I still trust the tingle in my spine when I'm touched
Aside from just loving him, Nathanael also knows me better than anyone. I'm not that hard to know, but he knows the crooked little shadowy spots where even I get lost.
He's the one who talks to boys for me, since my dad doesn't. Of course, from Nathanael it comes out like, "are you treating my sister like a bitch? Cause I'll fuck your shit up, man." He means it, too. He listens to rap.
(Off topic: I woke up singing Ludacris this morning. The actual lyrics in my head were, "we can do it in the white house/ tryna make them turn the lights out/ champaign with my campaign/ let me do the damn thing/ what's my name? what's my name? what's my name?")
Tonight he told me something I had known, and had lied to myself about for so long I had forgotten it: I'm not going to fall in love until after graduate school.
Almost prophetic, that boy, and often times despite him being completely strung-out. But he's clean now. I say again. This cleanliness is new to me, still.
My entire life I've been able to listen to my gut and it's the only thing I put faith in. Perhaps later in my life I've begun to call my "gut" the Holy Spirit, but it's all the same sensation the rest of you have.
Like the day when my mother told me people can get PhD's in anything, and I knew I'd never stop until I had one.
Tonight I gave Nathanael my cop-out of the last couple years, "oh, I'm just waiting for Tylere to fall in love with me, but I guess I'm just too difficult."
Bullshit, my brother said.
He reminded me that I've kept myself free of a relationship by my own doing because I'm busy right now. That's why I left David (because he would have made me bare-foot and pregnant, and I was fixin' to marry him). That's why I hang around guys who don't commit. That's why I cower away from guys who are actually interested in me. That's why I find reasons not to date guys I'm actually interested in (like "he smells like soup" (name that movie reference)). If I ever happen to fall asleep next to a guy, I usually leave before he wakes up.
My eyes are on the page. My heart is in the classroom. Just five more years and I'll be done.
Thirty's not too old, right?
The only exception would be someone who was choreographed alongside my course of action like a fucking Rockette.
When I pick a graduate school, though, my decision won't be weighed down by a boyfriend, the same way my decision to move to New York wasn't. The same way my decision to earn a second bachelors wasn't. The same way my decision on where to drink tomorrow night isn't.
I'm sorry for making it sound like poor pitiful me can't score a boyfriend.
So, here's a completely humbled Michaela.
And no, this isn't the first time. In fact, this is twice in a row.
That's a Neutral Milk Hotel quote, but it's perfect for right now. More than perfect.
I'm humbled because I've been wrong and acting like I had been wronged. I'm on a path. I'm aspiring to a goal. And I need to stop letting my petty whiny ass bitching tortured soulful writer attitude get in my way.
What fun will this journal be without me bitching about boys? We'll have to find out, because I really ought to desist. I'm misleading. I'm a tease, you know. Dirty dirty little meany-pants.
Oh, and don't even suggest a snack-snize boyfriend just to "tide me over" because I don't know how to do that. I'm 100% or nothing, and so I've resigned myself to nothing, because 100% goes to the adventure of living right now.
But get me drunk. I might cook you breakfast and play video games with you all day.
This is a picture of a label on a strange candy I found in the Museum of Natural History. I'm sharing it with you all now.
