Cold days~
Wedding things.
I hate having to “be okay” with something that breaks my heart and makes me feel as if I am worthless.
I loathe it and I feel betrayed.
Part of me wants to cut my losses and move on.
There you go, internet. You can have a post that makes me feel slightly better because I publicised my feelings, but in reality, means nothing really.
Just like my feelings.
| Me: | I just can't seem to actually get my head around the name of the flavour of salted caramel. I've never tried it because I quite literally cannot make sense in my mind of what that would taste like. I meant, at all. It legitimately confuses me to the point where I can't even bring myself to taste it. |
|---|---|
| Me: | I've been thinking about this for a long time and really needed to express my confusion and dissatisfaction to someone who would understand. |
| Rhi: | I love you. And this is why. Salt and sweet are a no no. Why do you need salt in a caramel? And why is there SO much salt that it's included in the name? Like, caramel with a pinch of salt I'd try. But salted caramel? All I can picture it tasting like is salt and vinegar chips with caramel sauce on top. |
| Me: | I just have this image of the Caramello Koala bubbling and melting like that time when I was four and my brother showed me the effects of salt on slugs. |
Not disbelief. Too final, certain, closed. Itself a kind of belief.
Doubt.
My oldest friend, and my newest. She cooked up a good bub in her tum.
The week leading up to my birthday was exhausting and incredible. Receiving marks back for two assignments that I was dreading went better than expected, as I walked away with a High Distinction and a Distinction for my efforts. I trained Sunday night through to Thursday night and by the time it rolled around to put on my dress to head off to family dinner on Friday, it no longer fit properly. Which is a great reason to spend this coming week eating loads of pasta.
True to my usual fashion, I arrived at the restaurant late, but by the time I got there my Mum had arranged balloons and sequins and glitter and party bags and an assortment of other fun things along the tables. This was a bit of a surprise as we hadn’t really discussed it, and being that my family were driving two hours to get to this dinner, I had ensured that I had quite thoroughly discussed the plan with Mum. My face could honestly have cracked under the amount of pressure that my enormous grin was putting upon it.The smile didn’t leave my face once. Family birthday dinner was excellent.
Saturday, the day of my actual birthday, I spent sleeping late while Levi dashed off to “run errands”. I met up with friends and had a late lunch and lorded about the place being the birthday girl, which is something that I’ve never really done before, and let me tell you, it was great. I returned home to find the house looking incredible and the backyard adorned with comfy couches and covered in fairy lights. It was so beautiful that I was genuinely lost for words and the proud look on Levi’s face was almost too much. Ha, errands. You got me. As the night wore on I found myself without a worry at all; Levi essentially took care of everything. “I want to make your birthday as special as I can,” he told me.
I could go on forever about how wonderful it all was and how wonderful he is, but I can hardly put into words the overwhelming sense of happiness I felt this weekend.
Twenty-one will be a good year.
Brag moment:
Levi’s beautiful gifts to me for my 21st a few days ago. Sigh. So lovely. I smell great.
Everyone went out and I stayed in to do assignments.
… Obviously got loads done.
I don’t really know what’s going on right now, but I do know that it’s pretty difficult to ignore someone forever.
The dog next door refuses to back down. The barking must cease.
The local liberals continue to send me propaganda and it makes me loathe the Marxists.
The dog next door will not stop barking.
The liberals will not back down.
I am eating toast and not doing any of the assignments I have to have done by tomorrow.
I also put my butt on one of my housemates for a few seconds, smirked and walked away.
“Did you just fucking fart on me?!”
We shall never know.
Recommended for You: Phil Collins.
YouTube: Judging me.
Sigh. Even the internet knows my secrets.
Doin’ some cool stuff.
