Sans WB

Ok, ok, it’s ironic that I’m writing a post about WB when I’ve supposedly moved on, but this is just a recap of the week.

Because my week was amazing.

What I essentially did was drop all expectations of friendliness or contact from WB. Which worked beautifully (which shows that I really didn’t lose anything).

In fact, when he made some comment to me one day, I am proud to say that I was slightly annoyed at him. Me. No longer lighting up with happiness and hope when he talks to me. He’s just another guy, not even a friend anymore, and I don’t care what happens; it’s staying that way.

EL did mention a great thing that WB did or something like that, I felt this little pang, but I pushed it away because that’s the exact reason I stuck around for so long: even when he was being cold towards me, he was always this courteous, humble guy that everyone raved about. And those little things that he did were always just enough that I still wanted to be his friend…but no more.

I am so much better without WB.


Bye WB

After being ignored in public for months, and, actually, from the very beginning, he now no longer texts me or says hi or even acknowledges my existence when *I* greet him, which he did do before.

I’m done. And although I really valued his friendship, I do have other friends.

I’m also consciously moving on, crush-wise. Deleted all his texts from since ever, even the really funny/sweet/memorable ones (how pre-teen angst does this sound, btw? Ha, whoops). Even the one that he texted me that he’d been thinking of me…ok, moving on actually, now. And I’m just fine.

Because I need to live in the moment – I’m letting go of that nonexistent idea of that perfect WB. Because, you know, we really don’t have the same sense of humor, or the same taste in music, or the same display of affection, or even the same method of communication. Wrap that up with the pseudo-romantic beginning, and ya kind of see how this friendship was destined for ruin from the beginning.

Bye, Dad

My dad’s leaving today – I didn’t think I would care, really. For as long as I can remember, I was absolutely stoked about this. And I still am, really. I’m so happy that he’s finally going to be happy. That, I cannot express enough.

But it feels so odd. It’s not like the last time he left, because the last time I was a little kid who was brainwashed by my mom; I’d thought he was such a horrible person, and I was glad to see him go.

But this time, I’ve gotten to know him and understand him. He’s not a horrible person. Half of our problems were because of my mom. I get that. And the past few years, he really tried to be a good dad. I was the one who pushed him away.

It’s not that I don’t want him to leave, because I do, for everyone’s sake. It’s more like I don’t want him to leave thinking that he’d ruined me, or been a bad dad. I don’t want him to have left because he was rejected; I want him to leave because there are better things ahead for him elsewhere. So that he could finally be free of us, not because we want to be free of him.

So…yeah. Currently attempting to muster up the guts to give him the letter I wrote, owning up to my crappy daughter-ness.


And, as it turns out, this one is actually a pretty good one. Or, at least, it’s pretty darn highly ranked. AND I’m apparently the top 8% of applicants, which is pretty cool beans with me.

And even though I don’t quite want to go there, it’s still awesome to know that I got in, because it totally boosts my confidence for my top schools.

I want to tell the world, but that would be a total jerky and annoying move, so I’ve contented myself with telling my family and far-away friends, and probably my teachers who wrote letters of rec 🙂

So my feelings right now:

On my parents

Sometimes, I think that my parents have diffused the tension.

But sometimes, they let things slip.

She’s here,” one of them will say when things get on edge. In their native language, as if that hides anything, as if they hadn’t taught me to be fluent from young. It’s quite funny, honestly.

Makes me wonder – what are things like when I’m gone? Don’t they know I don’t care? I grew up with it; they’re currently cussing in the next room over and I’m just doing homework like whatever. I would much rather have them do it with me here, to monitor the chaos. At least I know things are ok.

Wills and shit

So, don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but my Dad’s been planning on leaving and fulfilling his dream of traveling the world and visiting his family, whom he has seen for years. This, I am all for. I am stoked for him. I can’t wait.

But before he leaves, we’ve been dealing with the awkward problem of what to do when he dies.

Typical of my dad, there’s not going to be a will. Too complicated, he says. I suspect it’s something else. When I ask for details, I get a very angry, suspicious father, and a lot of screaming. Not too encouraging.

Both of my parents don’t trust my brothers with money – I don’t either. They have problems with self-control and addictions. So that leaves me.

First, there’s the part that I kind of don’t want this responsibility. My parents spent my entire life ensnared in lawsuit after lawsuit, all for money that we don’t need. It certainly didn’t make my life a bucket of rainbows.

There’s also the part that no one will tell me the entire story about all the complications of our questionable finances, and, me being me, I refuse to agree to anything where I can’t read the fine print. Because apparently I’m the one they’re going to entrust potentially millions of dollars with (and plenty of legal trouble), but no, I shouldn’t know anything about it. This does not fly with me. Which, obviously, doesn’t lead to giggles and smiles in the household.

That, by the way, means that I feel very, very bad for our poor tenant, who is probably cowering in her room with the TV turned way up while cuss words fly through the walls.

And finally, it’s fucking awkward, yelling at my dad about “after you’re dead, …”, because what a fucking morbid and depressing thing to be yelling about. I mean, how can you take the high road and stand firm when you’re being a callous jackass talking about money after someone’s death?

See, this is why I’m a not a nice person – it’s kind of a necessity to not be.