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sometimes i feel like i've missed out. my relationships with men not related to me are limited. not in number, but in capacity, in quality. mark and i speak so infrequently since graduation that i don't even think i remember half the things he tells me about his life. chris is the same way. i just know that he's on accutane and wants to see me when i come to new york again. jesse and i would be better drinking buddies, i suppose ... then there's zay. i don't know what it is, but i keep coming back. karen asked me why i do so much. and i don't know. it was stark. upfront. she just asked me. and i couldn't answer her. i felt the sting of tears in my eyes, and my bottom lip tried to crawl over my face and swallow me up so no one could see me. i felt so bad and little and horrible. i needed to call him and tell him that right then. that i didn't know why i was doing a million and three fucking things all the time. so now what? nothing, right? cuz it's always nothing. cuz i never stand up. i guess it'll only matter when i really think it does. i don't know, i love him but sometimes want to crack his head open and pull out all the nonsense so he'll be perfect. i wanna make him. i wanna create a new man, create the man i want deep down. that's wrong, isn't it? wanting to recreate someone. he isn't a hunk of clay, he's a human being, and my wish to change him can't possibly be healthy or normal. i wanna change him so i can stop feeling so ... embarrassed. embrarrassed of my willingness to forgo my own shitthatneedsdoingrightrightRIGHTnow. yeah, i said it. i'm a pushover. some guys could get more from me and do way less than he. i don't know how i feel about that. i just don't know.
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