I Am Walking On Air

I am fucking SINGLE once again. Thank God.
My friend was on the phone with my exboyfriend, and asked him if he was still really into me. He affirmed that he was, and asked if I was still into him. She hemmed and hawed. And told me she told him she didn’t know. He told me she said no, she didn’t think so.
Either way, fuck it. I’m done fucking around and fucking with this guy. I’m gone, and good riddance. Boyfriends only complicate things. Why can’t I seem to figure this shit out?

I ring my mother.
“Hello, hun, how’re you?”
“Oh, I’m in England.”
“You’re…What?!”
She hands the phone to my father. He tells me my mom’s gone hysterical and is putting money in my bank account. She doesn’t understand why I’m in England, but assumes I’ll return in a week or two.
But I was thinking more along the lines of a year or two.
I’m standing with a horse, and my bestfriend who looks like a curly-haired Mick Jagger. He’s British, and invited me to his home country, and home. His parents love me, they all have fabulous British accents, and my bestfriend is everything I could want.
What my parents don’t know is that I’m slowly falling for my bestie, and the scary part is that he is falling for me as well.

That was my marvelous dream lastnight. I also dreamt that I texted my boss telling her I couln’t come in to work because “I’m in England,” a slight variation from my dream the other night where I was speeding around Thailand on roller skates with my friends, trying to find a way back home when I didn’t have a Passport, and instead texting Michele saying I couldn’t come in to work since “I’m in Thailand.”
For someone who hardly ever dreams, my mind’s been pumping out grand illusions.

Editing my old posts made it seem like I had just written them, so I gave up.

Basically December fifth I was oh-so sure I had met the man of my dreams….And technically, I had. He had every trait only the sweet guys in cute chick flicks had. He opened every door, helped me put on my jacket, was playful and kind.

I never realized this dream could potentially turn into a nightmare, and that I am a toy in his dark, twisted game brought on by his psychological disorder. I want to fly away. I will fly away.

I won’t come back to you, Eric.

You are the worst thing that’s ever been mine…

Anyone who proposed to me after only knowing me for a week or two HAS to be psychotic. A week is long enough to know I’m obnoxious as fuck, and endlessly energetic. Not a fun combination. And he wants to spend the rest of his life with me? Nope, sorry. I’m not sticking around long enough to know the dark side of him that comes out to play after a couple more months.r