I fell in love with a dead boy.

October 17, 2008

My landlord is coming by my apartment next week, and that means I need to start excavating my personal belongings from the hurricane that hit my apartment. By excavating, I mean cleaning, and by hurricane, I mean how I haven’t cleaned up after myself in a week. Something is probably Kimchi-ing in my sink. However, this is not the worst I’ve seen my apartment, and that’s terrifying.

I cleaned out my closet the other night. I have a HUGE box of clothes to give away. If you want first stab before they go to Salvation Army or whoever is picking them up, let me know. There’s some good stuff in there, it’s just stuff I don’t wear anymore, and Tim Gunn told me the other night if I haven’t worn it in a year, I should give it away. It was a big step: I’m not really good at getting rid of shit because I get emotionally attached to everything. I’m giving away all my Johnny Cupcakes tshirts (I think they all shrank or I blew up and they don’t fit anymore blahhhh) and it feels weird because that kind of pinpoints a stage in my life. It’s just weird. God, I’ll have to buy more clothes or something. Wahwah.

Went out to dinner with my Aunt last night. It’s kind of interesting to hear that social things don’t change much between my age and hers… there’s still plenty of bullshit and immaturity to go around. I think lately I’ve been holding my expectations too high for the people I love. I’ve always held high expectations for myself and for others, but lately, I’m failed by almost everyone I know… I’m beginning to see patterns in my close relationships… specifically with levels of intimacy and to what extent I trust people and how they reciprocate that. I’ve always been a trusting person – I think I’m a humanist in my heart – and I guess I go into every social situation thinking that everyone is intrinsically good and won’t fuck me over. This is becoming a consistent disappointment, and to a certain degree, I am beginning to question if I’m going about this all wrong: if I have conditioned myself into thinking that it’s everyone else – not me – that are fucked up.

And this dead boy, he’s real. I just don’t know if he knows it yet.


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