Ok. so Taylor dropped an album about a month ago (ay ay ay). As a good cookie cutter white girl, you all HAD to know this post was coming. ACTUALLY, this post is like the most spur of the moment I've done in a while. Those often turn out to be my best posts. So we will see, maybe starting off with telling you about the new Swiftie cd was a weak start, maybe I've already lost half of my readers.
Well I have been thinking a lot about boys, because, whether or not I like it, some boys have had quite an influence. I'm just gonna shake it off. Heartbreakers gonna break, break, break.
I do tend to run. I run when I can't handle boy things.
So let me take you through a journey. We'll call it 'exhibit A.' Most of my coworkers will not be surprised when I say I was more than a little bit infatuated with the night manager at my latest job. I use the word infatuated because I was completely aware that we were not compatible on basically any level, and I say 'more than a little bit' because I worked late nights and did not have much else to occupy my mind. I won't describe the nature of our relationship not because it was scandalous, but because I tend to have very awkward, difficult-to-explain relationships of ANY kind with boys I fancy. Basically it's just not worth mentioning, and yet HERE I AM.
The context of this story is that I was leaving. I was leaving my amazing coworkers because I was leaving the state. I was moving across the country for...for many reasons. Bad coworkers were NOT one of those reasons.
So this was literally the last time I am ever gonna see this guy in my whole life. The interaction went splendidly.
I sheepishly approach him, he's dutifully doing his job, stocking shelves or something manly like that. He had his dolly-cart with him. (I call it that because I don't know what else to call it: but it's important to note that it had a bar to push it)
So we said our goodbyes, which were less awkward than I thought they would be, he even gave me a hug. A nice hug too. Hugs mean a lot to me because well, I'm a hugger, and I'm also tall, which can make hugging a challenge at times.
This was not one of those times, the mans taller than me.
Well, maybe.
Also maybe this hug wasn't a good idea because it got me even more nervous. We begin to walk down the [bread] aisle together (wow that escalated right?), and as he's pushing his dolly, I place my hand on the bar as well. I do this because, you know, it's occupying both our walking space, and we are walking and talking together, casually, super casually and I'm so smooth. Moments like these hand placement is everything, but I was trying way too hard to be so casual that I accidentally place my hand DIRECTLY on top of his hand that's pushing the dolly. This is when all my smoothness is thrown out the window and my mind bursts. From what I can remember, I stuttered out a breathy apology and started RUNNING. I bolted, no doubt in front of the dolly as he's pushing it. I think, I THINK, I sought solace in my female coworker. And by seeking solace I mean I ran to her as fast as I could from where I was with the man, and 'hid' behind her, disregarding the fact I'm about 7 inches taller than her. That's the story of how I never became the salt to his pepper.
This concludes exhibit A. I have a feeling that I've already shared this in one of my posts, so sorry if you just had to read it twice.
I have many other examples like this, but I am not super eager to prove my point further. Because the point is just that I run. They are the hunters we are the foxes. And we run. Except there is not we. There is just a me. I run. I always run.
I ran.
So here I am, exactly one month from returning to the States. I am fully aware upon my arrival, break time is over. I am unemployed and currently seeking work in my area, a tiresome phrase.
As far as my emotional and mental state go, I have good days and bad days but the good days are outweighing the bad. Three months ago, I would have said the opposite.
On the good days I am excited to go back and start over in Florida. I'm excited to be a part of my family there. I have an opportunity to be a cousin, niece, granddaughter, and "aunty" to a whole set of people I've always just known OF my whole life.
On bad days I hate that I called it quits in California and I wish - with everything in me - that I could have taken the bad with all the good. I hate that I had to leave the ones that it was all working with. It honestly keeps me up at night (it's midnight while I'm writing this) and causes my heart so much grief. I constantly think "oh gosh if I could just have gotten over myself it could have been so good"
Yes, it could have.
I have to accept that I wasn't strong enough. Some day I might be, and when that day arrives, I will know what to do.
I hope to reach a point when I can look back not with sadness for things lost but with joy for what has been. Some day, but we are not out of the woods yet.
Well I have been thinking a lot about boys, because, whether or not I like it, some boys have had quite an influence. I'm just gonna shake it off. Heartbreakers gonna break, break, break.
I do tend to run. I run when I can't handle boy things.
So let me take you through a journey. We'll call it 'exhibit A.' Most of my coworkers will not be surprised when I say I was more than a little bit infatuated with the night manager at my latest job. I use the word infatuated because I was completely aware that we were not compatible on basically any level, and I say 'more than a little bit' because I worked late nights and did not have much else to occupy my mind. I won't describe the nature of our relationship not because it was scandalous, but because I tend to have very awkward, difficult-to-explain relationships of ANY kind with boys I fancy. Basically it's just not worth mentioning, and yet HERE I AM.
The context of this story is that I was leaving. I was leaving my amazing coworkers because I was leaving the state. I was moving across the country for...for many reasons. Bad coworkers were NOT one of those reasons.
So this was literally the last time I am ever gonna see this guy in my whole life. The interaction went splendidly.
I sheepishly approach him, he's dutifully doing his job, stocking shelves or something manly like that. He had his dolly-cart with him. (I call it that because I don't know what else to call it: but it's important to note that it had a bar to push it)
So we said our goodbyes, which were less awkward than I thought they would be, he even gave me a hug. A nice hug too. Hugs mean a lot to me because well, I'm a hugger, and I'm also tall, which can make hugging a challenge at times.
This was not one of those times, the mans taller than me.
Well, maybe.
Also maybe this hug wasn't a good idea because it got me even more nervous. We begin to walk down the [bread] aisle together (wow that escalated right?), and as he's pushing his dolly, I place my hand on the bar as well. I do this because, you know, it's occupying both our walking space, and we are walking and talking together, casually, super casually and I'm so smooth. Moments like these hand placement is everything, but I was trying way too hard to be so casual that I accidentally place my hand DIRECTLY on top of his hand that's pushing the dolly. This is when all my smoothness is thrown out the window and my mind bursts. From what I can remember, I stuttered out a breathy apology and started RUNNING. I bolted, no doubt in front of the dolly as he's pushing it. I think, I THINK, I sought solace in my female coworker. And by seeking solace I mean I ran to her as fast as I could from where I was with the man, and 'hid' behind her, disregarding the fact I'm about 7 inches taller than her. That's the story of how I never became the salt to his pepper.
This concludes exhibit A. I have a feeling that I've already shared this in one of my posts, so sorry if you just had to read it twice.
I have many other examples like this, but I am not super eager to prove my point further. Because the point is just that I run. They are the hunters we are the foxes. And we run. Except there is not we. There is just a me. I run. I always run.
I ran.
So here I am, exactly one month from returning to the States. I am fully aware upon my arrival, break time is over. I am unemployed and currently seeking work in my area, a tiresome phrase.
As far as my emotional and mental state go, I have good days and bad days but the good days are outweighing the bad. Three months ago, I would have said the opposite.
On the good days I am excited to go back and start over in Florida. I'm excited to be a part of my family there. I have an opportunity to be a cousin, niece, granddaughter, and "aunty" to a whole set of people I've always just known OF my whole life.
On bad days I hate that I called it quits in California and I wish - with everything in me - that I could have taken the bad with all the good. I hate that I had to leave the ones that it was all working with. It honestly keeps me up at night (it's midnight while I'm writing this) and causes my heart so much grief. I constantly think "oh gosh if I could just have gotten over myself it could have been so good"
Yes, it could have.
I have to accept that I wasn't strong enough. Some day I might be, and when that day arrives, I will know what to do.
