shitmymathprofessorsays

[shitmymathprofessorsays]

several things to remind myself

leaves you on read

doesn’t show up when you invite them to things

treated you pretty shitty that one time you were super drunk

only wants you for sex

isn’t a very good friend tbh

emotionally weird

too pretty, probably couldn’t build you a house

not very modest

can’t cook

emotionally repressed as a 30 year old which is weird

still lives with a bunch of roommates which is kinda sad

doesn’t really give a shit about you

doesn’t text back very well

probably actually really doesn’t care about you

forgets about plans you make

still cares a lot for his ex

will probably never care about you at all

oh yeah mental health issues which is fine, but you already have a bunch on your plate regarding that

stays up too late

[shitmymathprofessorsays]

I am already in bed on the verge of sleep. My room is cramped and small. You’ve been up pacing and worrying like you usually do. I have learned to let you do this. You’ve been drinking wine, but it’s not a problem yet and it doesn’t become one which changes the very essence of our interaction. I curl to the side that’s closest to the wall so you won’t be cramped against it later. All of the stuffed animals are gone from my bed because last time we slept terribly. Last time we fell asleep in a drunken angry stupor after the last had shut off in your place.

I lay there curled up and you waltz in. You assured me you weren’t drunk, but I think you were and that’s okay. You crawl into bed and you do my favorite thing. You curl your arm under my side and pick me up like I weigh nothing and you pull me close. I can feel your scratchy beard against my face and despite my mild annoyance  that you have woken me up again, I can’t help but feel even more at ease. Your arms are wrapped around me and I begin to drift off to sleep once more, your body pressed against mine like a warm, familiar blanket. 

[shitmymathprofessorsays]

lyrical questions and the one answer that is the conclusion

what did you do with your hair?

are you a natural blonde like Goku?

do you run when it’s just getting good?

why’s it so hard to accept the party is over?

oh my love, can’t you see yourself by my side?

did she die in the night?

is this how you feel?

can i get your number? can i get you into bed?

i had a dream, or was it real?

it drives you crazy, getting old

[shitmymathprofessorsays]

via weheartit

[shitmymathprofessorsays]

Matchy-matchy, Stefand Raschan

[shitmymathprofessorsays]

That is the saddest giraffe I’ve ever seen.

[shitmymathprofessorsays]

shall we dance?

[shitmymathprofessorsays]

“But if you forget to reblog Madame Zeroni, you and your family will be cursed for always and eternity.”

[shitmymathprofessorsays]

I think my therapist pooped before we had our last session. It was really weird because he went back into the bathroom and I think he sprayed one of those poop perfume thing and I sat there in the room knowing this information and I thought it was kind of funny. It had been a month since I had been in therapy and everything looked the same as it usually did, but the wall looked really bare. There were some shelves to the side that held a bunch of psychology books and poems by Walt Whitman (barf) and there was a desk to the side. The walls were blue, I guess that’s because blue is a calming color. It’s set up to be pretty symmetrical so I felt like I was an a Wes Anderson movie or one of those movies where the camera opens in on a close shot of the person sitting and staring blankly at the wall in a place where they don’t want to be, doing a thing they don’t want to be doing. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be there, it’s just I don’t even know what to tell him about my life anymore. So much shit has happened that it’s hard to parse what is important, mundane or what is the manifestation of my super fucked up psyche.  

 Anyway he walked back in and I stared at him with tired, heavy eyes and we began like we usually do. He asks me how I am and instead of the usual pointed response I give him I was hesitant and quiet. I told him I was pregnant and I was getting an abortion. 

Oh yea I’m pregnant and I’m getting an abortion. There’s been a lot of things that happened this year or even this six months. Usually a lot of things happen during my relationships, but this one really takes the cake. I had cheated on my boyfriend and I was pregnant. 

The statements aren’t as connected as they seem, but I think they happened in the same time frame as one another. Yes I cheated, I cheated and I can’t even remember why I did it. My reasoning seems so fucked up and childish now that I look back on everything. I don’t know if I’ve grown these past months. A lot has happened, but I’m not really sure I’ve moved anywhere. I cheated on Chad with a boy named Brett. I’ve always thought Brett was attractive. I told him so when I was with Mohammed. So I guess there’s that. He was single at one point and hit on me in the most awkward manner and then I started dating Chad. Brett was forgotten until Sarah’s 24th birthday party. He’s pretty plain looking honestly. Brown, thinning hair, blue eyes? and a completely awful personality, but he was interested and thought I was pretty and giving me the attention I had been wanting from Chad for a while. It’s not an excuse. I can’t even excuse my behavior and I don’t want to. I just want forgiveness. Brett was there, flirting with me and making me feel good. It’s not important what followed. What followed was flirting and kissing and a blurry mistake that I only remember pieces of. The next day was a disgusting play on my part. Chad took care of me and asked me and pryed what happened and I fed him lies.

He found out not too long before Thanksgiving and then a very dark period reigned over our relationship. Fights and screaming and crying and blaming ensued and I don’t even know whose fault it was. I guess it’s mine. 

I guess a few weeks of us trying to put the pieces back together continued and amidst all of this I noticed I was late. I keep pretty sharp track of my period and I began to worry when my period was late and my breasts were tender and swollen. My face was breaking out and I was at this very heightened emotional state. 

We found out two days before Christmas break and I don’t know if I freaked out, I just knew I had to get this thing out of me. The only mental image that pops up is that creature from Alien or a sort of Rosemary’s Baby creature. My friend’s referred to it as a parasite and though I agreed, I secretly named it. 

I went to Utah with Chad and Utah was truly lovely. It was nice to see Chad’s childhood and I tried to hold off on my mean, sarcastic remarks. It was a shame I was so tired all of the time. His mother was lovely, his grandma was er not interested and his house was nicer than anything my family could have ever afforded. We struggled, I cried, we fought, he needed to concentrate and I continued to suck the life out of him. Time spent with my family was nice, talking to friend’s almost felt different and distant. Maybe that’s just me growing or maybe it’s me being a stuck-up elitist. It’s probably the latter. I came back to Utah where Chad’s patience with me thinned and it still continues to.

I have to get better.

The abortion was simple. We drowsily spilled out of bed around 7:15 and got ready. I was bundled up and we took a lyft. The security woman made us stand outside as she checked for my name...like I would be lying about getting an abortion. The clinic was pristine and modern. We waited longer than I wanted to, but that’s always what happens when you go to the doctor’s, isn’t it? The staff was patient and kind. They took my blood (finger pricking technology has come a long way), took my vitals, stuck me twice with an IV and after I passed out in a room filled with other drugged up women waiting for abortions, it was my turn. The sedation worked, the procedure was quick and I think I said ow only once. Chad and I argued at night. It’s been hard. It’s been  hard for these past few months and that’s when people usually abandon me because I continue to push and I think that’s what I’m doing now.

I haven’t been the best partner and I need to start stepping up. I need to get better. I want to be where I was last summer with myself. I need to start working out again and hanging out with friend’s and giving Chad and I time to enjoy ourselves and laugh again. I hope we can  make it.

Chad is applying to graduate programs right now and I will follow suite soon. I think we can make it. I know we can. It will be okay and I just need to gently remind myself this from time to time.

[shitmymathprofessorsays]

I'm dishonest and selfish. What good am I?

[shitmymathprofessorsays]

Morning Vignette

You sat on my foot and you thought you woke me up. 

But, truthfully, I was awake before that when your duck alarm tore through my inky-black, dreamless sleep. 

I didn’t mind though. It’s a nice reminder that I’m with you. 

My eyelids were still heavy and dotted with sleep, but I would lift them ever so slightly - just enough to see you moving through the blue-tinted dawn. You carefully rolled out of bed attempting to let me sleep, but the attempt was futile. I’m such a light sleeper, you should know that by now.  It was truly comforting knowing that you were so close. Close and wading through a seemlingy mundane routine, but that is something actually so extraordinary when I look back and remember.

[shitmymathprofessorsays]

I definitely stay friends with high school people to make myself feel better about where I am in life.

[shitmymathprofessorsays]

Death looks and sounds and smells like a lot of things to different people. Death smells like coolant and fumes leaking from the car air conditioner. Death looks blurry at first but when my eyes begin to adjust after being unconscious, it’s clearly a field of sugar cane, browning in the sun, and getting ready to be burnt. Death tastes like the blood pooling in my mouth from my broken nose. It’s metallic and sharp and it streams continually down my throat until I cough it into my hand. Death feels like the ground I fall onto after stumbling out of the car. It’s cracked asphalt and it’s hot. It scrapes my already bloodied hands, but I can’t even feel it; my body is already so numb. There are two people frantically trying to talk to me and ask me questions, but all I hear is a faint ringing. It’s so nice out, I think to myself. I guess I’m late for my windsurfing lesson…

Death sounds like the police officer sitting in the cramped space he calls an office. He has a mustache and a Hawaiian accent. He’s looking at me with a mixture of pity and sympathy.The fluorescent lighting is harsh and so different from the beautiful, cloudless Maui sky. “Your father has passed away from his injuries” and everything is over.

 I tell this to Matt (my therapist) and and he’s looking at me and I’m looking at him. I’m shaking and sobbing and my arm has turned red because I’ve been digging my nails into my skin this whole time. I turn my head to look away because of all of the emotions I feel, the most overwhelming one has to be the shame. I’m ashamed that this is the accident that has molded me into the barely passable human being I am. Insecure, guilt ridden, anxious and generally melancholy. 

But, I’m half a world away from this place. I’m precisely four thousand seven hundred and sixty-five miles away from Maui, sitting in a poorly decorated therapy office in DC. There are people laughing outside…probably leaving the zoo. 

Temporally, I am ten years away from this accident. I have graduated college, I’m living in a different city and I have a miserable, steady job.

 I, personally, have not moved forward or backwards. I have not moved from the accident scene, the police station, or the Queen’s Medical Center. It’s just that I’ve gotten very good at masquerading as a poorly put-together twenty-two year old (what twenty-two year old isn’t?), but sometimes my grasp on reality is so tenuous that I can easily slip back into that twelve-year old girls body, wandering the white-washed hallways of the hospital, looking for anybody who was willing to listen to her sad tale.

It’s easy to forget; a lot of close people in my life have moved on. It becomes more difficult to explain how fresh the pain still feels even after ten years. I honestly think, they’ve grown bored of my breakdowns. I’m growing bored of them myself. After starting therapy, they’ve become a weekly occurrence. Sometimes the weight of it all is lifted, if only for a brief moment and sometimes I leave feeling heavier and my feet tend to drag against the ground as I walk home.

But it’s always the same routine. I regale him with the messy, disturbing details and then he asks me the same thing, every time without skipping a beat: “What would you tell that twelve year old?” And I know what Matt wants. He wants me to be kind and nurturing to that twelve year old girl, but all I ever want to do is scream at her and tell her to get over it.

[shitmymathprofessorsays]

Because the world doesn’t have enough think pieces on identity

fourscores andseven years ago titties

[shitmymathprofessorsays]

You wanna know something fucked up?

There’s this song called “Fixed” by Stars. The only reason I like to listen to this song is because there’s this break where the guitars get very light and the music makes it feel like i’m floating and I imagine everything that happened that day during the accident but I’m just standing on the side watching it happen and I can’t do anything about it. And she songs “is it your fault?” and every time I know it is. I know it’s my fucking fault. 

[shitmymathprofessorsays]

Sometimes we’ll fight but it’s okay because no amount of tiny little arguments will get in the way of the big picture. I love you more than the stars and moon. 

[shitmymathprofessorsays]

I know this is awful but sometimes I look at the girls I usd to think were really pretty in high school and hung out with all the athletes and drink and whatever and i used to be so jealous but now i look at them and i realize they’re kind of pathetic and i’m doing a lot more with my life then they could ever imagine