word vomit

word vomit---- bulimia of the text.  no, better:

bulimia of the remarks.

it's not like it's even a big deal, but it hit me today, when i've generally been great at letting the curiosity pass without much thought.  what happened today?  it's not like anything bad would happen if (or when) i meet her.  she's just an ex girlfriend.  you know... the one right before me.

i was invited out to meet all his friends this weekend in lakewood (lakewood.  oh.  god.  let's talk about an entire novel one of these days...), and i could feel the question crawling up my legs.  i didn't want to ask it.  but i could feel the words sticking to my stomach and stewing into a mess of something completely different: the kind of something that i'm usually good at letting pass but forgot how this time around.

it was like the fucking grand coulee damn couldn't stop it.

why the hell would it matter if she was there or not?

because i've learned from many experiences that girls judge i guess.

maybe some girls don't though.  maybe his kind of girl doesn't judge.  maybe his kind of girl is tall and athletic and with perfect straight brown hair.  older.. you know... his age.  maybe his kind of girl doesn't go to her parent's house over a few weekends here and there... maybe his kind of girl doesn't miss living in a small town in the middle of nowhere.  maybe his kind of girl is super independent and knows what she wants to do with her life?

let's get this straight out: i'm terrified that one day we'll both be in the same room and he'll size us up (because he loved her for four years, and the sizing will happen naturally whether positive or negative, superficial or deep, meaningful or meaningless, consciously or subconsciously... i swear to jesus christ it will happen if we're both in the same room).  i'm terrified that we'll be compared and he'll realize i was the wrong choice.

falling in love is pretty fucking terrifying if you ask me.

and it's only because i'm in too deep to turn around now (not that i want to, but it's not less terrifying).

so out it came.

it boiled up through my throat, onto my tongue, and out my mouth, and i asked him if she would be there.  he paused.  he weighed out his words... maybe wondered himself, i don't know.  i wished i had more self control.

it really doesn't matter.

i get paid to be pleasant to people.

i avoid drama at all costs.

why did i have to ask?

and he kindly entertained my question with an explanation of why she would most likely not be there.

and then he asked why i asked.... and the bulimia of remarks began.  i couldn't tell him the entire thing.  i don't know why, it's not like we're on 'keeping secrets' terms or anything.  but all these idiot reasons came out- one right on top of the other: 'girls judge iguess', 'it will probably influence what i wear', 'she's your ex-girlfriend'.... they seemed to go on for ever.  i couldn't stop myself after the first five or ten. what was unfortunate was that most of them were pretty true, but all still danced around the reason that justified their stupidity.

fear justifies a lot of fucking idiot reasoning.

let's put that one on the record.

so i guess i'll just say it:

i'm terrified that he found his love long before he found me, and i'm just the interim girl.