I’ve been living on coffee and nicotine …

… and my body feels about ready to collapse at any second. I do this thing where I either binge eat or eat nothing at all. Just one more totally fucked-up thing about being me, but I hear it’s pretty common. Stars are dancing in the corner of my eyes and I’m supposed to be a journalist and it’s all I can do to sit here and look like I’m not working and not scream my fucking head off because I’m so strung out. Everyone has bad days, and this would be one of them for me. I’m feeling more unsure than usual. Is it because I haven’t had any food? Is it because I’m unhappy? Do I need therapy? I fucking have no idea.

I want to be a kid again and have no responsibility. This is all a horrible, fucking joke.

Boyfriend material?

I made it three weeks before having sex with Z. Funny how that’s a long time, nowadays. Everyone I told acted like I was holding out for years. In other news, I feel okay about it. I don’t think it changed anything, and we decided afterward to only see each other. That would make him my boyfriend. Right?

I guess, though, there’s always this little insecure part of me that wonders, now that he’s had it, is he going to back away? Will the dates stop? Will the cuddling stop? Will the, “I really like you’s” and the “You’re amazings” become few and far between?

Just because I decided to have sex with him?

He’s a great guy, and I believe that he likes me, but I’ve been burned enough times that it’s hard for me to not wait for the other shoe to drop. The “I’m not looking for a relationship” phone call, or a lack of phone calls at all. I get scared, and I don’t want to ask for reassurance or confirmation. I just want to trust the fact that I’m the kind of girl he could like. I think I am. Right?

Slip and Slide

So Z and I have gotten into the habit of making the 45-minute journey to each other’s homes. Until last night, things had been relatively nonsexual, basically due to the fact that one or both of us tends to have too much to drink when we meet up. And neither of us really want, to put it bluntly, to fuck things up by fucking.

So it was interesting to be fully, soberly aware of tongues and lips and necks when we started kissing last night. And it felt so hot to feel almost ticklish at the touch of his hand sliding into my underwear — I thought it sweet that he didn’t know if it was okay to go there yet, and I almost grew impatient. All of that self-consciousness that comes with being in a new relationship is there, although I’m trying to get over it. So I put his hands where I needed them to go (he didn’t need much help) and really, truly tried to turn my brain off. I wanted to feel, not think, and I think I did better than okay this first time around.

It’s not like I’ve never done any of this before. I’ve done a lot of it before. And I find it unnerving that I’ve been willing to screw the brains out of people I like about a fraction as much as Z. But when it comes to him, I feel like what I’m starting to hold onto is too precious to give up with something forced or shallow.

An exercise in self-hatred.

I am on day number 2 of a no-carb diet, day number 5 on a seemingly endless bout of PMS and day number oh it’s countless stuck in this brain of mine.

I get so nervous when I don’t hear back from Z in a timely manner, like he’s just gonna blink and decide he doesn’t want to see me or talk to me again. A big part of me is scared he’s going to figure me all out and realize I’m so not what he thought I was. When will I get to the point where I feel sure that he’ll be on the other end, even if I’m not calling?

I am hungry. I’m tired of feeling fat, but I’m also tired of my jeans cinching into places that were much slimmer a few months ago. I know diets don’t work, but crash diets do, and I am a big fan of instant gratification.

I hate myself today. I hate everything today. I want to go home, but I’ll hate that too. Some days, the only answer is sleep.

Newness

I started this blog with intent to write about my conquests, because when I started this, I had many of them. Not all at once, but certainly enough people added up over time, becoming these embarrassing memories I somehow decided to share.

Drinking, sex, drinking, drugs, dating, rejection, fear, boredom, variety. That, unfortunately, has been what my life has amounted to in the past year and a half or so. I never thought I’d become this, and I constantly try to get back to where I started. I really like who I used to be.

But this post isn’t supposed to be depressing.

I intended to take time off. I promised myself I would. That lasted about a week. I’ve been seeing one person, Z, for a few weeks now. And so far, we’ve only kissed. We drink together and I tend to babble about how much I don’t want to screw things up with sex. How much I want us to eventually, after awhile, have sex while we’re both sober. I tell him about how much I like him, how much he makes me laugh and how smart I think he is. In a word, he’s awesome, one of the sweetest guys I could ever imagine meeting. Like, holds-the-door-open, pays-attention-to-my-stories and is-SO-kind-to-my-friends kind of sweet. He’s totally disarming. I feel really lucky.

So who knows if I will hold this together? I am probably too fucked up to sustain a relationship, but maybe I’m becoming more self-aware. Maybe I really did learn something from my last heartbreak. Maybe I’ll want to hold onto him, because he’s actually someone I could convince myself I deserve.

I just like the newness of him and the total surprise this whole thing has been. Most of all, I like how wonderful it feels to have someone drive so many miles so late at night just to lie down next to me.

Swimming

I spent two days on Match.cm before deleting my profile. The main problem is that I recognized about three people I knew, and that was just weird — one of the guys I’d actually been on a date with before (we’d met in a bar, natch), and it was the most excruciating four hours of my life. We went for sushi and wound up watching “Wolf” at my house, because it was one of those free crappy movies on OnDemand. Anyway, when he messaged me on Match, I knew I was probably in the wrong place. Actually, I think I’m just in the wrong place when it comes to geography — if I were back in Chicago, living in a bigger city with more prospects, I think it would be a different story.

And, weirdly enough, I might have met someone. Well, not met, but reconsidered someone I’ve known for about a month. Remember the bigoted jerk I made out with in Indianapolis last month? Well, Z is his friend, someone I actually ended up enjoying more by the end of the trip than anyone else I’d spent it with. We ran into each other last weekend and I, shot through with courage by a couple vodka tonics, confessed I had thought about him since then, and maybe we could hang out sometime?

He smiled, told me the move was “ballsy,” and we did end up hanging out with a few of my friends the next night. We haven’t kissed yet. We’ve just hugged hello and goodbye, admitted a mutual crush on the other and talked on the phone. Actual talking! Not texting (although there’s a little of that) or e-mailing! How revolutionary.

I suppose it’s more friendship than anything, which feels awesome to me. Taking it slow feels absolutely how things SHOULD feel when you are learning about someone you could like.
And I could get this all wrong. He could turn out to be incredibly immature, or nothing special or a slew of other horrible adjectives I tend to convince myself are good for me.

But I’ve given nothing up yet. So far, I’ve got that going for me.

Burning it down.

I made it three days without a cigarette, and gave in today.

I’m sorry. I can go without drinking, without sex, without everything else … just give me one vice, so I can flick away ashes in 90-degree heat. Give me something to burn while I wonder how I got here.

Match.com

Today, at work, I found my fingers plucking out “match.com” into Firefox’s browser while I was supposed to be writing a story.

Okay, time to be honest: I registered once before, but only on a lark. I don’t know my user name or password, and I didn’t complete the profile with a picture. This time, I don’t know why, but it felt a little different.

People use the Internet every day to find love. Could I be one of them? Once, I responded to a stranger’s message on MySpace, and we ended up hanging out a few times. It wasn’t love, but Chicago is a big place, and it was nice to meet someone in a different way than the usual booze-filled rampage.

But Match.com? Actually paying for people looking for the same thing I am? That’s all a bit different. I only just completed my profile (and I submitted a picture this time), so it isn’t quite ready for broadcast yet.

So now, I’m wondering if I said the right things to get me noticed, like clicking the right Interest boxes.

I didn’t want to lie and say my body wasn’t curvy, so I didn’t, even though I’m sure it would’ve gotten me more responses to select “athletic” or “average.” I guess I could squeeze into either of those categories, but I’m a big fan of my boobs and hips [my favorite part about me] and ass. That’s who I am, and in no way do I think that’s less appealing than someone who clicks “slender.” If someone doesn’t want curves, well, that seems sort of boring.

Under Smoking, I selected “Trying to Quit.” I’m on day three of no nicotine, and so far I’m doing fine. I stick a piece of gum in my mouth when I start to crave a smoke, and it’s going alright. Who knows what will happen when I drink or am around smokers, but so far, I’ve lived another day.

When it came time to write about who I wanted, I just tried to be honest. I want someone who doesn’t make me feel like my heart is gonna break and I’m gonna die alone. Most of the people I meet are fucking painful. Most of the guys I meet are jokes. I hope, I hope, I HOPE that someone is out there who doesn’t make me want to rip my hair out at the dinner table. Here’s hoping. I want someone like Ant, my first love who I still need to tell you about, before he broke the snowglobe and changed who I was for good.

But anyway … Match.com? What the FUCK am I thinking?

Aww, fuck it.

In the absence of any real crushes or love interests, I’ve decided to do a little work on myself in order to waste time until the next waste of time comes along. I fluctuate between wanting to find love and being totally okay with being single about 100 times a day, and right now I just happen to be comfortable with being alone. I don’t know if it’s the same thing as being lonely, but I have a feeling it’s not.

Anyway, I suppose there’s just not much to say if it’s not about guys or sex or drinking or dating. I’m not doing much of any of those lately. I think that’s a really good thing. Have I said that already? I don’t know.

So here’s my plan:
1. Quit smoking. I’m two days in and I’m doing okay. The only time I’m tempted is when I’m driving. I love to smoke and drive. But I’m learning to cram gum in my mouth if I start salivating over the thought of nicotine.
Seeing myself in pictures with a cigarette between my index and middle fingers is just starting to gross me out. So unclassy.

2. Eat better. Eh. Everyone needs to.

3. Stop paying attention to boys I don’t like just because I’m bored. It’s not nice.

4. Sleep naked. I wake up feeling better about myself. And when I catch myself looking in the mirror at a body part I don’t like, I’ve taken to telling myself it’s okay. Then I hate it a little less. Only a little, but less. It’s a start.

Sex dreams. Enough said.

I obviously have not had good sex in a long time, because almost every time I fall asleep I have a vivid sex dream. I sleep at least 9 to 10 hours a night, so usually this is enough time to have at least two ridiculous dreams about two different partners.

Last night, for instance, my first go-around was with Will Ferrell. And not just normal Will Ferrell, but Will Ferrell in “Semi Pro” syle — complete with afro. I remember little except having some weird sort of R&B music on to set the groove. Strange.

The next one was a little bit closer to home. It featured Ben*, this guy I had a fling with last winter. He’s older than I am, he’s 30 and a seriously unstable bartender. I used to call him “The Walking Red Flag.” But when I finally gave into sex with him, it was probably the most intense session of my life. I had the presence of mind to cut off contact with him after that, because I didn’t need to be chasing around someone who was so dark and troubled and sexy, because he really was all three. Now, we’re friends, and he just had a daughter with someone. Frankly, I’m surprised it’s his first.

Anyway, back to the sex dream. It was in a Key West beach house that belonged to my grandparents, and I remember searching for a place to have privacy. We’d start, then stop, then start again somewhere else. It wasn’t particularly great, but when I woke up I felt like such a fool. I haven’t felt that sort of lust — while awake and functioning — in such a long time. I think my lack of carnal experience since moving here has gotten the best of me.

In other news, I can’t wait to go to sleep again.