This past week, in a nutshell

-Monday: Seems that not having this BC in my system messes with my hormone something awful as day two of the placebos made me unable to control my emotions which led to Evan seeing how upset I was at his constant raid schedule which led to him feeling bad, me feeling bad for making him feel bad and a revamping of our deal regarding the game.

-Tuesday: monster cramps from hell sent me home from work early (could barely stand). Spent the day in bed curled up in a ball wanting to cut my uterous out with a fork.

-Wednesday: At work two hours longer than I was scheduled trying to make heads or tails of the new merchandising setup that the whole store has to be revamped with in the twelve hours between close on Sat and open on Sun. You know, instead of doing it piece by piece through out the week, because that would make sense. Downloaded and watched the last Harry Potter movie because Evan hadn't seen it (a fact that he likes to rag on me about because I went by myself instead of asking him to go a few years ago when it came out. Oops, ha).

-Thursday: went in on my day off to make up for Tuesday. Was determined to stay until I got everything set up for Saturday, but then got a call around 5 from Evan saying he had a seizure. Drove straight home, resisted the urge to say "I told you so" seeing as how he hasn't taken his meds for nine months, stuck around at home in case he had another, and, after a few hours of nagging and talking behind his back with his mom, finally convinced him to make a Drs appointment. Unfortunately, the earliest he can get in is September 1st.

-Friday: took Evan into work since he can't drive until he gets his meds straightened out with the Dr (and then prolly not for a long time after that as, I guess they'll take away his license for six months or so since he had a seizure). Went in again on my day off for a few hours to get as much done as I could, picked up Evan, did last minute shopping for giftwrap, hurried up and made myself look pretty, saw Dan and Sarah tie the knot (awww), went to the reception, got our dance on. My legs are killing me, ha.

Today: Took Evan to work, and now I am at work for at least twelve hours straight to get this damned merchandising reset done. In the mean time I was supposed to to go Evan's family reunion tonight but it's out of town so that's not happening (which I can't tell if I'm disappointed or relieved). He and his brother are leaving this afternoon. I guess he's coming back tonight instead of staying over because he has to play in church tomorrow. In the meantime I am planning on picking myself up a bottle of wine and getting wasted the moment I get out of here.

Yeehaw.

I feel like such a bad gamer for thinking this, but I'm beginning to get the impression that Evan is addicted to WoW. It's becoming rather upsetting. He's been raiding all week, which is cool, but tonight I said "hey, can we just have some us time without the game" and he says "sure!" So we watch the last three eps of Pushing Daisies (it's over! *bawl*) and eat some pie to go along with it, and have a good time hanging out together but it's getting late and I mention going to bed and snugglin' up and he agrees but logs on "just for a sec" to see if his brother can make him something. Fair enough. But as soon as he logs in a guildie invites him to the group for the raid they're doing tonight. And he accepts. And is now raiding. And I'm kind of pissed. Generally I understand about this kind of stuff--I play, too after all. However, tonight was supposed to be "date night" with everything that involves and now I can barely keep my eyes open and he's gonna be at it for at least another few hours. And I know I could just say "Babe, I'd rather you not play right now" and he'd log off, but if that's what he'd rather be doing, then who am I to deny him what will make him happy?

It's just frustrating. I read him this silly questionair about whether or not you're addicted to online gaming and he answered 2/3 of the questions with a "yes" (though I answered about half of them that way, so I can't really talk). He's not so bad that it's interfering with his job or responsibilities, but it is getting a bit ridiculous.

Bah. I'm such a shitty girlfriend to get bothered by this. I'm going to bed.

I seem to have lost my ability to read people. Either that, or the last few boys I've been interested in are just impossible to read.

I went out with Harry, tonight, to the movies (saw the Bucket List, which was great, by the way. A bit bittersweet at the end, but still really good).The odd thing is, then, that when he dropped me off at my apartment, my goodnight kiss was nothing more than a peck before he pulled away. Okay, I get the hint, he's not that into me. At least that's what that says to me, specially after we've made out a few times, so I think we're past the awkward goodnight kiss stage. But then he says that he should be back in town in a few weeks--he has to go to Italy (he works for an Italian company that has offices over here) for two weeks, and what should be bring me back? I told him to "surprise me", but now I'm super confused. I'm fine with the idea of him not being into me--he lives on the other side of the state. I don't know why I'm getting myself involved in the first place, but, unfortunately, he intrigues me. But why, if this is the case, would he offer to bring me back something from Italy and make sure to let me know when he's coming back? I am so confused. I want to ask him what is going on, but I don't want to be 'that girl". I know I've been out of the game for a while, but I don't remember things being this complicated. Why can't I find another boy like Danny who wore his feelings on his sleeve? I never had to be all self conscious or questioning with him, I knew from the first time we hung out how he felt. Stupid boys.

Speaking of stupid boys, I think Rob's back in town, but he didn't return my call, though I did speak to him online a few days ago. Ah well. I made my effort. If he's serious about wanting to stay friends, it's his turn.

This has just been an all around disappointing week. Over the weekend Gregg was in the area for a wedding and we were going to get together when he drove through around here on his way to Niagara. I ended up having to work, but he was going to visit me there, so I gave him the address of the restaurant. Turns out, for some reason, there are two Cranberries in this freaking state, and the one he ended up in is two hours in the wrong direction. So that killed that idea, which sucks cos I really have been missing the kid for some reason. I haven't seen him in almost two and a half years or so. Boo on that.

Then Harry and I were supposed to go to the Improv Sunday night, but, based on him having family things to take care of (his grampa is sick and he had to take him to the hospital for preventative measures), a miscommunication (he thought the show started later than it did) and awful road conditions, he didn't get into town till way too late to do anything seeing as how he had to wake up early for work. So Evan came over and we watched Idiocracy, which is awesome enough that it almost made up for it. Almost.

Then yesterday, when I got out of class, I discovered my battery was dead. That was exciting. Of course this is also the one day that I forget my cell phone at home. It took me an hour to find someone to jump it and get enough juice for it to turn on and by the time I got home, ran in, c hanged, and got to work I was almost a half hour late. And actually, seeing as they, for some reason, thought I would be in at three (which is impossible as I don't even get out of class till almost 230), I was, by their standards, even later. Grand.

My English professor is sadistic and assigned us 60 or so pages to read for tomorrow, which meant I had to go get my books, today. Stood in line for an hour and a half or so, and ended up a bit late for Algebra, which sucks cos I need every moment of class time there I can get). I'm doubly bothered by my English class because we have to analyze poetry, which is one of my biggest annoyances with lit classes. Why do people automatically assume there are higher meanings and symbolism in poetry? Yes, I know that, generally speaking, there are, but what if that's just a generalization made by people assuming there will be? Can't a person just write something because they feel like writing it? Why does there have to be more to it than that? And, of course, we mostly study poetry by dead people who can't stand up and say, "No, really, I just felt like writing a poem about a wagon". Ugh. I am not going to enjoy this class, and that bothers me.

Good thing, though: my final project for my Children's Lit class is to write/illustrate a children's book. I'm excited. I'm considering doing something explaining death/grief to kids in a secular way. Something that I would have liked to find when my sister was dying. Paired up with the fact that I'm taking that Psych of Death/Dying class, I think it will work out in an interesting way. We'll see. It will either be that or something about a sock monster who lives in the dirty clothes under your bed.

Class and then work, tomorrow. Fan-freaking-tastic. I'm kind of sad that I'm not going to bed with a goofy smile on my face because of a boy. Stupid confusion.


OH! I forgot to add: I dreamed of Danny last night. Was the first time in a long while. I forget how it was set up, but he just showed up at my apartment and I was really excited because I thought that he had somehow come back from the dead. I told him all about going to see his family for Xmas and then mentioned the Death/Dying class that Evan and I are both taking. He looked sad at that (he never spoke in this dream for some reason, but I could tell what he was thinking in a telepathic dream way), and I told him not to be upset, because it wasn't just because of him that this class would be good for the both of us to take. We both had lost people close to us (my sister; his father) and this might be beneficial for those reasons, as they were both terminal illnesses, than because of him, because his death was sudden and different. But it was okay, I told him, because he was back now, so it didn't matter. He looked even sadder at that statement, like he was going to cry and then I realized. You're not really back, are you? I asked. He shook his head. I'm dreaming, aren't I? I asked. He nodded, and we both started to cry a bit and so we kissed, and it was...strangely awkward. As if I have gotten so used to the kissing styles of other boys (all....two of them that I've kissed enough to pick up style), that I forgot his. Which is a sad thought. But then I woke up.

I miss him. I miss dreaming of him, too. It really has been...god, months, since I have. At least like that, where there was interaction and knowledge of his death like it was a visit of sorts.

I want so many things right now that I have no idea what I want. Strange how that works, innit?