Rena’s blog

My friend dragged me to see him in the middle of the night.

We talked, and made out, and cried, and made out for two or so hours. He wants me to call him today. He wants to give me what I want.

I cried so much because I didn't understand what I was asking him for or what I wanted and I was so scared that I would leave and immediately start telling myself I didn't want to see him again.

He told me he still loved me. I said I probably still love him. And I said how we definitely can't go back, and I'm not sure about forward; that we definitely can't be friends, but I wouldn't mind something in between.

I know this is going to hurt someone, someday soon. But I hope someday we'll be able to be friends.

For now, I just want him.

Why do I have to still be thinking about you three years later? Why am I still dreaming about laying my head across your stomach, about kissing you in the shower, about letting you tie me up?

Why do I still want so badly to fuck you again?

Why am I spending my nights and my days trying to rationalize why calling you is a stupid idea? And more importantly, why do I keep having paranoid thoughts about how I've gained weight etc. and you'd probably reject me anyway?

I don't understand. I don't understand. We had so little in common. We were never on the same wavelength intellectually. We fought constantly and made each other miserable. And yet I still get the feeling when I talk to you (about once a year), you still want me. You still call my friends on Valentine's Day and cry about the end of our relationship. I still dream about fucking you.

And we don't talk, and we don't see each other, and you think it's because I hate you, that I've always hated you, when the truth is that I stopped seeing you because I didn't know how to deal with the fact I was still self-destructively attracted to you.

I'm still afraid to see you.

Think I might not be worrying so much about my dress now. He just made a post about getting into a new relationship.

Whatever. So I have no prospects. It's not like that's really different from the last three years.

The big date is coming up, and well, I'm pretty sure he knows it's a date by now. He knows he's my escort for a formal function, anyway, which is good enough. I still need a damn dress though. Ugh.

I had a dream about kissing him last night and it was majorly pathetic. For one thing, I wasn't me. I was Hilary Duff. And I wasn't just Hilary Duff, I was Hilary Duff playing an ugly mousy girl. Sigh.

I'm pretty sure he's interested in someone else anyway. I dunno. I just have this fear I'm gonna graduate college without having gotten laid even once. It's like being a reluctant virgin again.

To-do list:

1. -Buy a little black dress
2. -Invite him over during the summer
3. -Get him drunk
4. ???
5. Profit

I feel like I'm in middle school, getting a boy to agree to be my date without telling him it's a date. Sigh. And we tiptoe around each other trying not to name who the person each of us likes is, and I'm sure it's not mutual. When he saw how depressed I was, he said "I'll write out my emo rant too and we can be crying buddies."

I'll take anything that gets me closer, don't get me wrong, but I'd rather be another kind of buddy. Sigh.

I hate how I'm able to talk so easily with my friends but as soon as I get the first hint of liking one of them, I clam up and flip out about every little move.

I feel like I should think it's inappropriate. I feel like I should be ashamed, or disgusted, or... something. But I'm not. Somehow dreaming about him has made me completely ignore the age difference and our relationship dynamic. I might see him as a brother, but then, I read Simon/River. I mean, I'm young yet, right? Dreaming about a guy three years younger than me seems more significant now than it will later.

It produces a knee-jerk reaction in a lot of people, but I remember what it was like to be 14 and dating guys in their 20s. With the exception of one incident, I don't believe that I was ever taken advantage of, and I don't believe that it hurt my mental or emotional development in any significant way. I'm not trying to say that every young person is like me (there are of course tons in the same situations that can be affected negatively) but I think that there are a lot who are similar.

So. I woke up, and I didn't feel disgusted. And I didn't feel ashamed. And I doubt it's a dream I would ever try to act upon. But it was damn hot.

Welcome to my vox. This is an anonymous blog, but part of what I will be discussing is the need for anonymity and disassociation when talking about certain things. It might also be a commentary on the heightened need for anonymity as technology continues to become more and more invasive. (Hi, Big Brother.)

As a warning, my entries will probably contain discourse about sex. It may be philosophical, academic, or even (let's face it) masturbatory in nature. If you can't deal with that, I wouldn't bother reading more.

I'll probably talk about racism as well. If you're not willing to challenge your opinions on the definition of racism and your personal role in a society built on institutionalized racism, that doesn't mean you have to stop reading. But I'm not always going to discuss with you, so pick your battles carefully.

I won't hesitate to lock things and ban people who start shit, so if you're reading for the lulz, I'd suggest that you not let me find out about it.