<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721</id><updated>2011-04-21T19:47:29.564-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</title><subtitle type='html'>I am who I am. I'm proud of me and what I believe in. I love to have a good time, I can be loud, bitchy, bratty and all things in between. For the most part though I'm just a Dysfunctional Sweetheart trying to make it in the "real world".</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>22</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-3027752551079000542</id><published>2007-07-09T10:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-09T10:15:03.736-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ok for some reason blogger won't let me title this post, I'm not sure what's up with that. I realize that I've been gone for quite awhile here, it's nothing more then laziness on my part, and the fact that I've been busier then hell lately. I feel like all I've been doing is running.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I have a confession to make, so I figured I'd do the same type of thing I've done before... so here goes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#1- I'm so in love with you it hurts, the idea and thought of losing you makes me sick to my stomach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#2- You tell me you love me, you tell me you want to make this work, but how do I believe that?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-3027752551079000542?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/3027752551079000542/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=3027752551079000542' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/3027752551079000542'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/3027752551079000542'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2007/07/ok-for-some-reason-blogger-wont-let-me.html' title=''/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-8676644211738830981</id><published>2007-07-02T10:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-02T10:24:36.412-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I quit</title><content type='html'>I never meant to fall in love with you, I never meant for things to be this way. When you came into my life all I wanted was a friend, maybe someone to flirt with occasionally, to have fun with. We took that to the next level with out really thinking, with out really realizing what it would do to the both of us. When we went out that night I didn't mean to hurt you, I didn't know I could. Your anger was so thick that I found it best to hide from you, to pretend like I didn't notice. Yes I drank too much, yes I may have danced too much but you hurt me that night too. I didn't know you could do that to me, didn't know you could hurt me that way, but you did. It made me realize just how much I felt for you, just how much I needed you. Now where does that leave us?! Where do we go from here? Do I walk away and see what you do? Do I stay and wait? How much more pain do I need to endure?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-8676644211738830981?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/8676644211738830981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=8676644211738830981' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/8676644211738830981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/8676644211738830981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2007/07/i-quit.html' title='I quit'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-8333906118702182120</id><published>2007-03-29T09:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-29T11:26:29.593-07:00</updated><title type='text'>And it appears I've been resurrected</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;While I would love to say that there has been some great reason as to why I've been lost for over a month, there isn't. I've been running circles around myself lately, and I've been doing a lot of "soul-searching" too I suppose. It just kind of made finding the time to blog a little difficult.  I have however been thinking about why it was I started this blog. I started it because it gave me a sense of anonymity to speak my mind and my feelings without fear of retribution, and it gave me a place to vent and let go without worrying about hurting anyone's feelings. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how few people in my life really understand and know all the sides of who I am; they all see what they either want to see, or what I allow them to see. Now this isn't to say that I hide who I really am, or anything along those lines, it's more that I just don't dare give power to people so that they have insecurities to use against me. Somehow that falls away here in blogland, because I could pass many of you on the street and not know who you are and we all seem to be a little more understanding, a little more accepting here then in the "real world". &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;On that note, The Boyfriend and I were watching America's Next Top Model last night between the commercials on American Idol and got into a discussion about the "weight issue". To add to that, this morning while I was driving to work they were having a discussion about weight on the station I normally listen to, so weight is in the forefront of my thoughts today. This topic has always been a touchy one for me, and I've come to terms with the fact that it probably always will be.  Growing up I was a large child, always had been. I learned early on in my life that I don't have much in the way of a metabolism, I'm one of those unlucky ones. The joke that I've had since high school is that I can look at a candy bar and gain 5 pounds, sadly I think that might be true. I was big through all of my childhood though, and as anyone can attest to, children can be cruel. I'm fairly certain the only thing that got me through those times was the fact that I had a great personality, and a sense of humor. It made it so that people were just a tad bit less cruel then they may have been to anyone else, and it also helped me secure my place in the "cool crowd" all through middle school. While I realize how shallow that may sound, and even how petty, it wasn't meant that way. To be honest, it probably only made my life a fraction easier then if I'd been considered an out cast. The truth is though, it helped because at least the full force of their destruction wasn't set on me... there was always someone "below me". I suppose that in itself could be an entry... the cruel realities of middle school. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;But... I'm digressing...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;My freshman year of high school something in me changed. I stopped caring about what other people thought as much, and I became determined to change for me. Between Novemeber of that year, to the beginning of the next school year I'd lost a lot of weight. I'd honestly transformed into another person. That summer I'd completely closed myself off from most of the people I normally hung out with, and I concentrated on me. The results were amazing, for me. I won't say that I turned into Barbie, because I didn't, but compared to what I had been... I was pretty damn close. I had managed to maintain that weight well after that, and I was very proud of myself. And then something changed, stress hit and normally where I'd gain weight I lost. I know many people who would love this, but for me, I looked sick. I'm short (barely over 5'2") but I don't have the body structure of an overly petite girl. I dropped too much weight, luckily for me my face never took on that gaunt look, my eyes never hollowed out. I did however end up with the protruding hip bones, and the sunken in collar bones, and ribs showing if I moved a certain way. The problem was, when I looked in the mirror I still saw fat, I still saw something that wasn't there. That's when I realized I had a problem. I have put weight on since then, which is a good thing. However, I still hate the way I look. I'll admit I could stand to lose about 10 pounds, which I'm working on, but in the back of my mind I know that even when I lose that weight, I still won't think I look good enough... it will always be 10 more pounds. The obsession slightly scares me, but the only good thing that I've learned is that I don't take it to the extreme... I've never starved myself, never made myself throw up... but this still can't and isn't healthy. It's just sad... why do we put ourselves through this? What makes it so hard for us to be happy with our accomplishments and accepting of what we look like? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-8333906118702182120?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/8333906118702182120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=8333906118702182120' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/8333906118702182120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/8333906118702182120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2007/03/and-it-appears-ive-been-resurrected.html' title='And it appears I&apos;ve been resurrected'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-8422177877112189619</id><published>2007-02-14T10:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-14T11:02:42.006-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Valentine's Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff0000;"&gt;Hope everyone has a great Valentine's Day, single or otherwise!! I personally think this day hates me as I have managed to severly hurt my lip, my garbage disposal broke and the guy at the gas station must think I'm nuts as I tried to buy cigarettes I haven't smoked in years. And yes, I know I should quit... but seriously. The upside to my day is that the disposal should be fixed by the time I get home. I told The New Boy today that I'm gonna hop on a plane and just hide somewhere for awhile... I might not really have the money but I just don't give a fuck anymore. I'm burnt out and need to get away before I just snap... urgh. But the funny thing is that I'm in a great mood, just burnt out on work. I can't even remember the last vacation I took, if you want to be technical about it I think it was Senior year of high school. How sad is that?!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Now onto my story!! I'm sure you can remember me discussing The Ex... and I'm way too lazy to link that post but it's there somewhere. Anyway, we'd bought a car when we were together and it had both of our names on it. Well when I moved out I begged him to let me take the car because I was moving home and could afford it better then he could living with my father. However, he wanted to hurt me and keep everything, I think it was because it just gave him something to bitch about, cuz you know it took all his money to pay for everything and I was the evil bitch who left. Whatever. So I had found out that he hadn't really been paying on everything, and so they weren't too happy with him, obviously. Well when I finally got ahold of him he told me that it had been taken care of. I believe him, because what else am I supposed to do?! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Then I'm sitting at home one night and I get this knock on my door. No clue who this could be, because I usually know who's at my door before it happens. There's this guy standing there, yeah ends up being a repo guy looking for the car. Ok fine, so you fucked over my credit... it fucking sucks and honestly to ever get clear again we're looking at like bankruptcy... because I have way too much shit on there, but ok that's my fault I'll deal with whatever comes. HOWEVER, I then find out from this guy that The Ex has been dodging them for weeks now and they're about ready to issue bench warrants. Yeah, that means we sit jail time. I'm about this close to just losing it at this point, I was so visibly mad I was shaking. So I give the guy all the info I have, finding out that he's been to The Ex's fathers place several times and he won't tell him where The Ex is... now isn't that nice? The guy leaves, and I do some research on my own and come up with The Ex's address... well you can damn well guarantee that I called that in. So long story short they picked up the car... but seriously, you already fucked me over... do we really need to continue to do so?! I don't get it... this is why they just need to be banished because I can't take thier stupidity any longer. I'm telling you, I so wish that could've been a break-up that ended with goodbye... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-8422177877112189619?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/8422177877112189619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=8422177877112189619' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/8422177877112189619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/8422177877112189619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2007/02/happy-valentines-day.html' title='Happy Valentine&apos;s Day'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-5688602248158755438</id><published>2007-02-13T14:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-12T15:12:30.471-08:00</updated><title type='text'>OMG</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#3366ff;"&gt;Ok I don't have much time to post today... and I do want to apologize for being so sporadic but my computer has been fried at home for awhile now and I've been so busy at work I'm lucky I have time to breathe. However, I promise you an update sometime tomorrow because I have a story that I need to share... and it's about, what else, stupid ex's. I'm telling you I wish I could banish all of mine to Siberia... that might make my life a wee bit easier. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#3366ff;"&gt;URGH&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-5688602248158755438?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/5688602248158755438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=5688602248158755438' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/5688602248158755438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/5688602248158755438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2007/02/omg.html' title='OMG'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-4271847897221006522</id><published>2007-02-06T11:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-06T11:24:40.639-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ramblings</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;I used to think I knew what I wanted, used to think I had it. Then I realized that life was changing, things were changing and years just weren't enough to hold something together. I suffered heartache from that point on, suffered pain and tears... thought that I'd never find what I was looking for. And then, then I met you...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;In such a short time you've given me hope,  you've given me reasons to smile. You took my heart and you made me believe again. I don't think I could ever thank you enough, don't think I could ever show you the way you make me feel. When I'm with you my entire life seems to make sense, I'm a better person because you love me. The fact that you just understand, you get what I mean, that means more then anyone could imagine. You love me for me, all of me... something I never though I'd find. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Some people don't understand, they think they know what we should do. To them all I have to say is this, you aren't the ones that are in this, you aren't the ones making this work each day. The talks we have about anything and everything, the future, the present, the past... they mean the world to me. I love you baby, and thank you... for loving me, for getting me, and for giving me hope.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-4271847897221006522?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/4271847897221006522/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=4271847897221006522' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/4271847897221006522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/4271847897221006522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2007/02/ramblings.html' title='Ramblings'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-6563728495472212667</id><published>2007-01-17T14:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-17T14:49:23.314-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How fast is too fast?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;You know I've never been one to believe in the whole love at first sight thing, I'm not that much of a hopeless romantic. I can't say that I've necessarily changed my mind on that but I can say that I've realized recently that time really has nothing to do with love. Sometimes when it's just there, it's there... and there isn't much you can do about it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;That's right everyone, I'm in love... and I know this because there isn't a day that goes by that those words don't almost slip out of my mouth when we're talking. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;So when you hear Bless The Broken Road by Rascal Flatts...think of me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-6563728495472212667?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/6563728495472212667/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=6563728495472212667' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/6563728495472212667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/6563728495472212667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2007/01/how-fast-is-too-fast.html' title='How fast is too fast?'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-2591556185975849204</id><published>2007-01-10T12:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-10T12:33:15.572-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ok I think I died...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#993300;"&gt;But I'm back now!!! I'm so sorry guys, it's not that I don't have stuff to blog about but I've just been completely busy. I seriously feel like I haven't quit running, even while I'm typing this I feel that way!! First off I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!! My Christmas was good, even though right after it I ended up with the cold from Hell. Oh man, that was bad!! I seriously just felt like crawling in a hole and not getting out. Went from having strep, to this cold all within like 2 weeks... NOT FUN!!! Luckily though it was gone, for the most part, by New Years!! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993300;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993300;"&gt;To update everyone a bit, around the beginning of December I told all of the men in my life to take a hike. I had various reasons for each of them, but mainly they were just not healthy for me, and I couldn't do that anymore. I realized trying to have a friendship with The Boy was just exhausting and way too confusing, him not knowing what the heck he wanted anymore. He didn't handle it well, which is kind of funny when you think about the circumstances, and him being the one who did it all... but hey. So that was my goal to start the New Year stress free, and so far it's worked!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993300;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993300;"&gt;So, I know you all want the juicy gossip... haha. I met up with a friend that I haven't seen in awhile on New Years Eve after he was done driving limo, Sweetie (this is just what I'm going with LOL). This boy is amazing people, I haven't stopped smiling since New Years, and I don't do giddy!! I haven't felt this way for someone in a long time, just this whole happiness thing. When I'm with him, I feel comfortable, happy, content... these are things that I never feel. I'm just hoping that I don't wake up one day and have all of this disappear!! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993300;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993300;"&gt;I'll update more when I get the chance, but back to work for me!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-2591556185975849204?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/2591556185975849204/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=2591556185975849204' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/2591556185975849204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/2591556185975849204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2007/01/ok-i-think-i-died.html' title='Ok I think I died...'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-5240735373008630291</id><published>2006-12-15T14:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-15T14:56:49.531-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Confessions of a Stupid Girl</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I started this awhile ago, and haven't done it in awhile, I think I'll do another!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Confessions:&lt;br /&gt;#1~ I know you're fire, I've known it from the beginning, and yet I can't seem to walk away&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#2~ I don't think anyone has ever looked at me the way you were last night, it had my stomach in knots the whole night.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#3~ There isn't a day that goes by that you aren't on my mind.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#4~ It was so hard to not touch you last night, just something simple, but I knew I couldn't &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#5~ Everytime you'd grab my hand when you walked by all I could do was smile&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#6~ The things you said to me made me feel things that I swore I'd never feel for you.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#7~ I don't know how much longer I can do this.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#8~ As bad as this makes me feel, for all the obvious reasons, the idea of walking away hurts&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#9~ Why did we start this? Both of us knew we were and are trouble for the other&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#10~ There is so much about you that should make me mad, that should make me want to run away, and yet I sit and think about the next time we'll have time.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#11~ When is this going to implode? &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#12~ I wonder if you realize, like I do, that this will never end well… it can't.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;#13~ I've managed to keep my heart safe from you, at least I think I have&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#14~ I know you did what you felt and thought you had to&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#15~ I told you once in the very beginning that you wanted both worlds, the one where you did what was right, and the one where you did what was right for you, because they aren't the same thing… I told you then you'd have to make a choice, you still do.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#16~ I wonder how you'd react if I ended all this… &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#17~ Then I worry that there won't be any reaction at all, that thought scares the shit out of me for some reason &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#18~ When I turned around last night and saw you my stomach dropped for a second… how do you have that ability?!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#19~ I wonder what would have been had we met a few years ago, would it have clicked the way it has now?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#20~ I realize that I'm probably going to be the one who ends up hurting you, and then again I wonder if you'd even be hurt or just move on&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#21~ I hate thinking that's all I am, even though that's all I should be&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-5240735373008630291?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/5240735373008630291/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=5240735373008630291' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/5240735373008630291'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/5240735373008630291'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2006/12/confessions-of-stupid-girl.html' title='Confessions of a Stupid Girl'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-8919431274721628269</id><published>2006-12-14T11:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-14T11:52:01.122-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm so sorry...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;So I have debated about blogging about this for several reasons, mainly because it's very personal to me, but this is my blog and I can do or say what I want to. Right? Right. So here it goes…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;There was a person in my life not that long ago, we'll call him Oops. We'd been friends for quite awhile, a couple years at the least. He really was one of my best friends, just someone that was always there when I needed to vent and always fun to hang out with. Everyone I knew had this "feeling" that he wanted a lot more from me then friendship, but I never saw it. Looking back now I think it was wishful thinking on my part, between The Boy and just that amount of confusion the last thing I wanted added to my life was the worry of hurting a really good friend. Well one night I made a mistake… after a bit too much alcohol, and a lot of feeling really alone, one thing led to another and we ended up making out for quite awhile. That was as far as it ever went, but it was a mistake. Not a mistake that I regretted it for happening, but more a mistake because I knew that the door I'd worked so hard to keep closed had been opened. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;In the end, it all came out how he felt and I didn't know how to handle it. I made a huge mistake and lost one of the best friends I've ever known. At this point he won't even talk to me and I realize everyday how much I miss him, and being able to talk to him. I've tried to apologize numerous times, but it never gets me anywhere. The last apology I attempted to make didn't even get me a response, and the last thing I want to do is beg. I regret losing him so much, which in turn makes me reassess my feelings, but it's too late for any of that now and I realize that. I hate myself for it, but I realize it. I just wish I could repair some amount of friendship from all of this. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;What got me thinking about this so much is the fact that a friend and I went and saw "The Holiday" Saturday night. (I do have to say, if you're a girl and you've ever dated that wrong guy, see this movie. You will love it!! There were parts where I was tearing up, and I related so well to it, it was scary!!) While watching the move and watching Jack Black's character on screen, I realized something… I realized that's what "Oops" was to me. He was that guy… you know the one, the one that can make you laugh no matter what is going on, the one that can tell you you look beautiful even when you have no make up on and you hair in a ponytail, the one that you know will always be true to you because they love you that much. I think there was actually a time when watching that movie that I teared up just because I was thinking so much about that. It was very hard for me to not pick up my phone at the end of the movie and beg him to forgive me, to give me another chance… something that I know he'll never do. I hurt him, and sadly I hurt him more then I ever thought I could hurt someone. I always thought he was that really great guy who I just wasn't attracted to, who didn't fit the mold of what I wanted in my life, but now I realize how stupid I was. I let the one person who actually got me, all of me, and let me just be walk away. I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself for that… if I'll ever forgive myself for not giving him that chance, the one that he truly deserved. I do know that I will never be able to watch "Chasing Amy" and get to that scene in the rain with out crying. In fact, I feel myself tearing up here at work… gah.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;I'm so sorry… I just want to keep saying that until it gets through, until I can make him see how much I honestly mean it and the fact that I've changed, that I've grown from that. I need some serious help….&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-8919431274721628269?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/8919431274721628269/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=8919431274721628269' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/8919431274721628269'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/8919431274721628269'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2006/12/im-so-sorry.html' title='I&apos;m so sorry...'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-635916655075217710</id><published>2006-12-13T10:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-13T11:14:37.631-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I've returned from my abduction...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Well ok, so I wasn't really abducted... but I tried really hard to come up with a good excuse for my absence and found nothing. I suppose my best excuse is simply the truth, which is that I've not been in the mood to blog lately. I've been tired, and cranky and just stressed... which is funny cuz you think that would make me want to blog, but really it just made me want to hide in my room, under my covers. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;The lovely doctors at Urgent Care last night decided I have strep throat. Oh wonderful!! So I've been dealing with the wonders of a sore throat, stuffy nose and slight fever. AND to add insult to injury, anyone ever realize that strep can cause a rash of sorts?? Well, it can. In all the years that I've had strep, and I used to get it religiously every year as a kid, I never got a rash with it... but now, now I look like I have really bad heat rash all over my body. It's hot, let me tell you!! Thankfully it's not on my neck or face, so thanks to the wonderful Wisconsin winters I've been able to hide under sweaters. I've also not been able to sleep the past 2 nights. It appears my body has decided that I only need about 10 minutes/hour of sleep. So therefore if I actually lay down to get about 6 hours of sleep, I'm averaging about an hour a night. Doesn't that sound wonderful? So basically I'm existing on caffeine, little sleep, and antibiotics. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Other then that, nothing too exciting has been going on in my world. Same issues with men that are, well always issues. I have decided I want to get my degree and be a Guidance Counselor, as soon as I figure out how to live and go to school. But I suppose at this point that's the extent of what's going on in my world. I'll update more when I'm feeling a bit better. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-635916655075217710?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/635916655075217710/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=635916655075217710' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/635916655075217710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/635916655075217710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2006/12/ive-returned-from-my-abduction.html' title='I&apos;ve returned from my abduction...'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-6598125923846713676</id><published>2006-11-09T12:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-09T12:46:28.330-08:00</updated><title type='text'>(LONG) Update</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Ok so I've vanished lately, for that I apologize, but I have had so much going on in my little world that I don't know where to begin. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;To start, a friend of mine gave birth to a gorgeous little baby boy on Tuesday, he's so cute!!! I spent the better part of 2 1/2 hours at the hospital last night. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;In other news, IrishGirl (formerly known as M) and I have decided we're going to start a sitcom regarding the wonderous issues of dating in our lives. Please any names that you would like to throw at us are appreciated!!! I'll get into more of why we decided this a bit later, but the fact that we've known each other for 17 years and have been there through everything make the whole situation even more amusing!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;THE BOY is driving me slightly crazy. I don't get him, honestly. He tells me he has no clue what he's doing and he's so confused, and yet he misses me. I apparently don't know how hard all of this is on him, and so on. The thing that makes me laugh is that I gave him everything he said he wanted, I gave and I gave and I never asked for anything in return. At the moment I'm emotionally drained, at least where he is concerned. I have nothing left to give him, and that doesn't really bode well for him. I have said many times that I hit a certain point where I'm too exhausted and I stop fighting and just walk away. I've hit that point, at least very nearly. There are times when I honestly miss him, but they're less and less and it's more that I miss the guy I started dating and the potential he has. Funny, but I think I dated potential for a year. Ah well, live and learn right?!?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Now this is where the story gets interesting haha (This may be slightly long-winded, and I apologize for that but there's a lot of background that needs to be understood I think)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Friday I was having one of those days, the ones where the idea of having no plans and going home to do nothing just seemed like the worst idea. So realizing that KarBear was sick, I called up IrishGirl and vented to her. We hatched a plan to go out, since she didn't work until 10 on Saturday. I put my happy ass in my car and drove the 2 hours back home. We had a good time, discussed the issues with THE BOY and talked about her and IrishMan. (Which by the way, I just love how happy this boy makes my best friend!!! She was positively sickening how cute she was the whole time she was talking about him, and when he'd text her. I love it!!!) After a couple drinks I got a little goofy and decided to text (um, I hadn't thought of a name for him yet… shit…uh) Country Boy (it fits I suppose). &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Now Country Boy is someone that we've known for years, high school actually. We were all really good friends, and our Junior year he decided he was in love with IrishGirl. So the entire year I spent playing referee to them. She was never sure how she felt about him, and he was persistent. Eventually though, he grew tired of waiting for her and started dating Bitch (sorry, I know it's not very creative, but seriously the best word to describe her. And I don't mean bitch in that complimentary way it can be used…just plain Bitch). After they'd been dating for awhile IrishGirl decided she'd made a huge mistake (hindsight huh??) and more drama ensued. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Country Boy and Bitch dated for about 2 years, through IrishGirl and my Senior year almost. After graduation we realized they'd broken up, through mutual friends since we rarely saw or spoke to Country Boy when he was dating her. So of course, IrishGirl and him started hanging out and eventually ended up dating. She was leaving for school (5 hours away… man I'm glad you're back home girl!!) at the end of summer, and apparently everything was going to be fine…no problems, life was good. (I was with THE EX at this time and rarely saw my friends…yes stupid I know… again, hindsight) Suddenly though, Country Boy vanished. We didn't get it, he finally had the girl he'd been "in love" with for years, and he started blowing her off. We found out later, like 2 years later, what the whole story was. It had to do with something very serious that was going on with a friend of his, which I won't post here, but he felt the need to be loyal and keep it a secret, as he'd been asked to do. However, it ended their relationship. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;He fell off the radar again for awhile, found out later that he'd ended up dating another girl we'd gone to high school with and moved with her to where she was going to school. Then he ended up back home. We've kept in touch over the years here and there. We'd always lose touch and then end up finding each other again, the 3 of us seem to not be able to rid ourselves of the group I tell ya. I tried a few times to get him and IrishGirl back together, but it was no use, times had changed and so had people. She wasn't willing to open up to him again, and I can't say that I blame her. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;So fast forward to Friday night… after a few drinks I decide to text him. We get to chatting and end up talking for 3 hours, yes 3 hours through text. Our convo started out innocently enough, I mean please I only said hi when I sent him the first message. However, somewhere along the way the whole convo changed and we were suddenly flirting. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Don't get me wrong here people, I'm a flirt… I KNOW I'm a flirt. I'm a flirt sober, get any alcohol in me and I'm even worse. So the fact that I was flirting with someone I was "buzz" texting didn't shock me, it was the fact that I was flirting with Country Boy and he'd started it!! I think I slightly felt my world shift a little that night, no joke. It ended with us making plans to hang out at his place the next night. When I finally fell asleep that night, I was so confused and baffled as to what had just happened… I mean this was Country Boy. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Now before any of you freak out about the whole, this is your best friends ex thing, she was sitting there with me the whole time and knew what he was saying to me… and was telling ME what to say back. She's been under the impression for months that him and I should date. I'm not sure what her line of thinking is, but she doesn't care and chalks it up to a lost high school relationship and why should she care?? Trust me, if I ever thought it would damage her and I in any way I'd walk away. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;So along comes Saturday night, I hung out with another friend of mine for awhile and headed over to his house around 8 or so I guess. We sat around talking for awhile and then decided to watch a movie…and before any of you start laughing, we actually seriously watched the movie. There may have been some cuddling but that was it, and it was nice. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Ok, so I stayed there… and yes we actually slept!! (seriously people, get your minds out of the damn gutter, please) There may have been a whole lot of cuddling, and kissing, but that was it. (Please, my mind was so jumbled and confused to begin with, I was NOT going to add to that) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;We have plans for tomorrow night too, and I'm so excited to see him again it's sickening. I've talked to him every freaking day since Friday night and I actually look forward to talking to him. I mean last night he ended up falling asleep before I got home from the hospital so when I called he was already asleep, and I missed talking to him because we'd only talked for a few minutes that day. I mean come on, what is wrong with me people?!?!?! I make fun of these giddy, hyper, smiley people, and now I'm becoming one of them. Aggghhhh!!! We decided we're just going with whatever this may be at the moment, because it's either that or just pretend like it didn't happen and neither of us want to do that. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;So that's basically my story at the moment… I'll keep you all updated on how the weekend goes, and maybe I'll post tomorrow about how I actually feel, but figure this has gotten long enough already. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Aghhh!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-6598125923846713676?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/6598125923846713676/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=6598125923846713676' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/6598125923846713676'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/6598125923846713676'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2006/11/long-update.html' title='(LONG) Update'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-5106650865630740177</id><published>2006-11-02T14:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-02T14:48:21.382-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bad Timing</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#3333ff;"&gt;So I've been doing a lot of thinking today, and I've realized I could completely and totally let myself fall for E. Now here's the problem with that: both of us have been in relationships for the past several years, and both of us could probably really use the time alone to try and just be. We talked about it a little today because I finally got brave enough to bring up the subject and he even said, I really think I'm leaning towards being alone for a while. I can respect that, probably more then most people, but it doesn't help the fact that I could see myself really caring about him. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#3333ff;"&gt;This brings me to the realization that I have the worst timing with things. I mean seriously, this is quite possibly the best guy I know and one that would treat me really well and I end up coming into his life when he doesn't want a girlfriend. How lovely... = I realize I could be patient and just see how things develop, I mean I could really use the time too, but patience is not my best virtue. I do realize it would be a slow thing either way, considering he's quite a ways away from me to begin with, but I just don't know. I really like him, and I like him in that way you end up liking someone when you're in high school and it's all new and all you do is smile. I haven't felt that in a long time. I never really felt that rush with THE BOY, and with THE EX there was a part of that, but I think it was more the way things with him and I progressed. THE BOY just kind of slowly developed, there was no rush. THE EX and I, well I don't even really know, I was so unsure for the first several months of that relationship that I don't know what you'd call it. I was happy, but that lasted for such a short period. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#3333ff;"&gt;I suppose at this point I'll just play it by ear and see where it goes. Something tells me I could bend him to what I wanted, just a guess and feeling I have, but I don't want him to feel pressured, and I also don't want to push him away. So apparently he's now just my little play thing.... as I've dubbed him. Let's see how long I can play this game without getting burned.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-5106650865630740177?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/5106650865630740177/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=5106650865630740177' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/5106650865630740177'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/5106650865630740177'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2006/11/bad-timing.html' title='Bad Timing'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-7389000161856712302</id><published>2006-10-31T14:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-10-31T14:49:48.334-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Weekend</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;So I apologize, I've been a stranger lately. I've just had a lot going on and no time for anything it seems. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**Weekend Update**&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll start a little early since something worth mentioning happened on Thursday.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Thursday*&lt;br /&gt;At 3am my phone goes off, it's a text tone I know all too well. THE BOY wants to know if he can come over and talk, he has things he wants to say. So of course, I let him…I realize I have no clue why I backed down and let him come over, I guess there was a part of my half asleep mind that still wanted to see what he had to say. I get the usual I really missed you while I was gone, I really think about you a lot and all the usual. I can honestly say that I don't know how I feel. I really feel like he isn't going to be ready to give me anything near what I need or want in the near future and I don't have the urge to wait around for him. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I ended up being up from 3am on that morning… and yes Friday was the day I was leaving work at noon to go up and see E and I was on 5 hours of sleep for what was going to be a very long night.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Friday*&lt;br /&gt;Suffer through the 4 hours of work, I had no one to talk to as my desk partner was off that day and K had taken the day off, as had E. Grab a quick bite to eat and head to K's to meet her and T to head up. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think I remembered how much I had liked being around E until I was up there again. To spare all of the details, it was very sweet and I smiled a lot. =)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well that was until the multiple bottles of wine, straight whiskey and punch kicked my ass. Needless to say I blacked out and don't remember several hours, and ended up getting sick…lovely, and passing out on E's friends couch. Once I woke up I was completely fine again, so apparently I need to stay away from the damn wine. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Saturday*&lt;br /&gt;I didn't want to leave, once I woke up and started having parts of what I'd forgotten told to me. K wanted me to stay, but I couldn't ditch out on Shebelle and the party. So I headed down (several hours later then I should have) and had a good time at the party. My hair looked very cute and it was a good time, even if I was exhausted and decided to drive home at 3am…or wait I suppose at that point it really felt like 4am since we'd set the clocks back. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Sunday*&lt;br /&gt;I was lazy all day then went and saw The Departed, amazing movie I recommend to everyone. Then THE BOY text me to go see Saw 3 with him, and of course I had to go see it… I mean it's Saw 3!!! We had a good time, it was hard being around him and trying to make sure he saw it as us just being friends. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not entirely sure what is going to happen but I know I really like E, but I have a very confusing situation going on with THE BOY right now and I'm not sure what to make of it. I think he's trying to prove more to me, I can see it in little things that he's doing but I'm not really sure how I feel about it all. I care about him, and I don't want to hurt him but I just don't think it'll work anymore. He's not anywhere near being ready to give me what I want and need, and I think there might be too much negative there for that to happen. He wants me in this limbo and I don't know what to make of it all. I'm going to have to push this just friends thing, and really hold my ground on this one. Aghhh… &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-7389000161856712302?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/7389000161856712302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=7389000161856712302' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/7389000161856712302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/7389000161856712302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2006/10/weekend.html' title='Weekend'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-707159349224955670</id><published>2006-10-25T14:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-25T14:41:12.454-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cigarettes by The Wreckers</title><content type='html'>"Cigarettes"&lt;br /&gt;Got my headlights shining&lt;br /&gt;Down an old dirt road&lt;br /&gt;Smoke my cigarettes&lt;br /&gt;I should quit I know&lt;br /&gt;The radio's playing&lt;br /&gt;Old country songs&lt;br /&gt;Someone's leaving, someone's cheating&lt;br /&gt;On and onI think&lt;br /&gt;I might like&lt;br /&gt;The quiet nights&lt;br /&gt;Of this empty life&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Chorus]'Cause someday maybe&lt;br /&gt;Somebody will love me like I need&lt;br /&gt;And someday I won't have to prove'&lt;br /&gt;Cause somebody will see&lt;br /&gt;all my worth but until then&lt;br /&gt;I'll do just fine on my own&lt;br /&gt;With my cigarettes&lt;br /&gt;And this old dirt road&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See I left another&lt;br /&gt;Good man tonight&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if he'll miss me&lt;br /&gt;Lord knows I tried&lt;br /&gt;But I think that maybe&lt;br /&gt;The thing that I did wrong&lt;br /&gt;Was put up with his bullshit&lt;br /&gt;For far too long&lt;br /&gt;I think I might like&lt;br /&gt;The quiet nights&lt;br /&gt;Of this empty life&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Chorus]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ain't gonna sleep&lt;br /&gt;I ain't gonna dream&lt;br /&gt;About the things that I used to need&lt;br /&gt;I ain't gonna cry&lt;br /&gt;Or go on living lies&lt;br /&gt;I'm just gonna drive&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Chorus 2x]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-707159349224955670?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/707159349224955670/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=707159349224955670' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/707159349224955670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/707159349224955670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2006/10/cigarettes-by-wreckers.html' title='Cigarettes by The Wreckers'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-7307630801517235540</id><published>2006-10-25T14:37:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-25T14:37:53.846-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Only Time...</title><content type='html'>So I've been conversing with E for most of the day today, and I don't think I've read an email from him and not smiled. Even my desk neighbor made a comment that I must be having a good conversation because I kept smiling, and it's true. We really weren't talking about much of real substance, just the usual getting to know you kind of stuff, but it made me happy. I know how he feels about me, and that at this point it really is up to me how far this goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel myself moving on from THE BOY and I'm not really sure how I feel about that. I understand that I can't wait around and put my life on hold for him, or for anyone, ever again but it doesn't stop the fact that I can still see what we were and what we could be. I realize that the worst way to live life is by could've and would've and should've, and I normally do a really good job at not being that way but right now I'm doing a bit of wallowing in it. I gave so much of myself to that relationship because I trusted him, and that's not something that comes easily to me. I trusted when he told me that I made him happy and he wouldn't hurt me and that he's not going anywhere… and now I just feel like a fool for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been talking to him on and off this afternoon as well, and the difference is that where E has made me smile, THE BOY has made me want to pull my hair out and scream. He says he's not trying to be confusing and yet that's exactly what he's doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My plan for this weekend is to be and to have fun. I was stressing a bit over what would happen with E and I this weekend, and I've realized that at this point it doesn't matter. Whatever happens will happen because I want it to, and whatever doesn't will not happen because that's how I want it. I like E, and I could see myself really liking him. Him and THE BOY are different on so many levels, but in a lot of them they're different in good ways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I suppose only time will tell…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-7307630801517235540?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/7307630801517235540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=7307630801517235540' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/7307630801517235540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/7307630801517235540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2006/10/only-time.html' title='Only Time...'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-2521857483447264975</id><published>2006-10-23T14:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-23T14:25:49.865-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Well</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#6633ff;"&gt;So please explain to me why you tell someone you need time, and then proceed to talk to them every night you're gone?!?!!? If you need time away from us so bad to work through things then what good is texting me every night going to do? UGH. I seriously don't get it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#6633ff;"&gt;On another note, I've made some very interesting plans for this weekend and I'm really looking forward to them. I'm refusing to put my life on hold until someone else figures out if I fit into their life. I spent 4 years on the back burner to someone elses issues and I'm not doing it again. So I'm going on a little road trip to see E. I'm excited about this, and I'm strangely excited to see him. He makes me smile, and he was there for me when I needed someone and THE BOY refused to be there. We shall see what happens. Who knows, maybe I'll realize what I really needed this whole time is right in front of me. =)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-2521857483447264975?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/2521857483447264975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=2521857483447264975' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/2521857483447264975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/2521857483447264975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2006/10/well.html' title='Well'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-4781579347256355546</id><published>2006-10-19T13:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-19T14:16:31.048-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Confessions Part 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#21:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;I miss you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#22:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;He's going to be there Friday night, and I wanted to tell you that before you left. I wanted to make sure you knew you weren't my only option. But I didn't, I couldn't hurt you like that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#23:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Everyone keeps telling me I deserve so much better, that until you grow up you won't be who anyone needs... and I mean everyone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#24:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;When you see the pics from Halloween, yes I was trying to show you what you're missing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#25:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;You've made me question myself and I hate that&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#26:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;There are things about my past I've never told you, things that have shaped me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#27:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;I hate that you didn't fight for me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#28:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Listen to the song "How Far", you'll understand it all&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#29:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;I can't stop thinking about him&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#30:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;I always worried I wasn't good enough for you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#31:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;I realize now, I'm probably too good for you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#32:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;I'm tired of wondering where you are&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#33:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;I wish you would've called, at least to say good bye&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#34:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;I sent you that email last night because I needed to say goodbye, it might be the last time&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#35:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;How can you tell her you love me and not me?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#36:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;I would've stood by anything you wanted&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#37:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;As much as I know you want it, if it hasn't happened for you yet it may never happen. I know you're good enough, and I have faith in you but I don't think you've had the ambition to do it so far, and if you want to do it then just do it!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#38:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;I have no idea if I'll ever be able to forgive you completely&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#39:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Your friends are on my side&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;#40:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;I really hope you miss me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-4781579347256355546?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/4781579347256355546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=4781579347256355546' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/4781579347256355546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/4781579347256355546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2006/10/confessions-part-2.html' title='Confessions Part 2'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-4912064071985229115</id><published>2006-10-19T08:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-19T08:51:48.270-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Everything Changes</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;color:#6600cc;"&gt;I was talking to my Mom today and she said something that really kind of made me think. She said that we all have plans when we're younger of where our lives will be, but that as we grow life changes our plans and you can either go with them or fight them and end up hurting. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#6600cc;"&gt;Thinking about it, I've never heard anything that made more sense. If you would've asked me 6 years ago where I'd be when I was 22 I would've told you that I was starting out in the world of education. I'd have finished up my teaching degree and found some great job at a middle school somewhere and be in my first year teaching. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#6600cc;"&gt;The reality of it is that by 22 I've never finished school, broken off my engagement, work at some job at a Telecommunications company that I hate, and struggle to pay my bills. That's my reality... quite a step off from what my "plan" was. However, instead of sitting here pouting and regretting all of my past decisions I embrace them. They've made me who I am today, and for that I will always be grateful. I'm a generally happy person and I love all of the people that I have in my life that I never would've met had my life gone the way I'd planned. I never would've met the person who has become a sister to me, a family when I needed someone to lean on. That right there is enough reason for me to be happy my life changed course. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#6600cc;"&gt;Yes I plan on going back to school, but the degree I want has changed dramatically. Instead of teaching, I want my psychology degree. Who knows maybe I'll go on and become a child psychologist, or maybe I'll just become a counselor like I've been thinking. I don't really know right now, but I do know that I won't stress out about the things to come. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#6600cc;"&gt;My Dad has taught me in this past year that life is too short to stress about the small things, because you never know when you'll wake up one day and someone that you love will be gone, or you'll end up with a disease that will forever change your life and those of the people around you. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#6600cc;"&gt;Like Tim McGraw says, "Live Like You Were Dying".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-4912064071985229115?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/4912064071985229115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=4912064071985229115' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/4912064071985229115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/4912064071985229115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2006/10/everything-changes.html' title='Everything Changes'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-8662381752964613477</id><published>2006-10-18T10:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-18T11:10:02.914-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Confessions Part 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;This seemed like some good therapy so I think it'll be an ongoing thing here =) Enjoy!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#1: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;I'm fairly sure a part of me loved you before we ever started dating.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#2:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;I love how we can talk for hours, and it feels like no time has passed&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#3: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;I started to resent you when you started to pull away from me, I think a part of me actually started to fall out of love with you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#4:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;It felt good when you got so upset at the thought of losing me, as much as I hated seeing you so upset, I loved that for the first time in a long time you showed me some emotion.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#5:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;After 4 years of an emotionally abusive and draining relationship I went into this guarded, you proved to me that I needed to, but I fear it was already too late&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#6:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;That night I told you he wanted me? I let him kiss me. Not because I was drunk, not because I wanted him to... but because after telling you how much I needed you to come out with me that night, how much I needed to see you, you told me no. He was there, he was caring, he wanted to see me smile... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;And for the record, when I tell you that I need to see you an acceptible answer is not that I can come over when I'm done, that makes me think you just know I'll be drunk and want sex. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#7: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;I understand that people sometimes need time, I don't judge or resent you for that. I resent the fact that you pulled away from me and decided to not even try to open up to me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#8:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;I also know that you're going to regret this one day, because I won't wait around forever and you will not find someone like me again. I'm one of a kind, and you're right when you tell me I'm the best thing you've ever had... and the best you'll ever get... just saying...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#9:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;I never pushed the subject of you going there with me, because a part of me didn't want you to. It was my safe haven, my hideout, and the place where I could go be free with my friends and get stupid. I never betrayed you down there, I just danced on bars and flirted a lot... I was able to let off steam&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#10:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;To be fair to you there is someone that I can't let go of, you'd never have to worry about him because he'll never let himself leave and I don't know if I'd ever be able to give him a fair chance, but we both know that there's something there. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#11:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;I love you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#12: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;I hate that you won't grow up, just that little bit. I understand your life isn't the way you thought it would be, but not being with me won't change that&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#13:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;I'm not their girlfriends, I won't ask you to leave your friends, and I'd never tell you not to do something. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#14:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;I'm not your ex's either. I don't want you to be someone else, I don't want you to give up your dreams. I want to be there for you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#15:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;I'm not crying over you anymore. I've cried way too much lately over you, and over us. I cried more then I thought I could on Monday, my tears are dried up.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#16:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;I may have told you that I'll be in your life no matter what, but I can't go back to just being friends after all this time. I would miss you, but I will never be able to see you with someone else.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#17:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;I resent the fact that you never thought to invite me, it's my hometown for fucks sake!!! Of course I'd want to go. Oh and for the record... that one blog you read that you asked what it was about?? I lied, it's about you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#18:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;If we don't work out, I may move. I miss home, I miss my sister, and I miss the city.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#19:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;It's not my fault you're insecure. I've told you more times then I can count that I want you the way you are.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;#20:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;I don't believe that closing me off will help you sort things out, as you say. I think you will realize that you can't figure things out on your own. Maybe I'll be here... maybe I won't. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-8662381752964613477?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/8662381752964613477/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=8662381752964613477' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/8662381752964613477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/8662381752964613477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2006/10/confessions-part-1.html' title='Confessions Part 1'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-3206309658734460283</id><published>2006-10-17T10:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-17T11:01:01.972-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Time</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Well it's happened, THE BOY and I decided to take a break. I know it's needed, I understand why it's needed. He needs to get his head together, and really so do I. I'm not blaming him, I'm not hating him, I'm not even mad at him. However, I cried from like 5pm last night to sometime way too late this morning. I look like a zombie today and I felt like someone kicked my ass when I woke up. You know the feeling, you wake up and your eyes are swollen and bloodshot. Yeah that was me this morning.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;I wish I could be mad, I wish I could put that wall up that I spent so much time making for all those years. It seems to be failing me, that bitch that I know and love that normally comes out to protect me is failing me horribly. Instead I'm just this broken hearted, hysterical, alone female... and I hate it.  I hate that I let him in so much, I hate that I didn't realize how much I let him in. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;I can respect time, I can respect needing to get things together... but I do know myself enough to know that there will come a point where I will be closed off, I'll be closed off to letting him back in. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Essentially I feel like complete shit, and not too sure what else to say.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-3206309658734460283?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/3206309658734460283/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=3206309658734460283' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/3206309658734460283'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/3206309658734460283'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2006/10/time.html' title='Time'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2027800979913287721.post-7824502134002438074</id><published>2006-10-16T14:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-16T14:41:02.481-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gotta love Mondays...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;or not so much. One good thing is that Beth informed me how to get the blogs I read to show up, I just had to switch to BETA. Yay!!! Thanks Beth =)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;On other news, it's been a pretty typical Monday, which means crappy. I woke up this morning with my head feeling horrible, I really do hate colds. Other then that the days going pretty quick, only have 20 minutes left at work, always a bonus. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;I really have nothing of interest to say today, as I'm about ready to fall asleep on my keyboard, but I'll leave you with this:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;Why do men not understand that when you tell them to fuck off, you really do want them to go away??&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2027800979913287721-7824502134002438074?l=dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/feeds/7824502134002438074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2027800979913287721&amp;postID=7824502134002438074' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/7824502134002438074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2027800979913287721/posts/default/7824502134002438074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dysfunctionalsweetheart2.blogspot.com/2006/10/gotta-love-mondays.html' title='Gotta love Mondays...'/><author><name>Dysfunctional Sweetheart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04425685873283569247</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
