February 13

3:21pm

It’s the eve of my big Miami girls trip that we’ve been planning for months and I’m in my bed crying.

Sam broke up with me in October, but he still makes appearances in almost all of my dreams. I was just cleaning my room and I stumbled across a book he loaned me. All his t-shirts are at the bottom of my dresser because I don’t want to give them back but I can’t stand wearing them. It’s been five months and I just caught myself in my bed with The Cat, actually whispering out loud to myself “I miss him so much. I miss him so much. I miss him so much.”

It’s not that it’s the day before Valentine’s, because I don’t really care about that. It’s not really even that he’s leaving this week for a trip Costa Rica and I was supposed to go with him. It’s that I miss him so much as a person that it actually hurts. I feel like I’m drowning in it. Everyone keeps telling me that it was a terrible relationship and cites the many times he didn’t text me back or rolled over and went to sleep without saying goodnight. The time where he went and had drinks with an ex and didn’t tell me about it. All the hidden texts, all the shadiness. The fact that he never wanted to go on dates or even hold my hand.

Maybe they’re right, and maybe it’s cliche, but they don’t know him like I do. And I still love everything about him, from his mismatched sheets and prized salt water aquarium to how much he does for other people. He holds so much inside him and is so closed off, but we had so many wonderful moments while we were dating. We completed each other, even though it might have been more fire and ice than yin and yang. He made me happy like nobody else ever has. It’s something that nobody on the outside could ever really understand. I know that’s what everybody says. I know this is classic textbook bad relationship and I know I’m not any different.

My life's a freaking Taylor Swift song.

My life’s a fucking Taylor Swift song.

I’m just sitting here thinking of all the ways things could have gone differently. Our issue was timing more than compatibility, and maybe if we tried again things could be different, but I know that decision, if it ever happens, has to be his. If I drag him kicking and screaming into a relationship, it will never make me feel fulfilled and safe. I know I deserve more than what I was getting from him, I’m trying to hard to move on but all of these dates and all of these distractions just aren’t doing it for me.

Thinking about all of this has just exhausted me. I’m a puddle of tears listening to my breakup mix for the umpteenth time. I just wish I could let him go.


3:56pm

ALRIGHT DUMB BUTT THAT’S ENOUGH. Have another Oreo and move the hell on. Get excited for Miami.

It is 10 degrees in NYC and 70 degrees in Miami and I could not be more stoked about the impending 60 degree temperature jump. Have not packed or mentally prepared The Cat for her abandonment.


7:20pm

Packing is going…well. I have currently packed ten pairs of shoes which Roomie has deemed excessive for a six day trip. I love shoes. I love shoes the way some people love crack. I cannot bear to leave any of them behind. I’m already traumatized because my favorite TYPE of shoe is boots, and I am not bringing any of my 14 pairs. South Beach is not fit for boots, Roomie says.

I have no room in my suitcase for my arsenal of hair care products. Need bigger suitcase.

 

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February 5

4:37pm

Have just finished destroying my kitchen in the name of education. My students have complained that we don’t do enough hands on activities (we do as many as I can! they’re expensive!), and since we are doing states of matter right now I thought I might as well show them Oobleck. Oobleck is a non-Newtonian fluid, which means it does not obey the normal laws of Physics. It is cheaply made using cornstarch and water, but for having only two ingredients it is messy as hell.

I was originally going to let my children make the Oobleck in the classroom. I was saved from this by a naptime vision of the bell ringing and my next class coming in to find mass anarchy and cornstarch everywhere. I decided to make the Oobleck myself. This decision has rendered my freshly purchased and non-returnable $30 dollars of measuring spoons and bowls effectively useless. I originally was going to make one big bowl of Oobleck, but then realized that, being a non-Newtonian fluid, scooping it out to distribute it would be quite difficult.

Therefore, I threw myself on the mercy of the Japanese women at my local sushi restaurant for takeout soup bowls. I spun them a sob story about the state of education in Brooklyn and wailed I would buy ten miso soups if I had to. They looked at me like I was insane and gave em to me for three bucks. A bargain.

This became my kitchen:

Oobleck assembly line.

Oobleck assembly line.

Then, The Cat sensed she was not the center of attention. She grew distressed. She emerged from her lair under Roomie’s bed and came to investigate.

Deceptively cute even when covered in cornstarch.

Deceptively cute even when covered in cornstarch.

Now, hours later, I have neatly assembled eight bowls of Oobleck, ready for my kids to wreak havoc with tomorrow. I actually wrote on the worksheet that they were not allowed to…

  • Eat the Oobleck
  • Put the Oobleck on another student’s hair or clothing
  • Put the Oobleck near another student’s hair or clothing
  • Throw the Oobleck
  • Rub the Oobleck on their faces
  • Put foreign objects into the Oobleck

I think I closed most of the more disastrous loopholes, but I have no doubt they will find whatever loopholes are left.


5:32pm

Have been cleaning up my kitchen and lost track of time. Have second date with Likes to Talk at 7:30. We are going to Chinatown for soup dumplings. Everybody who knows me finds the idea of me eating soup dumplings hilarious. I am extraordinarily clumsy and awkward and have never eaten such a thing but have heard they are large and messy and exactly what they sound like.

This picture comes from an article entitled "How to Eat a Soup Dumpling." The fact that this article exists is not reassuring.

This picture comes from an article entitled “How to Eat a Soup Dumpling.” The fact that this article exists is not reassuring.

It is basically a pocket of boiling water, what could go wrong? I really hope they aren’t spicy. I don’t do spicy.

Having lost track of time, I am now in the unpleasant but common-for-me situation of having to choose between dirty straight hair or clean curly hair. My hair does not curl nicely naturally and without a curling iron. It forms a halo of frizz around my head unless I put on enough gel, and then it is crunchy. I am polling my friends and kicking myself for not having time for clean straight hair which is obviously the best option.


5:58pm

Roomie said curly/clean but after I already got my head wet Sister finally texted back and said dirty/straight because boys don’t notice dirty hair. Emotional turmoil. Maybe the soup dumplings will distract him from my hair.