Aug. 02, 2004

Moving On

Who knew?

I forgot what a good student I am.

Today I spent... five? hours at the library studying. Just studying. I'm finishing my Personal Training Certification. I had meant to do it ages ago, by the begining of June, but life has a funny way of getting in the way of plans when you let it.

So I studied all day today to get caught up, and learned a hell of a lot. I plan on taking my exam tomorrow or thursday at the latest. (Wednesday is just out of the question.)

And it felt good. I had something to focus on. Something to consume all of my energy and mind space.

Because if you think I'm avoiding the subject of The Break Up you're right.

The Boy found my diary.

And read it. All of it.

You can see how this would be a Problem. All things considered, we've had a fairly amicable break up. He's been very generous to me and I've remembered why I loved him for so long. But he's asked me to move my diary. To protect him. So he won't have to know it's here, won't feel tempted to spy.

And my first inclination was to say, "hey look, you found it, if you don't want to see it, just don't look." And there's still a big part of me that feels that way. Then there's the part of me that says, "you know, the only things he asked for were The Cat and The Diary relocation. After what I did, I think I can give him that." But then the third and most selfish voice says "is it really so bad if, as he says, in a few months or a year he comes over to check on me? I wouldn't really mind that would I?" Granted, it kind of, no really, messes with the who freedom of confidentiallity thing. But, isn't the whole idea that I feel the need to be known?

He told me that in two and a half years he never really got to hear what was happening inside my head. Until now.

I'm sad he picked the wrong time to listen and I picked the wrong time to speak up.

So, I'm undecided.

And a little inimidated by the thought that curiosity with overcome The Boy and he'll come here, just once more, to see if I've left it, only to see that I haven't and be further betrayed.

I can't deal with the thought of that look in his eyes.

I hate having hurt someone so much. And such a sensitive someone.

No, I'm going to have to move- if only because with every word I write I imagine him reading it, and I'll never get what I need to said that way.


Details will be forthcoming I suppose.