be raw and refined. Precise.

6. I’m not sure what to have for lunch. I really want that mung bean pasta we had. It was very filling but at the same time not too heavy. I think I’ll make tzatziki…

7. I feel sad and alone, but not crippled by it like in the past. It’s just there. I’m trying to feel less ashamed. Of everything that happened. I feel guilty, or something like it, for coming back to Vancouver. I’m glad I came back. It has worked in my favour. But it was such a defeat, to move back home. I never thought I’d be here again. Isn’t that the way it goes? Living with my parents. Who fully expect I’ll get married and be a housewife within a year or two, it seems. Very odd. That my job will be to take care of my husband. Lovely… Moving out feels impossible, but everything I’ve done has felt impossible. Finishing school. Working full time. Working out daily. Sparring. Sleeping normally. It’s just another possible thing. I just hate that they’ll be mad. Another good thing for which they will have disdain. I have to accept it. I cannot be mad at them for being who they are. It hurts me too much. It’s not worth it.

8. I really want nachos but I know they’ll be too heavy. Look at me, being so mature.

About Undecided Pseudonym

A woman who remembers enjoying writing.
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