unrelated

I don't know what to think when I don't hear anything back.

I hate technology.

I don't feel like

I don't feel like it's my fault that you had a fight with him, but I'm sorry if I made you feel that I caused it. I don't feel like it's something I can help, but I do feel like you're blaming me for taking you up the offer of a ride home.
I'm sorry that you argued over it, that I missed your calls (I was in the shower, really) and that it took so long to get home. I didn't mean for that to happen. I would never mean to make anything terrible happen to you, to make you feel anything terrible.
you are one of the people I hold dear in the world.
I would never try to cause you any trouble, aimie.
I'm sorry.

breathe. in.

"I read you. God, I'm good at it, I'm so spot on.... And I'm high enough from all the waiting, to ride a wave on your inhaling. And I'm high enough from all the waiting, to ride a wave on your inhaling. And I'm high from all the waiting. To ride a wave on your inhaling. Because I love you, no? Can't help but love, you know."

I don't know what to do. My emotions are all over the place.
He thinks it's silly that I'm so let down, but the point is that I thought I was really going to get something this time. Some true affection. I guess it just let me down so much, because it's so motherfucking hard for me to share myself with people. So, when I do, it's like
I'm fucking giving them my world.
Just holding hands.

I don't know how to get over this bullshit, because it's not like I can get over being afraid of people without letting myself go with people.
This is a catch-22 if there ever was one.

Or maybe I'm just tired.
I haven't been able to think straight for a fucking week.

and then, on pletyoffish, it matched me to him.
BULLSHIT.

how does Plato's Closet work?

I work at a Plato's Closet. We get customers all the time who are either unsatisfied with what we give them for their clothing, or unsatisfied with our selection.

I would like to set this straight.

Plato's Closet is a franchise. It is basically micromanaged by various owners all over the U.S. Contacting the owner to complain about whatever is not going to change anything, unless it's about a specific employee. Please take into consideration that even though this job is not something you'd want to make a career out of, it is OUR job, and we do know what we're doing.
Frequent complaints:
"But I BOUGHT these from you!"
Yeah, and they were already used, and possibly already a year and a half old, and we don't accept things that look too worn (most of us anyway) or anything older than a year and a half.
"I paid FORTY DOLLARS for these jeans! You're giving me $4.20?!"
Yeah. Our computer system prices everything for us, and generally it prices things about 70% off retail. We give you about 30-40%. So that pair of Levi's that you bought at Sears for $45? They get priced at $12 in our store. This is resale, and it is a business. The company must make a profit.
"Those are BRAND-NEW."
TWO PART ANSWER!
1. I see that, but unfortunately, they are hideous.
2. No, they aren't. I look at clothes all day long and that is not new. It has stains on the knees and in the crotch.
"That's stupid." (in response to our buying guidelines)
well, I don't care. I follow them because it's my job.

As buyers, we are one-on-one trained, we take a 100-question test and have to get every answer right, and we are constantly being sent style updates. Skirts, capris, dresses, jeans, shoes, etc.
It breaks my heart when I see someone carrying twelve tops and they come up and say "so....?" all hopeful and I have to sway that line, "we DID have to pass on everything...."
I really hate letting you down, but it's my job. If I took your stretched out, faded, holey, four year old Gap shirt, I'd lose my job.
But, my store recently implemented a new rule that if you bring a buy in, you get 10% off your purchase for the day.

I realize a lot of the styles and condition may seem inconsistent, but that's because we get buying updates, telling us what the store needs, what to be more lenient on, etc.
Everything about the store is meticulously organized, and I hate how some customers think we don't do anything.
I overheard one girl say "this job would be so fun! there's like, nothing to do!"
Hardly.
I mean, this is not physical labor (most days). It's not the hardest job in the world. But it's WORK. I do my job the best I can, and I actually love customer service. So when you scream at me, call me stupid, or are just flat out rude, it kind of bothers me.

When you bring your items in, to any Plato's, if they pass on everything and you don't know why, POLITELY ask why they passed on specific items. If they say "wear" or "style" or anything, and you don't get it, ask them to explain what that means. We are happy to show you why if you're polite.

I hate letting people leave disappointed, so if you have questions, ask them.

MY advice for you:
don't hover over the buying counter and say, "that's brand new." "I've never worn that." "isn't that cute? I love it."
it's called a high pressure buy, and it makes us uncomfortable. We are going to take or pass either way, it doesn't matter if you narrate it.

to be continued

suddenly

I just hate feeling unsafe in the city.
not being able to walk around and do what I want without worrying that he'll be there.

I thought I'd be able to deal yesterday, and then I run into him at backspace
playing pool with some girl.

and now I really want to hit him and stop even thinking that he exists.

things that make it okay:

aimie motherfucking kiang. that crazy woman makes me feel less alone and like it's okay to be fucking sad because we can make fun of it together.
our lives parallel in drama and ridiculousness and we both make fun of it... it makes it slightly more bearable.
or maybe slightly less unbearable.
either way, I fucking love that woman.

today is sunny and gorgeous and I am going to spend it going to a farmers' market, but first breakfast with dan and bryce who have never hung out before but they're both my southwest portland buddies. and probably two of the males I'm closest with.
I'm actually running late with that whole getting ready thing.
and dan needs to shower cause he's all cow-licky.
I am a girl
and we smell like petunias.
and also my hair would be fucked if I washed it
so I'l be nasty today and just call it Punk as Fuck.

PUNK AS FUCK!

in between what was said and was was not

I got that you didn't want to see me. that's why I'm afraid. because yes, I can take things slow, but in order for a relationship to work, I have to throw myself- as do you- in at full momentum and see where the wind blows. I can't hold back my thoughts or feelings and you have even told me this.
you say I need to tell you what's on my mind, and that you're here for me.
but I can't see you anywhere.
I asked you to come talk with me about what's on my mind
you asked, "right now?" and I said yes. I needed to tell you my thoughts and hug you.
you said nothing, so I assumed you were coming.
I made a pot of tea, and it's sitting on my wooden floor, cold, half empty because I drank what I wanted. the other half is there, waiting for you to reject it for being cold, and I'm waiting for you to reject me for not being as cold as you thought.
how does that make sense, that you would not want someone who so willingly is there for you, someone who cares, who you have fun with and are attracted to?
I don't get you.
one minute you tell me you're afraid of where we're going, and then we're in your kitchen, you're telling me I've grown more beautiful in the past ten minutes.
the next day, I get this feeling that you are still terrified. of course you are. beautiful doesn't mean you want me. it means you can see me.
I feel like such a fool for letting you in. I had this beautiful serenity and solitude that was simple and easily maintained. then you came along and I freaked out.
and I liked you. I like you. so much.
you are kind and generous and caring and you are overall a very good man.
the shared cups of coffee, scrabble and chess ames, teaching me to shoot pool, the rose that wilted too soon, saturday market, seaside, walking on waterfront, kissing you for the first time in my bed.

and you ignore me for three hours after I tell you I'm crying.

just now, you sent me a text message saying "I'm sorry I'm at wunderland I'll call you in a bit."

you say, "Are you okay? you sound like you're really freaking out."

and the pot of tea is on my floor.
and you're not here.

no, I'm not okay at all.

meditate on that.

I went down to the docks to chill out because I was freaking out.

relationships freak me out.
if I want someone I worry they don't want me.
especially when there is expressed concern.

I was meditating on the dock and feeling the waves underneath me, when this boy starts fishing next to me.
long story short, he caught a fish and killed it.

after I had finally centered myself, I felt this death around me and couldn't stand it.
I had to go.

and now I feel bad again.

I hate it.

scared and silly.

yesterday morning on my way home, someone sat across the aisle from me. he had grey clothes, a bicycle, a beard and bright blue eyes. I know this because he stared at me.
after I sat reading from Lloyd center to Woodstock, he finally asked what I was reading. I was reading any easy intimacy by Jeffrey Brown. he noticed the pins on my bag that say "shut up and write" and "let's make slang," and asked if I wrote.
I said I tried.
when he asked what, I said autobiographical songs and fictional short stories.
he asked what kind of stories I was writing.
the way I described it fit really well: the details that make up the moments that define your life.
the way light hits your hair in the sun, the way your lover's throat smells as their heart beats out pulses in the veins, that jolt of shy lightning that goes through your follicles when your fingers brush together over a pen.
he said that was amazing.
I introduced myself and he said his name was Robbie.
he seemed nice, or at least complimentary.

I went home and got ready to go see Nick at Saturday market and made some noodles. After taking the bus down to Burnside, I waited on the fountain and listened to a one armed man play guitar and another man play buckets as drums. he used a metal plate under his shoe as a cymbal. I probably waited about a half hour but it was sunny and warm and since I've been pleased with life this is no difficult thing for me. I'm pretty mellow.
Nick showed up with his brother and didn't come up to me. just kinda watched me. maybe there was a crowd in front of them? I can't remember.
I saw him and he gave me a rose.
it's so odd, this mixture of him being reserved and keeping his hands to himself but giving me this symbol of something more than the space between our bodies.
we walked around the new market for a while, and his brother left after a bit of odd conversation on everyone's part. Nick and I went to Backspace, shared a cup of coffee, played scrabble (he won by a few points) and he coerced me into playing pool by saying I had to.
I'm such a hard sell.
after he showed me the general rule on how to aim, I guess I was a natural, but that's his word.
I think a more correct term was lucky.
I hit three in a row behind my back, which sounds much more impressive than it was.
eventually, we got bored and took a walk down to waterfront. on the way, we got to discussing my history- family and relationships, mainly. it isn't much I like to bring up with most people. talking about insecurities makes me feel like a fool. it seems that every time I trust someone enough to tell them these things, they end up hurting me. I hold back so much from people, and I did that exact thing with Nick. I showed him a corner of this giant spreadsheet of emotion and complexities.
then we kissed.
and now there's this entire city map of my technical difficulties and my secret passageways and all of the dilapidated history. I should have realized that I needed to let go slowly. taking things slowly is one thing, but letting myself give in slowly is another.
once I'm sure about someone, I give them everything I've got. he kissed me, and I kissed him back with my whole body.
it had been a while since I'd had such a good kiss.

and on our walk, he tells me that he's scared of where I'm headed with my feelings, he was just engaged and got terribly hurt and doesn't know how to let go and doesn't know if he'll never hurt me, and for me, these are words of parting.
no one ever speaks to me about their feelings unless it's love or hate.
never constructive conversation.

when we were at dollar tree (getting bandaids) he said I could come to his grandparents' fourth of july party. this surprised me because that's in two months. the longest relationship I've had in the past year is two weeks. everyone leaves before I get to the month mark.
I must be frightening.
we continued talking and he said we should go somewhere on his next vacation (early august). he even said "three month celebraysh."
so, I see him wanting to do these things and be commited, but I also see him waning in certainty.
I guess that's normal.
it just scares me.
just letting go of the shackles I hold myself under with most people is enough to feel like I've lost so much. I don't want to feel like I chose wrong, again.
I understand that most things will not work out in my life.
I just... really want one thing to.
I don't mean life long. I just mean.... I want to be happy.
and I keep thinking I can let people into my heart, but once I do, they see inside and run away.

he said the idea of me being cold and unfeeling, like he thought I was, was somewhat attractive. something he possibly wanted.
I'm the opposite of unfeeling and cold.
I'm burning and sensitive and intimate beyond barriars.

I'm the kind of girl that holds hands for hours
I listen with both ears and heart
I feel with every muscle and ounce of ceratonin I own
I love with every breath

so this is hard.
this letting someone in.

and not feeling like...

like I'm a wine glass full of dark, bitter nectar
on a table covered in white linen
and I've handed him the edge.