I often get lost.
Sunday, 10.30.2016 - 2:12 pm.

Last night, there was a Bowie tribute at the nearest pub to my house, two blocks away. Even saying that sounds cool. I invited a friend we've made here, N, from Chile. She's only here for a year, getting a master's degree, but she is. so. much. like my friend Virginia. Physically, in her voice, in her tastes. It's uncanny. I feel so at home with N because of that. Virginia introduced me to Bowie, and N likes him, too, so off we went to the pub.

Andrew has been moody since Thursday. Comes and goes but just a few weeks ago, I was thinking how well we'd been these past months, with either of us rarely getting mad about anything. Is it the season? Might be the season. He'd blame the season and that's probably it. So it was a relief that I ran into N at a Chilean get-together yesterday afternoon and that she said yes. I invited her to come along because I suspected Andrew wouldn't make it 30 minutes in a crowded pub. I was right. He barely lasted two songs in.

But before the three of us got to the pub, we had a little adventure chasing after a white cat that was lost. He followed us down the road from our house (N was in our house before heading to the pub), and we hadn't see him around before. We managed to read the tag, which helpfully had all the contact info and the phrase "I often get lost". His name was Mischief, the sweet thing. We called the owners and they were out of town for the weekend. They didn't sound too concerned and said we should just lead him to the street where they lived. We said ok.

Instead, however, we took Mischief to our house and left him on the third floor, with food, water, and a makeshift litterbox. The guest bed was there, too, so he'd be comfortable. It was drizzling and there were fireworks going on. We didn't want him to spend the night outside like that, even though he was probably used to that and more. We took him back to his house this morning, we got in the yard through the back door and he got indoors through the pet door, and that was it. Our first "rescue" here.

Back to the Bowie tribute. I had a GREAT time. The guy didn't look or sound like Bowie at all, and the wig didn't help. But, you know, Bowie's songs are amazing and as long as they're not being butchered (like they would be in my voice), I'm happy to listen to them, even if they're karaoke-ish. All the audience was middle-aged and with a few pints in, they were dancing horribly thus marvelously. I couldn't stop laughing, but not in a mean way. It was fun, and I appreciate seeing people having fun. There were women dressed up for Halloween and guys that could not coordinate their steps, and that plus the energy of the so-called Starman, made for a fantastic evening.

It was my first night out in a pub that late, too! And by late I mean 11 pm. Which is sad, as I've been here for a year. N and I made the pact to go out once in a while; she has no one to go with, and clearly neither do I. We don't party and we don't care for staying out late. But something like this, from 8:30-ish to 11, is just perfect.

Of course, it frustrated me having Andrew leave. We don't go out precisely because he can't stand it. He gets moody quickly and starts complaining and what a joy it is to be around someone like that, eh. In a way I feel it's karma, I feel I'm being punished and I'm ashamed: I was never a wingman to Joseph. We never went out together at night, except to the movies; hell, we rarely went out together at all. I was a bore and perhaps if we'd gone out indeed, I wouldn't have been good company. I was too afraid back then, of my parents, of the world in general. So, I remembered, I feel I deserved getting dumped. Which is something I have never questioned! I'm aware of a long list of reasons why Joseph wouldn't want me around anymore.

That's not to say I deserved getting dumped the way he dumped me. I didn't, right? I was a bore, yes, but at least I stayed out of ruining his nights out (Fer, rest in peace, planted in me the doubt whether he'd have cheated in such party contexts but CR stated that Joseph would never do that to me. I'm partial on both accounts but, really, the guilt I feel over failing him as a girlfriend makes me not care much if he did). I never yelled at him, never insulted him or harmed him, never cheated on him, I wasn't controlling or jealous. So, ok, let's establish that karma is coming to me in that regard, even though I resent having to be the bad gal in this; my unforgivable sin in my relationship with Joseph was being a loser, isn't that punishment enough?

Back to the present: I was very frustrated with Andrew last night. And I've been many times before. I'm not a party animal but sometimes I feel like going out and we don't go because he always prefers to stay home; and I'm still too much of a wuss to go by myself, plus I'd hate to ditch him. Weekends go by with us staying at home, even when I suggest places we could visit. There is the reason of our budget, which is partly true. We're getting by (quite comfortably, no doubt) with one scholarship while the other one goes to his debts and perhaps to help his family (it'd be nice if he wasn't uncomfortable taking finances), and a bit for my savings. But ultimately that reason is bullshit because we don't have to go too far or on a much elaborated trip. I don't ask for much. I like being home, too.

Occasionally, like I did last night, I wish I was single. That sounds ungrateful, I know, because I wouldn't be in this country if it wasn't for having the greatest partner I could ask for. I love him, he's home to me (oh, he dyed half my hair red last week and he did an amazing job!). Perhaps I just like feeling free, not having to owe myself to anyone, and feeling available, which is not the same as wishing that someone else would come up to me. I don't care for that.

Slightly related to this, for a few months, I've been wondering if I'm bisexual. Nothing in my personal history points to that, really, except how throughout my life I've had an urge to be attached and receive attention from girls who were friends of mine, and how I've been wondering how it'd feel being with one in the, um, biblical sense. I'm not adding here "I've found some women really, really attractive" because that's true but also that's obvious and expected.

The very first soul-shattering heartbreak I suffered came from my best friend in 8th grade, when she went off to have a suspiciously close relationship with another friend of both of us. Years later, when I was at a bar -this episode should be in this diary somewhere-, I found Joe (that guitar guy whose voice melted me) and a female friend of mine with whom I was super close at the time and couldn't get enough of, and the two of them were also suspiciously together. I felt really sore and jealous of each of them for being with the other. I wanted to be with either of them.

Neither of that is enough evidence, though. I don't know if I'd have ever gone out with a girl; none ever asked me out and I never asked one out. Then again, I would have never gone out with a boy had them not ask me out. I'm not a go-getter and my sex drive is kind of low. There is another kind of stimulation and arousal that I'm looking for, though I can't explain its nature, and that I'm sure I can get from any person. Genitalia, and chromosomes, and genes, and hormones, and secondary sex characters have nothing to do with it. A racing heart does.

Anyway. It's funny that I wish I'd had, and could have, more partners of whichever gender. That's a safe, convenient thing to wish for when you're married, isn't it? Perhaps I'm just bored and frustrated. A few more nights like the one last night, and maybe one or two trips on my own (my friend Michelle in Sweden is pregnant, that'd be a good occasion), and I may be cured from that. That way, Andrew can be his homely self and I can keep exploring myself outside and still be happy together.

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