Stormy weather
Monday, July 14th
Jim called me at 8:30...the first thing he said was "You should find someone else." I know! What the fuck???? It turns out that he thought I gave him a hickey even after he asked me not to. Now, I'll tell you, I asked him when we were making out if he wanted one. He said no, so I gave him little kisses on the neck instead. I definitely DID NOT try to give him a hickey! But apparently he has some kind of welt on his neck which I don't think is a hickey at all, but some kind of insect bite! Anyway, I told him all of this and he repented. I wish I had handled myself better...I was crying so much...that shaking kind of crying where you can't talk. He said he didn't want to leave me until he was sure I'd be ok. He asked if I knew that he cared about me. I think he does. Here's my analysis of the situation: I think he's starting to have real feelings for me but he's afraid of rejection so he was rejecting me first, using the hickey as an excuse. I think he's just getting cold feet. Anyway, we're still on for the concert this weekend (if the stupid tickets ever get here!). He sent me an e-mail with *hugs* and an apology for Hickeygate. I'm forgiving him, but I was pretty formal and distant in my reply e-mail. We'll see where this goes.
Some inspiration to get me through this (thank you South Park!):
Goth Kid: I guess you can join up with us if you want.
Goth Kid 2: Yeah. We're gonna go to the graveyard and write poems about death and how pointless life is.
Butters: Uh, uhm no thanks. I love life.
Stan: Huh? But you just got dumped.
Butters: Well yeah, and I'm sad, but at the same time I'm really happy that something could make me feel that sad. It's like, it makes me feel alive, you know? It makes me feel human. And the only way I could feel this sad now is if I felt somethin' really good before. So I have to take the bad with the good, so I guess what I'm feelin' is like a, beautiful sadness. I guess that sounds stupid.
Goth Kid 2: Yeah.
Stan: No. No, Butters, that doesn't sound stupid at all.
Butters: Well, thanks for offering to let me in your clique, guys, but, to be honest, I'd rather be a crying little pussy than a faggy Goth kid.
:)
Jim called me at 8:30...the first thing he said was "You should find someone else." I know! What the fuck???? It turns out that he thought I gave him a hickey even after he asked me not to. Now, I'll tell you, I asked him when we were making out if he wanted one. He said no, so I gave him little kisses on the neck instead. I definitely DID NOT try to give him a hickey! But apparently he has some kind of welt on his neck which I don't think is a hickey at all, but some kind of insect bite! Anyway, I told him all of this and he repented. I wish I had handled myself better...I was crying so much...that shaking kind of crying where you can't talk. He said he didn't want to leave me until he was sure I'd be ok. He asked if I knew that he cared about me. I think he does. Here's my analysis of the situation: I think he's starting to have real feelings for me but he's afraid of rejection so he was rejecting me first, using the hickey as an excuse. I think he's just getting cold feet. Anyway, we're still on for the concert this weekend (if the stupid tickets ever get here!). He sent me an e-mail with *hugs* and an apology for Hickeygate. I'm forgiving him, but I was pretty formal and distant in my reply e-mail. We'll see where this goes.
Some inspiration to get me through this (thank you South Park!):
Goth Kid: I guess you can join up with us if you want.
Goth Kid 2: Yeah. We're gonna go to the graveyard and write poems about death and how pointless life is.
Butters: Uh, uhm no thanks. I love life.
Stan: Huh? But you just got dumped.
Butters: Well yeah, and I'm sad, but at the same time I'm really happy that something could make me feel that sad. It's like, it makes me feel alive, you know? It makes me feel human. And the only way I could feel this sad now is if I felt somethin' really good before. So I have to take the bad with the good, so I guess what I'm feelin' is like a, beautiful sadness. I guess that sounds stupid.
Goth Kid 2: Yeah.
Stan: No. No, Butters, that doesn't sound stupid at all.
Butters: Well, thanks for offering to let me in your clique, guys, but, to be honest, I'd rather be a crying little pussy than a faggy Goth kid.
:)
Labels: dating
posted by Gypsy29460 | 9:41 PM
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