Day 20

Over the past week I have been e-mailing the editor of a new magazine that I am hoping to write for in the near future. She has now sent me a few examples of work done by some of the people working with her, it looks promising. She is looking for someone to write about the experience of living abroad, well I am quite open to do that sort of thing, I used to write about it to my friend Cat in Portugal, however, this is different, somewhat more professional, so I won't mention my expectations of finding lines of people with blue eyes for me to drool over, but rather, I'll talk about the experience of actually coming down and living in a place I had only seen for real once for a few days. Whilst I am thinking about the content, it seems she already has a title in mind, so she asked me if I had a girlfriend (oh the irony, and how refreshing that she is assuming I am heterosexual, how continental), she went on to explain that her other blogger is a single girl in Argentina and the name of her blog/column is SWF (single white female), which tentatively puts me as SPM (Single Portuguese Male). I have started doodling, heavily. I am just beyond nervous at this point, I am not sure how comfortable I am with announcing something like that as if it was a trophy or an invitation of some sort. In addition to that, she tells me that her blogger is prone to discussing certain encounters with males in Argentina, so she was hoping I could do the same and comment on the girls. HA! This part made me chuckle. Not only am I too much of a prude to have a title such as SPM (which sort of sounds like the Jewish way of saying SPAM) I would also not be able to comment on the girls, it might come as a disappointment, but I would also be commenting on encounters with men! Ah this made me chuckle inside. Plus, at the moment, for reasons that have been repeatedly stated, I am in no condition to meet men or women for that matter.

 Bah, on that matter, I am feeling more and more ridiculous by the minute. This is the sort of childish relationship that people look back on when they are older and say "well that was stupid, and hurtful, we were so young..." I mean, what sort of love do you have for someone when you can't even attempt to say hello to them? I am living in the eternal hope he will somehow wake up from his slumber and see that I am really sorry for what I did and that I want to be with him nonetheless. Or, alternatively, when will he deem it time to let me know that his feelings for me are no more? As I said, until the New Year. New Year, new life, new beginning. I feel the holidays approaching quite rapidly and I think the time of healing is approaching, I just wish it got a move on because I need to be fresh and ready for my exams and the irregularity of my presence in class is already being noticed. The sort of life I am leading at the moment involves trying to see through the enormous pile of washing I have in my room from the past 3 or 4 weeks and smelling each item I want to wear in order to evaluate the social damage the smell might inflict. So far it hasn't been too bad, but I really need to sort that out. I am down to eating no more than 2 meals a day and to my stomach complaining incessantly every day. I am resigned to look at my phone longingly, hoping that something like "I hate you" might pop up, even that, would be quite refreshing to see. I log into messenger everyday, in the hope that it might trigger another comment, a hello, anything at all. Ah it is indeed frustrating, especially not knowing how he is feeling, I know that all of this is speculation, which is why I repeat these things every day, because I don't know what is happening with him and if he is really suffering inside, or has simply forgotten everything and is living his life happily. Everytime I don't see him online I think about his regular outings to the cinema, that used to cheer him up. Then, every time I go to bed, just like I am about to do now, I have flashbacks, and I imagine his sleeping face, the cats snuggling up to him, the sound of the hard drive going crazy in the corner. Hm, I regret saying commenting on his feelings for me, what do I know. I know the pain he is going through, but we all have different ways to show and to deal with them, and he knows how to hurt me a lot more than I did with my ex. I remember I talked to him every day after dumping him, until, a week or so later, I found out he was already seeing other people. That was the time that the rest of my feelings for him vanished and an enormous sense of injustice took over me, I wanted revenge so badly, so badly, I wanted every bone in his body to crack under a slow moving road-roller. I wanted his mother to read through all of the logs and all of the evidence I had gathered and then ask her to tell me, to my face, that he could do better than me. I wanted his father to know how much he had enjoyed being with his brother, intimately, and his other brother to know how much he despised him. I wouldn't say I am evil per se, but I used to hold a grudge, a very big one at that, and now, suddenly, it's all gone. The mistrust I had carried over from him is gone, the justification I felt in betraying R due to the suspicions and the mistrust I had gathered, it's all gone, but then again, so is he, and no amount of writing can actually calm that frustration and pain. At times, it feels like the whole World has a vendetta against me, that for him to punish me with his silence is not enough, that everything in my life has to go wrong  because of my mistakes. I know it isn't so, I make my own decisions, I affect my own life, and my state of mind is what is making me fail at everything at the moment, but this will change, eventually, I hope. I really have to stop going to bed at this time of night. I end up writing depressing things because I stay awake all through the period when I am just over-thinking everything. I am so going to regret half of the things written here when I read this later...