Boyfriend.

With 27 thousand reasons why it won't work, why do I still have that little glimmer that it will? Why are there so many stupid outside forces that happen to be so stupidly important? I'm trying to actually secure a reasonably mature relationship. I'm not acting like a stupid kid obsessed with her significant other and I'm keeping my head up, putting on a good face, trying to deal with things waaaay outside of my comfort zone. And, wha-hey, giving up sex. And all because I really believe and want things to work out. I have this totally optimistic and bright-eyed idea that after just a few months everything will settle and sort themselves out and I'm not at all used to such hope. I'm overwhelmingly excited about what's gonna come of it and have moments of choking on nerves. I forgot what a surge of emotions this sort of thing can bring. Fingers crossed.

Fuck you.

Fuck you for making me so stupidly happy and fuck you for giving me someone to sleep with at night again. Fuck you for making me hope that something could actually work out for me. Fuck you for somehow creeping past my pessimism and cynical view of everything. Fuck you for telling me I'm awesome and making my heart and head swell and then juxtaposing that with all the reasons why you don't like me, why you shouldn't, why you won't. Fuck you for somehow coming in and with one fell swoop destroying the self-confidence that I managed to have for myself and for the first time in years and years and years actually making me wish that I was different. Fuck you for being you and fuck me for falling back into the place of that stupid little girl clinging to something she knows won't work out, for trying to hold onto the guy with one foot already out the door, and for keeping the bed warm should he decide to grace her with his presence again and give her even a quarter of a chance.

And fuck you for snoring all night and keeping me up.

DragonCon.

Had a ridiculously good time this weekend. Got to get away from work, go to interesting panels about the impending apocalypse and Shadow People, eye Nathan Fillion from afar, lean on railings and judge people, and ogle cute boys in spandex. Could there -be- a recipe for a better weekend?