It's Sunday and I'm well dressed and hiding from the world. But hoping it might leak in through my window.
There is caffeine in my system, but even if there weren't, I'm sure my hands would still jitter.

Sedative. I want, I need.

Time for escape. A book, a movie, a conversation. Something. I'm going outside...

I am solemn and sulking. Slow and lack manners.
I'm waiting for the monster to awaken, to take me out to breakfast.
To be grateful is always on top of my priorities, but today it might be hard.
I've stuffed tears three times today already. It's 10:39am.
I'm starving and I'm confident he's still snuggled safe from the world under his floral covers my mother picked out.
I found a DTS program in Muizenberg Africa that focuses strictly on Journalism and media based off of a Christian Worldview. I am overwhelmed with joy and terror. I need financial courage and faith. I'm not scared to go, I'm scared to get there. I'm intimidated by the world in terms of writing.
I have to get out of here. I must. I will.
I have a missions trip I'm pulling for. Uganda, Africa. VBS in the Slums and building churches and home visits. Spreading Christs love. I have got to get out of here. I must.
There are many things I need to straighten out. Like my relationship with my dad.
Maybe that's the only big thing I need to get right.
Steve Fluharty text me on Monday night and flipped me inside out for about an hour.
And I've been dreaming about him again. Somehow, I'm afraid of him. I'm afraid of the connection him and I have shared. I've done my best to disconnect it, but if reconnected, it will be a brutal pain. I need him good and gone forever. Out of my life and not any kind of thought/after thought/subconscious thought. That just cannot happen.
In my dream last night, he was grabbing at me. Just to have a hand on me. Not in a sexual way, but in a--I'm your boyfriend come here, kind of way. And I start screaming, of course. I'm swinging at him, trying to hurt him so he won't hurt me.
My mind is crazy when it comes to him. I woke up in the middle of the night terrified he was going to somehow magically climb into my bed. Terrified. Who is he? What is he doing to me? There is no communication between us, but I know when he's feeling me in his heart, loving me in his mind. I feel it, I swear I do. It's evil and I hate it and I want nothing to do with it.
I hate writing of him. It's the one thing I never want to write about, but it's the subject I have so much to say about. So much. Always. Get him out of my system, oh my God, please.

I'm starving. Wake up. Let me rip you a new one and lets apologize and be father/daughter again.
Ugh.



Someone please untie the knot.

Secret blogging makes me feel slightly insane.

Yes, that sounds about right.

I've never been the girl that wants the Knight in shining armor to come rescue her and live happily ever after, until now.
And maybe that's because you're the first boy that has refrained from babying me and telling me all the shit I want to hear. You don't sweep me off my feet or lull me in any way. You tell it to me straight. Your eyes aren't soft when they connect with mine. They're determined. You don't pity me or plot ways to make my heart melt when we touch. You just do your thing and let me do mine.
I'm not bashing. Hah, no, not at all. The opposite, actually. I hate that I love it, cause it irritates me.
And I want you to chase me, because I think that you should.
And I want you to take me out, because I think that you should.
And I want you to call me, because I think that you should.
And I want something about you to be unexplainably drawn to me, so much so that you can't go a day without some kind of direct connect with my heart.

But you don't and maybe you won't and even if that's completely true, it doesn't dull any of these desires you refuse to feed.

Grrr.