I've been planning my literary pilgrimages in England, and they are not going to be cheap. This is made extra-stressful by the fact that Coldwater Creek is giving me less than 20 hours each week. I've started to look for a second job, but I don't think it is going to work out very well. I emailed a resume to several places on Craigslist, and I am turning in applications to Michael's and Barnes and Nobles, but in reality I think these places are on the look-out for someone with an open availability and who... I don't know, isn't me.

Sometimes I wonder if I even know myself. Once Ben told me that I could not possibly be selfish because I hate myself so much. I don't know if that is true.

I know that it's difficult to balance emotions. I'm stressed out right now because I don't know where I will live when I get back from London. I'm lonely because I don't spend time with people outside of work. But I'm happy sometimes--at work, talking to Gavin, or even just reading. Yet even at those times, there is a hint of the rest... it's difficult to explain. Am I just always a little bit depressed?

I was on my way to Mozart's earlier this evening and I just randomly burst into tears and could not stop crying. I don't know why. It must be a mixture of things--the stress of the brick house, lack of friends, confusion over Ben, my house falling apart, missing Gavin--but I had to pull over in the parking lot of an elementary school and call Austin. Of all people? But I called him, and he said to give him 30 minutes. Where could I go? I went to Barnes and Nobles and immediately bought a copy of Jane Eyre. God only knows why.

Anyway, Austin met me there and we stood in the parking lot and talked for half an hour. I tried to explain why I was upset, but it was difficult. We ended up just having a normal conversation and I felt like I had kept him up past his bedtime for no reason. This I know is absurd, because I had been so so upset just half an hour before... there is something wrong with me.

And I can't decide what I want for myself. I want to be thin so I feel attractive and am thus happier in general. But what if I can't get thin? I still feel attractive sometimes, so what if I could just feel like that without losing 30 pounds? Some girls are bigger than others. Thanks, The Smiths.

I really should not be listening to Placebo right now.

I came to Mozart's to write and to calm myself with an italian soda, but all I'm doing is being angsty on my blog.

Strangely enough, after that nostalgic blog entry below, I received a mysterious (and wordless) email from Ben that contained an mp3 to a song in Spanish. I'm still trying to figure out what it means. I went to http://freetranslation.com but because it makes my life easier I am not thinking about it. All I can say is that sending me little messages like this (the last was a package of some of my clothes from 9th grade that had no note and was postmarked from New York) is not alright--it seriously fucks with me psychologically because I know it has to mean something (he was the one who taught me that belief!) and I don't know what. I am not the type of girl you never get over. Am I? Me? Chubby little faux-poet with literary aspirations? I'm pretty quirky. I might be unforgettable, and god knows I've stirred up some weird emotions in people, but I never saw myself (really) as that girl who is impossible to fall out of love with. And even if he thinks he is still in love with me (if he really even was to begin with), it's not ok to do these sorts of things when I have a boyfriend. It's just as bad as what Gina did with Austin, if not even worse.

This morning I received a facebook message from Blake. He is not in fact ignoring me and is not mad at me, just not quite sure, apparently, how to tell me that I may not have anywhere to live when I get back to Hendrix in the spring from London! I don't know how to talk about this one right now, because my feelings are so intense on the subject.

I'm reading THE story, the novel-length Beatles fanfic I discovered in the 6th grade and learned all about sex from. It always brings back strange memories for me because I have always associated my sexual adventures with it, because when I had them I thought back to the story to compare description to actual experience.

And even more than just sex, I learned about mature emotions from it. I relate to it every time I read it for new reasons, and can link certain passages back to certain boys.

Ben was the first boy to really touch me, the first to turn me on. He was my first real kiss, first serious relationship, my first notion of what love was supposed to be. Every expectation I have of boys who claim to love me was originally set by him; he conditioned me, in a manner of speaking, to take every detail to mean something important, to be suspicious and jealous, to expect both a selfless lover and a boyfriend who would literally do nothing without thinking of me and acting in my interest. How awful. Although I have always possessed a more sentimental nature than normal, I firmly believe that I owe most of my inclination towards melodrama to him.

Paul was the first boy I dated who saw me naked. He was also the first I went down on, the first I brought to climax entirely on my own. He was also the first (and only) one I have cheated on. He was the first (and only) to write me poems because he felt like it and not because he felt obligated to. I have learned in retrospect from my relationship with him that crying out "love" is possibly the heaviest matter of all.

Austin was my first of so many things. He was the first boy I spent the night with, and of course, I lost my virginity to him. He was the first person I seriously would have married. Although I believe I may have loved Ben, Austin was what we in cliche romanticism would term my "first love." He was the first boyfriend I have actually traveled with, and the first one my parents took seriously. He was the first to actually, truly break my heart. He gave me my first orgasm. He was the only boy to this day who has spent a holiday with my family and whose family I myself have spent a holiday with.

And Gavin. Gavin is the first boy I have lived with, which entails countless other firsts. It's more difficult to describe a relationship when it is still happening.

The point of this entry is that I am feeling nostalgic towards my romantic and sexual past. I am 20 years old and sometimes I really do feel mature, although usually it is not something I consciously consider.

I'm also more conscious of my physical appeal. I go to the gym everyday and it is beginning to show. I dress well. A lot of times I walk with the confidence of a young woman who knows she is truly loved, which I am aware in itself adds a copious amount of attraction to my appearance. Boys looked at me today--in that way, and they flirted a little. I learned that one of my co-workers, Nikki, who I went boating with a couple of weeks ago, has been denying her boyfriend's friend who went with us my phone number. Apparently he will not stop talking about how I am cute (in my bikini??) and her boyfriend Andy is continuously pestering her about getting my number but she has held fast and insisted I am quite taken and very happy about it.

I just need to hold onto this confident feeling and keep it going.

i was out of your league; you were twenty thousand underneath the sea

I go to work, I work out, I talk to Gavin. I go to Barton Springs with Stephanie and sometimes others (read: Mary, Austin). It isn't the most exciting existence ever, but it is not a depressed one for the most part, and as long as it carries me quickly to July 17th, it t'will serve.

Blake has yet to answer my letter and I think he is just going to ignore it. This frustrates me and occasionally upsets me, but if he is not mature enough to respond and confirm his unexplained anger towards me, what can I do? I keep telling myself that he might be out of town or simply just not had a chance to respond, but I can't disillusion myself forever. Sam cut me gracefully out of her life by blocking me on AIM, and I imagine that Blake is trying to do the same. I wish I knew why, but to actively seek answers would only create more drama and this is the one thing that this friend-group (former friend-group?) does not need.

I've been trying to read, and after two quick successes I have come to an obstacle in Edith Wharton's House of Mirth. I dislike the heroine and care very little of what will happen to her, but as there are less than 100 pages left, I feel I ought to go ahead and complete the novel. I don't know what I will read next. Austin offered me the book he just completed by Ayn Rand, but I don't think I'm going to stray from my own bookshelf unless it is to read something contemporary from the list that Dr. Stuber emailed me.

Speaking of Austin, we hung out. It's rather exhausting to explain it. I didn't cry, I didn't get upset, I didn't long for physical interaction, I did talk about Gina, and he did avoid the subject of Gavin. I'm not even going to try to do anything about that, because I love Gavin and he makes me immensely happy and has managed to actually make me take care of myself like no one else ever could.

I'm trying to write again! I wish I knew where to go next, how to polish it. My angst about the future is heavy, but at the present I am just trying to live practically and keep busy to bring my week with Gavin closer. I don't think I have ever missed anybody this much.