When I don’t make time to write, the voices in my head talk over each over in a disorganized dialogue. Is that weird – to talk about the voices in my head? It’s really just the one voice – you know, mine – but without a linear thought process, the dissonant threads seem like multiple voices. Or maybe I’m crazy. Either way my head has been crowded, and a lot of things haven’t been fully processed.

It bothers me. To a point. Some things I haven’t wanted to process (let’s not look at the heavily-skewed Avoidance:Molly Scorecard, shalln’t we?).

The Kid left for Europe a few days ago. He waited until a week before his departure to tell me about the trip, which wouldn’t be that weird except that we communicate in some form (now, don’t judge this part) every day. Typically email or instant messenger, and I have convinced myself that online talking isn’t real talking because it’s TYPING and proof that it’s obviously not real talking is that when we type, he doesn’t tell me things like three-week trips. It’s trivial – emails that pass time, like, “Sloan is way too hot for E. Discuss.” or “Cherry is one of the lesser pies.” He makes me feel less lonely and a little more sane, and some days –most days –I need that from someone.

I have three weeks before school starts again. With my nights available, I should be social or running or productive; instead, I’ve been averaging a book/day.

The Bestest Friend recently told me that I date wrong (true!) or that I go after the wrong guys (also true!) or something. Either way, from that conversation, she condescendingly told me, “Well Molly, you know you like it when guys like you for your personality.” She is my best friend and I adore her, but I still keep throwing that statement around in my head. Because I still can’t understand why she paired the accusatory tone with those words.

In the interest of beating this dead horse, three weeks is the longest that The Kid and I have gone without talking … ever. In eight years. Since the day we met, the first day of college. When I brought this up to him, he brought up my trip to Costa Rica, “That was what, two and a half weeks?” “That was ten days.” “Oh. It felt a lot longer.” After everything, we’re still so much apart of each other’s lives. He calls me his best friend.

The omission occurred because he felt guilty (and is a coward). The trip was originally supposed to be an us thing, something that we had planned to do after he was done with the bar (back when we were together). But now he’s off taking it with some law-school friends, people whom I’ve never heard of, and it’s good, I’m so glad he’s doing it, and I’m planning a winter trip, so I have that going for me (I might RV this winter. As a verb – awesome, no?) … but the whole thing bothers me, makes me feel … I don’t know … substitutable…

I wonder when in my life is the best time to work abroad. It’s on my life list, and I wonder when I’ll cross that one off.

The Realtor has a new girl – she’s at least his age this time. I’m honestly really happy for him. Reminds me that I am in the market for a noodle – I should look on craigslist.

In two weeks, The Firefighter is coming to town for a Friday wedding; I’m his plus-one. I’m taking a half-day to pick him up at the airport and to, because this is so me, primp (primping involves lying on the couch, drinking coffee, and watching bad tv for three hours, right? Ok, good, because that was my pre-wedding plan). It’ll be good to see him, and I love weddings, especially with him since he drinks and dances and is a good time, but I have to get up at 8am for a family thing the next day. Note to self: THE HOT MESS THING DOES NOT WORK WELL FOR YOU, MOL (especially around his family and early visitations with your family).

I think that’s all for now – thanks for listening as I attempted to lineate the voices. I’m going to try to write more often, but with that busy social calendar taking up my nights, the material might be lame (Can you tell I’ve taken many marketing/advertising classes? Way to sell it.).

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