Yesterday I got home from the restaurant and watched TV for four hours. I can't even recall what I was watching, until the end. I tell myself its stress, that I'm working too much, but its just left-over crap from dealing with the boyfriend. I think just hanging out with him too much gets me down. I can't handle it. He's a liar, in the worst sense, but the sad part is that I know most of this is the product of him trying and just not knowing how. Its a trial and error thing.
But thats the thing of it. I feel like clammy monster for wanting someone who doesn't really care about all of this. Someone who just wants to have fun. Someone who isn't going to fake the drawn-out stares and the incessant compliments just to make sure they're still on the right track. Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't want someone to pretend that they're in love with me, even if they are and they just don't know how to show it. I want the late nights to be quiet, and the anger to be honest, and the mania to subside.
It doesn't matter, I'm moving out anyhow. Soon enough I'll have all that time to myself, and we'll see how well all my hypothesizing and superiority folds over. I've just gotten to the point where I really enjoy my sister, and I haven't really enjoyed living with someone since Jared and Zac in New York. Maybe I'm just a huge mess. Maybe I should move into a house.
Today Israel got back two bodies in exchange for hundreds, for two or three living men who went home to Lebanon, I presume. I wonder who has the power there.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/17/world/middleeast/17mideast.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin

Alas, all the rooms on craigslist compare to the boyfriend's payment for a one-bedroom apartment. I don't care. I need to cough up the cash somehow before mom and sis move out. I just want to be on my own. Hopefully I'll be able to make rent with this new job and loans, and not have to skimp too much on books. I hate skimping on books.

I realized last night, as visions of Hyde and Forman danced before my eyes, that I really do suffer from depression. Probably not more than most people, but I haven't noticed myself falling into lows that affect me all day until now. I haven't realized that all the markers in my life that sometimes alarm me- open sores on my scalp and arms, smoking, not eating well, not exercising, watching tv for alarming amounts of time- are tolls that I am paying for stress about something else, earlier in the day or week or year or lifetime, that I still feel shitty about. Its been a bad couple of weeks, true, and chris is here now, with all his eyes bent on me, and its going to be hard for me to just get me time in. Hopefully once I move out and have my own place I can get some personal, meditative schedule going.

Its crazy how far I've come from last summer in NS. I knew at the time that my life there was fit to make me happy. It was a lot of things: regular meals, good activity levels, regular sleeping hours, and about an hour and a half of yoga and meditation every day. I have been striving for all of this again, but its been really hard to reach here. I really think living on my own (no roommates) will help me in this department, especially if I'm aggressive about my time alone and my time with the Boyfriend.

Memories of last summer come to me now often, with a smug unavailability. I'm sure there are plenty of other outlets that could help me, if I did them regularly, if my life was at all more regular than it is now, that would improve my quality of life. But I know, surely, that the only thing that has ever truly brought me peace is meditation. I have never been as happy as I was then. It was frustrating at times, to be sure (working on a farm and living in one house with nine or ten stinky, horny travellers will be), but all of that seemed to fade so much farther into the background than it ever had for me, and I had been there before. I had felt it much differently there, at other times, other seasons.

The weeks that followed my departure from the farm were very painful. I went to Europe with my (now ex) boyfriend and we had a long, drawn out, working out of our relationship. I didn't exactly make it easy on him, and he was pulling all his old tricks out of his basket. I hate him so much now. Its funny: I've never hated a boyfriend after we broke up before, at least nothing more than a mild irritation mixed with pity.
It ended badly- secrets and lies came up afterward that made that postclosure sting just a little too tangy- and then he started dating S. Just after we had broken up, I had joked with her that she should date him, had long, drunken, gooey conversations about how he had hurt me, manipulated me, how crazed he was. The part that really bothers me is not how fucked they both are, what bothers me is that I know they both like it, a little. Pervs.