Sometimes my way of making myself feel better is by thinking:
He is unbuttered, untoasted, plain, old, store-brand wheat bread. And she is a warm mushed banana jam.
And together, while unpalatable to me, they make an excellent snack for someone who is having some serious bowel problems.
I am fruit gushers. While toast and fruit gushers are both appealing foods that could perhaps be eaten separately but on one plate in one sitting (or six or seven or more), they are not a widely palatable meal. No one wants a gusher sandwich.
It would never have worked out.
We would be awful together.
Bananas and toast are great. People with diarrhea need bananas and toast because they’re both so fucking boring that peoples’ bowels are like “yeah i dont have a problem with this, i can make a solid movement out of you”
Peoples’ bowels would have a problem with a gusher-wheat-bread sandwich.
It was never going to work out.
so the girl that i got sort-of cheated on with lives on my floor and like i talked to her and we’re okay but we’re not ever really going to be okay like we’re fine to each other’s faces (i use that term loosely because she does not look me in the eye ever) (and she shouldn’t)(and neither does/should he but whatever it’s a long story) but i think i still have the right to be a little mad when i’m by myself
anyway she’s gorgeous and pretty and skinny [and white] and i was asking my friend [who, like myself, is indian] for the umpteenth time if she thought that she was pretty and my friend was like “dude you need to stop being so racist to your own race” and i was like what and she said “all the girls that you’ve ever pointed out to me as pretty have been white”
and like my world fucking shattered
because i never thought of myself as that, i always thought my idea of pretty was all-inclusive but it’s absolutely not and she’s absolutely right and i feel pretty awful
and she said like “you’re never going to think of yourself as pretty next to her because you’re indian and you like never view your own race as being comparable” and like “so what, this one loser asshole prefers white girls over indians, he’s a dick anyway and that doesn’t mean that you should think white girls are prettier than indians too” or something (it was in hindi so that’s a loose translation) and jesus christ like i don’t know if that’s true but i’ve never heard someone say it to me?
I’m not being rational in my head. I want to break dishes and smash things and beat the shit out of people and hurt myself at the same time. I had a dream that I slapped her hard across the face, and I woke up with my palms itching to do it. I want to sit in a stylist’s chair and dye my hair dark and cut out every bit of hair he ever touched, change myself in little ways because I don’t want to be that person I was. I want to write my name in gasoline on their street and toss a match to set it alight. I long to spit my poison all over the place. But there’s no use throwing tantrums. Don’t you learn this as a child? Sometimes they give you what you want if you scream and pound your fists enough, but mostly you just get ignored until you stop.
“You’re being so rational.” Only on paper.
nothing beats waking up to this kid very very drunkenly playing the ukulele and singing “No Woman, No Cry” but replacing the word “woman” with “Tanvi” outside my door at 3 in the morning and then watching him violently puke into a toilet and then pass out on a futon.