Hunger.
I know I’m just feeling sorry for myself, but I miss feeling like I had the freedom to go and do and see and be whoever, where ever, how ever I felt I want. A random midnight invitation to home-cooked food? Nothing in the world would make me happier! It’s all but crippling to have to say ‘no, I’m sorry I must decline, my boyfriend will be home soon.’
And even when he gets here, we’ll smoke weed and play our respective escapist computer games and then stumble, clumsy and unenlightened, to bed.
The wost part is if he were to read this he wouldn’t understand. He’d ask me why I didn’t just say I wanted to go out, tell me he doesn’t mind at all. He would forget, like he always does in his safe hindsight, how he would’ve actually reacted if I had called him to say, “I might not be home when you get off of work at 1 a.m., a male friend you don’t know invited me to eat some food with he and another male neither of us know. You aren’t invited.” And of course it sounds absurd to describe the situation in such a way, but the previous statement is all he would hear regardless of which words I chose to say it.
Is it wrong of me to feel like I should still have the freedom to do things like this? To have the freedom to go to a friend’s home when invited? To feel like I could go somewhere without having to ask if it’s all right if I bring my boyfriend? Patrick would never tell me no of course. He would never do something so severe. He would just use that tone—that disappointed, appalled, “do what you want, nothing I can do to stop you” tone that makes me instantly and frantically guilt-ridden to tell me I can do whatever I want.
I am very lonely here sometimes.
