Eh

So I'm sitting here, with a nasty cold that I can't shake, being told "You should go to bed so I can play Gunbound." It should irritate me, but it really doesn't. Not when Brian's doing the telling. It's almost pathetic that he can make me smile when any other person would be running for their precious lives.
He posted a new entry on his blog, then told me I could see it, when earlier this week I didn't even know he had one. *shrugs* I'm not his mom, and I wasn't on "need-to-know" basis. Anyhow, it was all about how much he loves me. I can't believe it! I figured that he loved me in a sweet, high school sort of way - not knocking the high schoolers...But it's real, it's deeper. If I was walking around right now I don't think my feet would touch the ground. It's very close to being disgusting, that's how cute it is.
It makes me wish more than anything that I could be back in high school. Things for all their complexity were much simpler then; I would give up the little freedom I've attained since then for just a taste of that simplicity. It's so frightening to wake up every morning and realize, "Hey - this is the rest of your life you're playing with." It scares me to death. But I can't talk about that with anybody, because for all it matters they're in the same boat, and having a cabana party. Brian's probably the one who would understand best, purely by virtue of living in both worlds at once. Maybe even he wouldn't understand, though. There's so much that I feel I haven't told him, all these things that he doesn't understand about me, and what good would it do to tell him now?
In all honesty, there really isn't a defining moment or any concrete event that comes to mind. It's just my mindset...But perhaps underneath it all I've already revealed my quintessential self. How I can be confident to the point of arrogance at one moment and completely convinced of my proclivity to failure the next. My mood swings have certainly gained his attention. For all I've grown up, I still have a need to be recognized, to know that I am not the cast-off girl I wrote to Loren about all that time ago. Ah, Loren...probably the only person who ever really understood me. We understood each other. But I don't give Brian enough credit, I guess. He is wise beyond his years or mine, more pure of heart and soul. Not to say that he's lily white, and with that he would agree. Still, he has a more forgiving spirit when it comes to me than I've ever had toward myself. It astounds me day after day that he could care so much for someone so...tainted. Damaged goods, if you will, is how I've seen myself for too long.
Everything is my fault, in a way, though none of it truly is. I never would have even met Brian had it not been for going to the police department that night. If I had listened to my mom then things would never have gone that far. I would have stayed in the house and...and what? Waited for him to pull the trigger on himself or one of us? Turned the other already bruised cheek and ask for some more? No, I couldn't do that. And for once I didn't have to look back and wonder if I was the only one who had seen things the way they were. Does that make it my fault? I haven't been able to figure that out; the possible answers scare me to death.