Taylor Swift

A few days ago, I couldn't wrap my mind around what I could possibly write about on my next post.

But when I couldn't stop screaming 4-hours ago, I knew. I knew that there would be use for this blog again. I tend to write when I'm in distress, when I'm angry about something.
And what was there to be angry with? I had gotten a job that pleases my soul and allows me to Grow. I had bought my own car. Gotten a new I-Phone. My mother cooks for me. And in a few months, I would be going to school to get my Masters. 

And the part that made up the beautiful final piece was being in love with my best friend. So I held it in until the skype hung up, and screamed.

See, frugality affords me a few things. After the bills, there was the Save to do the right thing and protect the future category, save for school category, AND, most importantly, save to fly or bus here in there, explore this and that, with HIM, category. For which, I'd become exceptionally frugal.

I don't know where that stash is going now.
I screamed thinking about it. Thinking about 2 months without Starbucks, I love Starbucks.
The next trip would have been somewhere to Asia, I'm sure of it.
And every dollar spent had always come back 10 fold. When the laugh would crawl from the beer-filled belly and emanate through his whole face. If it was a real laugh, he'd laugh with his entire torso and sort of bounce up when something was really funny. The dimples dug deep... I think I was, I am, in even deeper.

I could withstand this long distance and marry him for that laugh alone. Unbeknownst to him, winter trips had already been planned out in my head.

Isn't it strange that I can miss a laugh as though a person had died but he's still alive and kicking right there? Or I could scream as though I were in a war, or I had killed someone? But in fact, it was just an ordinary breakup that happens thousands of times each day? And he didn't even cheat on me, he wasn't even mean, he just... was scared, wasn't ready, was questioning, was ... still in boy mode. 

But break-ups are rarely about losing sex, or romance, it's about losing the dorkiness that two best friends share. It's about losing THE person to spill the secrets to, to show the vulnerability to... when  in the world, I'm a go-getter, a buy your own shit kind of female, a feminist, an... almost indestructible force when it comes to emotions and leaving, things and people, behind. I was secure, sort of, but I'd fuck a short ugly douche-bag in college, just to anger him, just to make him notice what he wasn't paying attention to, create an OK-Cupid, never check it, flirt with other guys when he was too independent... I was insecure. And it worked. It's about a person who makes me feel beautiful without saying it, without me having to do a thing, with nothing on, just by looking at me. When I'm thick, when I'm thin, when my skin was flawless, when I had pimples, braces, or none, when I wore red pants hipster that annoyed him... I still felt beautiful.

The money maybe came back 20-fold, the anticipation made it better, made each moment more cherished. In the drab of Maine, and the heartlessness of D.C., it provided air.

Maybe, because I have never experienced loss, I don't know what fear is. I think Eddie, and people like him, who know what fear is, who are cautious of it, agitate me. I can't wrap my mind around them. Because all the what-ifs steals from the moments of love. I couldn't love him more, but his fear was stronger. His doubts. His youth. And because he should be allowed to feel what he feels, he is right. His feelings are right.

But all of that shit, steals away from the reality that I had crafted. I had always dreamed of getting a Masters. And he was born to get one, if not a Ph D, smartass that he is. We'd take trips back and forth. And I'd drive down on weekends, when he finally returns Stateside to get it. And I'd be exhausted and want to see but one person. And when I'd be done with my degree, I'd plant myself annoyingly all over his presence. And we'd grow up and the world would lead us where it leads us... whichever continent, whichever country, however long, there would be a light by the end of the tunnel, My Eddie stash on hand.
Trilingual, Tri-cultural, Triracial, smartass babies with knowledge of different religions and beliefs in our 30's. Can you imagine? No Fear.

So the screaming, I couldn't stop for an hour. The sobbing, then the screaming, then the sobbing. That now, I had been infected with the grossness that was fear and precaution.
It disgusts me. The fear that, I cannot text stupid stuff to a person I want to annoy most. Or, no "I love you" texts. No, "when are you free, asshole?" text. No talking about how ordinary our looks are... while pretending that we are hot... None of that.
Fear of seeing the day he replaces me with another best friend. 

How many times had we broken up before? But this one bears finality. There would be more screaming. It's ordinary, but overwhelming.  And I apologize to Eddie, as I apologize to the unambitious people I used to be attracted to in high school, for being entangled with a self-proclaimed writer. Either write or scream. Either whine or scream.

Scream for my stash, because it can't go anywhere now, that reaps rewards the way it had just this morning.
My dork is gone.
And I don't want Starbucks.
That money was for him only.