twenty.

why do i even bother

a world in which
ryan is
nothing but
a bad memory

well

i am proud of you too, you know

although
it makes me feel sad

last thought before i sleep

being able to talk to her
and ask her about her new box
to be happy for her
truly
honestly
without losing an ounce of the intensity that i feel now

maybe that is real love
that balance

i will learn
funny
never thought she'd change me that much
but i don't want to be different anymore
just happy

and i will learn if that is what it takes to see her again.

thoughts

i don't really want to write
but then again i don't want to die without a trace

the words are always there.
maybe a remnant when i'm gone, someday
so i might as well get them down

last night i dreamt i woke nicole up from a coma
she loved me until i had to tell her that no
i'm sorry nicole
you have another boyfriend now
think you're happier with him maybe
fuck if i know we don't talk anymore
not in the real world

the look in her eyes
i swear i'd forgotten it for months now
how she looks when she's in love with me

i didn't want to tell her
it was only a dream i didn't have to
but it's funny
i didn't want her to settle for anything less

it's been almost two weeks since the last time i really thought about her
so that means that i am forgetting
it is the right thing to do

apparently during the ocs family visit james michael hill was around
asking my colleagues and trainees about me and subsequently asking about nicole
not sure what's the deal there
but andrew's alright. nicole was right, he's cute, and harmless;
and i was being a complete idiot before.

the days have been flying past really
with nothing much to hold on to, not many people around
that matter to me

not many people have mattered to me
now that i really think about it

i wish i were closer to my parents; my family
my class

i am not very well-adjusted
but i am trying

god i am trying

nine boys to make into officers and some of them don't even give a damn. but this is my job and i will not pass out half-fucked officers who don't give a damn. they all have potential to be outstanding people if they put their minds to it. this i can do at least.

angel misses me terribly and is always delighted when i come home but i think it is because i am the only one in the house who plays with her. i fight with her and run with her and pretend to be cats with her and tickle her until she can't stop laughing.

i will swim and run and write and read and things will get better and before i know it i will be out of army.

ryan you will be happy before the year ends.

rollercoaster

i don't know how to fix my mistakes.

no. bernice was right there. there are no second chances. we suck it up, hold our dignity in, and move on. it's not that hard to do.

for months after the breakup with nicole every day that passed was like a shard of glass in my chest as i thought about her growing happier with marcus. that was pain. it's natural.

what is not natural is wallowing in it. this new blog isn't "moving on". this is just me talking when there is nothing left to be said. i promised myself i would not be like this.

no.

there are other things for me now. responsibilities, work. i am getting better and it is true. i think about her less each day.

soon there will be no more nicole in my head.

what do i know

what the fuck do i know

memory.

soft sliding blankets love hey back trace lips smile touch breathe
maybe want this forever
want this

lucidity?

really,
all this blog proves is just how confused i am as a person.

i'm alright.

a brief list of recent thoughts:
1) i don't want my mum to grow old. i'm scared of things changing.
2) i really want to get out of army. the desperation died off some time back but it's back again these few days, in full force.
3) i miss nicole very much as a person. and i am scared of the possibility that we can never be normal friends again.
4) i am, and may well always be, very lonely.

I don’t want to be interesting anymore.

I don’t want to write anymore. Or draw, or have stupid little ideas about life or things I can or cannot change. I don’t want to have these dreams about desperation. I don’t want to get angry or sad about things. I don’t want to need to do exciting things or go overseas or see pretty places. I don’t want to feel the way I do. I don’t want to be Ryan. I don’t want already.

I just want to be happy.
I just want to be happy.

I want to be in love and hold hands and smile a lot just because I’m with a girl I’m crazy about. I want to give her little hugs from behind and light kisses on her eyelids. I want a stable, boring job I can come home from and be tired. I want to write badly and I want all my doodles to be ugly. I want to be nice and honest and stable and hardworking and boring and loving.

I don’t know why I’m like this.

Ryan is stupid.
Ryan is ugly.
Ryan is self-indulgent and unstable.
Ryan makes people feel unhappy. All the people who are supposed to matter.

I hate Ryan. I really and truly do. I wish he would die. I wish he would just die.

squash

we found a pair of squash racquets and a ball while clearing out the office. since there are like a hundred empty squash courts in safti and i have so much free time now i played squash for the first time today.

it comes to me a lot more naturally than badminton or tennis ever did, and i'm looking forward to getting better.

of course, the only reason why i'm writing about this here is because it made me think of nicole. she told me once about her and squash; about her growing up, wanting to play squash professionally. about how she gave that dream up.

i have a cute image in my mind right now. nicole hitting a ball against a wall, again and again. kinda makes me want to kiss her.

but i've been filling out the days with work, with gym, swimming, running, driving, going out. it's been better. she's back from hong kong now i hope she had a good time. i hope she's happy and smiling and cute for marcus.

some days are better than the others. maybe i'm learning.

i think i'll be spending a lot more time in the squash courts over the next few weeks.