vomit

is all I want to do
when is it officially humiliation?
I can't help but expect to find a bootprint on my neck staring at me in the mirror.
My canchita de Mexico is lost forever and friends is the ugliest effing word in the world and this new boy doesn't have the same gentleness and I'd call him back but it just drags things on when I really just want to amputate that part of my brain that keeps redirecting me to him, that piece of my heart that is so taken.
And I hate that my first foray into blogging is a pathetic chronicle of this.
And I hate that crying is something you do alone.
And I hate the way this new boy looked at me as I left this morning, because here I am passing it on like some sort of conduit--only it's more taxing than I admit to myself. So what? What, what, what? Crawl up, vomit, eat, piss, anything but cry.
Anything.
Anything but this hungover jet-lag from a year of dreaming dangerously.