Monday, January 28th 2008 at 8:35am

Today is going to suck. I don’t think schools are going to let Jasmine, Ashley and I in to
post up flyers.

Monday, January 28th 2008 at 8:00pm

Today has been exhausting. Schools let us in, except for one. Some took the flyers but
said they had to be “reviewed” by the principle, meaning they likely won’t get put up. At some
schools we were able to hand them out.

Nobody showed up at the first meeting however. Not surprising in the least,
though disappointing. Everybody I know is going to be there tomorrow, so it’ll at least look like
something. Problem is, we have these arcade games coming in Thursday, and if we don’t have
anybody to use them, we’re going to be in deep shit.

The really uncool part (just as the tarot cards predicted) is that my birthday is
Wednesday. I can expect to not expect anything for that. I might take the day off at most.
My boyfriend’s ‘present’ to me was probably that he drove me to the Hyatt’s out in Clarence yesterday.
(Only yesterday? Whew, getting up so early makes the day seem last forever...) I bought new
markers to replace the colors that I’ve used up, and I bought a huge sketch pad, two paint
brushes, white paint... And... I guess that was everything. I considered buying some of the nifty
paper-stuff for my scrap-booking but I decided not to because I knew we were headed to
Wegmans afterwards. I spent sixty dollars on groceries since Mom refuses to buy the amount of
organic snack food I’d prefer to have around. Not that I spent all of that on snacks... Though I
guess you could count granola as a snack too and that would cover everything but the orange
juice.

I’m exhausted. I’m not used to this. I’m so warm and I’m afraid it might be a
fever. I have to remember this is my prime time of the year for getting sick...

I ran into Harry today (from fourth and fifth grade at Waldorf) while I was inside
City Honors. I gave him a ‘promoters packet’ so hopefully he promotes. Heh.

Wow, I’m so out of it and tired that I’m becoming very random and un-fluent. I
don’t like that. I shall now sleep or read or both.

Wednesday, January 30th 2008 at 1:36pm

I feel an odd sort of nothing about the fact that today is my nineteenth birthday. My boyfriend is at work. The snow blows in an endless-seeming wind storm. I’m wearing the pink fluffy pants and soft, tall, pink socks my mother bought me for Christmas, the pink sleeveless shirt I bought on the road-trip with Dad that says ‘Rock’ on it, with a hoddie I’ve had since the early part of High School, also pink with a thick, horizontal white stripe.

It’s a comfortable temperature. I had a good conversation with My boyfriend this
morning. The phone alarm went off at 11:00am, fifteen minutes earlier than last week, fifteen minutes earlier than the week before that. We started at 11:30am, and even that was hard. Waking up at eleven today seemed natural. I used the bathroom, and stayed awake. Contemplating forcing myself back to sleep, until My boyfriend and I wound up lost in discussion about relationships, people, our pasts, ourselves and the way things have changed and continue to change.

He tells me that the book I’ve told him he must read before we wed (Parachutes
and Kisses by Erica Gong) is doing him good. It is helping him see where he’s been immature and unreasonable. He says that he understands now that Travanti and Jeremy have made me who I am. They, much like my parents, made me the person he loves and wants to be with. So why scorn me when I recount my past experiences?

To hear him say those things is soothing. To hear him say that my stories of
Jeremy have helped him realize how futile his resistence is. I resisted too. I wanted to flirt, I wanted to fuck, I wanted to act like a slut. I wanted to ruin my reputation even worse than it already was. I desperately fought for my right to seem like I had no self-respect, to present myself in such a way that no one would respect me. And Jeremy tried to break me of that every step of the way, and for him and my love for him, I tried. I tried, and I tried, and I failed
miserably. And by the time I was finally ready, Jeremy couldn’t trust me anymore, so he broke up with me.

I’ve told this story to My boyfriend countless times. He drinks, he tries to quit,
promises to quit, and then does it again. He’ll get through a couple weeks, and then be back at it. He’ll call me the next day with promises, excuses, and swears he knows he’s done wrong. He’ll be brought close to tears, he’ll rub me, talk to me, soothe me, as a way to soothe his own ache at knowing he’s failing. I understand. I was there too. I was fourteen, and he is twenty-five, but it
makes no difference. When he was ten he could out-draw me at nineteen. When he was seven he was having sex already, and I was just born. (Maybe you, my reader, finally begin to see why I insist that My boyfriend is perfect for me. That we are one.)

He had a long and serious relationship with Brianna, but apparently she never
acted like his wife. They never truly lived together. He became attached while she detached herself. He’s still been in the state of mind that people’s pasts are erased by a new relationship, the ‘first and only love’ concept on innocence. Beautiful, but fleeting and dangerous. This morning he told me things that we like little presents by themselves. One of them being that he acquiesced (again) to marrying me in April of 2009. He’s been saying, “don’t you want to wait until you’re twenty-one?” He’s afraid that I’ll change my mind. I won’t. But then again, I can’t say that any more than anybody ever can, because things always change.

Another favorite thing he said to me this morning; “You told me I wasn’t
changing and I was like, no, no, NO, I have to be changing, I have to evolve and learn!” He told me, “I could go out an party, but that’s not going to help me, that’s not really going to have benefit. I should come home.” It brings me peace. I love that he is mine. I love that I’ve found him, or rather, that we’ve found each other. He says to me frequently, “I’m so happy that I have you,” and I agree fervently, “I’m happy you have me too!”

He believes me now. He understands me now. He believes and understands what I meant, and that I meant it when I told him a mere few weeks after we met... “The ball is in your court now,” I said. “Do you have to be so cryptic?” He said in exasperation. “I don’t know if I should, but I can’t help it. This is more control that I should give you, but it’s too late now. And to think a mere month ago I never wanted to give this to anybody after again. Not after what Tre
did.” He didn’t understand or believe then. Only now does he really see how much his actions effect me.

This morning I asked him, “How long did it take you to become the artist you are today?”

He answered, “Twenty years.”

Indeed, it did. His entire life. His sole goal. I said, “I’ve been aiming to be the
perfect girlfriend, the perfect wife, the perfect mother since I was born. When I was a young child I gave up sucking my thumb under my mother’s threat that no husband want’s a wife with crocked teeth and a thumb-sucking habit.”

Make-up, high-heels, and an incurable thirst for sex at nine? It had everything to do with wanting to be the woman of my own house-hold. I said to him, “At fourteen I moved in with my first love. I was a essentially a wife at fourteen, and what were you doing at fourteen?”

“Drawing,” he answered. I chuckled. He made my point perfectly with that
answer.

“That’s why I’m so forgiving,” I said. “I know this is new for you. And you have
no idea how happy you’ve made me these past few weeks.”

He’s blown off all the parties, including Sam’s party. He doesn’t answer the
phone half the time when El calls. He draws beside me, writes in his journal beside me, reads the book I told him he had to read. He eats and watches TV beside me. He 3D models on Maya, and he’s taught me everything he knows about computer modeling now, and now I’m learning the program further on my own. He’s helped me reboot my computer so that it runs smoother. He
went to the art store (Hyatts) on Sunday. (The one in Clarence since the one in Buffalo is closed on Sunday.) He’s been giving me forty-percent of his paycheck. He’s been listening to me, and really responding to what I’ve said, instead of throwing guesses at me. He’s been expanding his mind. He’s played Race for the Galaxy twice now with my mother and my dad.

If things remain this way, I can see us together forever without a doubt. This is
what I always wanted with a man. The wind howls today, the slow falls today, the sky is white, my room is dim, I’m using word-perfect 8 instead of 12 because I have yet to find a way to reinstall it thus far, and tomorrow I’m spending the day recruiting for the Social Club. Going to DaVinci HS, going to Spot Coffee downtown, having a third meeting at 6:00pm at our location. Friday we’re going to the Boulevard mall and to Kenmore Lanes Boweling at midnight.
Saturday we’re going to the Galleria mall. (Jasmine, Laura, Tina and I.) And yet, and yet, and yet... My heart still sings when I think of My boyfriend.

This is how love should be. This is a real relationship. Arguments should be
settled and resolved calmly. Each should bend to the other’s will. Each should adapt fully as they are capable. Each needs to be understanding, forgiving, and loving, always. Romantics should never stop. Being goofy and ‘cute’ should never stop. Affection and sex should never stop unless physically unable, and that’s where forgiveness and understanding come back into play, and adaptation comes back as well. Nourishing love is possible. Love is drama. Love is
life.