Circles

It feels like we do the same thing each time. We go round and round, on and on, like a song stuck on repeat. This time is no exception. 

I'll tell her I love her, after telling her I hate her, then we get back together and go for another week before we do it again.

Work is hell. That's all but a guarantee. I'll be up to my chin in paperwork, and stressing out about every bit of it. I'll work like a dog, like some sort of servant, and return home to an empty apartment, yesterdays  half eaten dinner still on the table, sink filled with mountains of dishes, and a pile of slowly expanding bills in the center of the table waiting to be paid. 

Next week. I'll get them next week, that's when I get paid. 

I throw the half eaten meal in the microwave, claiming it won't give me food poisoning as I pick at it like a gorged bird. The meat may be sprouting some sort of fungus.

 It goes in the trash moments later. 

It probably will give me food poisoning. Great. I usually settle for some toast or ramen noodles, takeout if I'm really hungry. Sometimes I'll even make some sandwiches or pancakes if I'm feeling adventurous. 

I am not adventurous today. I just throw some soup noodles in the pan and into my bowl a few minutes latter. 

This is much more appetizing then fungus food, but I can't bring myself to keep on eating. 

It then goes in the sink along with the other dishes forming a ever-growing pile of housework.

 Saturday. I'll get them Saturday, that's my day off. 

To pass some time I sit down at the kitchen/dinning room table. I twiddle my thumbs, remove my tie, ditch my shoes, and loosen my belt. I'm not at work anymore, I don't need to look as if I am.  

I watch threw the window as the streetlights come on and the moon, the only visible thing in the night sky in this city light, finally shows its face. Sometimes I'll read a book, clean the floor,  turn on an old toone, do a few dishes,  or call my mother, depends on the night. This time I just wait. 

And I wait. 

I wait for her. I know she's coming. Every day, like a instinct drilled in her head. Twenty minutes after dark, without fail, no matter how hard work was or how much homework she has. 

The doorbell will ring. When it does I'll put on some sort of happy-ish face and greet her as she come in moments later. 

Her name is Shawna. She is beautiful, no question about it. Most guys would kill for a girlfriend that looks like her. She has long red hair that nearly touch's her waist, a "full" figure,  a fantastic face that may or may not have be covered in makeup, and a happy-go-lucky attitude that disintegrates the moment anything gets out of her control. 

We're a couple, though things aren't going too well between us. She doesn't see this. I do, but I'll never do anything about it. Anything that will matter in the end anyway. 

…

…Hmmm. 

… Today I will do something. 

Shawna puts her hands on her hips and pouts a bit, before mentioning the state of my apartment. She says something about the floor looking "like someone ran a herd of cattle over it," Or how my sink is full of "nasty shit you should of been on a week ago."

She is probably right, but I don't need to hear it, I've had a long day. I've had a week of long days. If she has a problem with them, she can be the one to clean them.

Of course I don't tell her that, I never tell her what I'm thinking. 

I of course apologize on how my apartment is a mess, and that my appearance is a little less that satisfactory. I'm lying threw my teeth. I'm not sorry, haven't been in a while. I stopped feeling sorry about this stuff, it is the big stuff I let her guilt trip me on. 

After a few minutes we sit down on the couch together, and converse. She talks about collage life, and how she's almost done with it. Thats good. Soon she'll have a full time job and get to suffer like the rest of us. 

 Shawna tries to make plans to go to Preston's party on Friday night. I don't even know who Preston is, and I truly don't want to go to his party. 

It's another collage thing. I had enough of collage, I scraped by with the skin on my teeth, and don't need another reminder. That, and every Friday I just want to sleep, I don't have energy to party. 

At least, that's what I old her, but in all honesty, it is because I don't want to go out with her, she takes up enough of my time. At a party, she would just get drunk, and try to sleep with every guy there. She's done it before, and she'll do it again.

"Come on, just go to the party with me! You need to unwind, it'll be fun."

I refuse.

"Please?"

I refuse again. 

The argument to follow is ugly, but normal. She doesn't get her way, and starts to whine. I don't budge, and it escalates. I tell her what will really happen at the party, in fact, I'm so bold to tell her that I don't want her to go to the party because of what we both know she'll do.

She responds with a "you don't control me, don't tell me what to do." 

I don't back down, though I know I should. I feel like being stubborn and speaking my mind, like I do every so often. 

 I'll spare you the details of what really happens, but in the end I am left a blubbering fool, drenched in regret and drowning in my own mistake, like after every fight.

I feel truly terrible. Truly apologetic. Here is where I start to think I'm to blame. I might as well put a bullet threw my brain, cause Shawna is/was all I had left, but I don't do that. I have a better Idea.

………..

My fingers fumble my car keys out of my pocket, and I leave, locking the door behind me. 

………...

Somehow I end up at her door, in my best dress-shirt and pants, messing with my tie to get it perfect before she opens her door. 

When the door creeks open, slowly, hesitantly, she steps threw. Shawna eyes me like a hawk, but relaxes slightly as I push a bouquet of flower her way, mumbling like an idiot on how I'm sorry and I need her.

I don't need her. She is the worst thing for me, but she's like a drug. I'll never shake her.

 I'm not sure I want to shake her. 

With a sniffle Shawna wipes at the tear marks stained with mascara on her cheeks before mumbling and sniffling something like "you big idiot" or "don't do this again shit-for-brains." She excepts my apology. 

I'll kiss her forehead and run my fingers threw her long red hair. "I'm sorry."

` I'll enter her pristine apartment, and spend the rest of the night making it up to her in anyway she wants me to. I often don't even mind, what can I say? I'm a sucker for her, especially once the lights go off. 

In the morning I'll go home, then to work, then home again, and there I will wait for here to come over again. 

Next week we'll do the same thing, only maybe It'll be about a date I forgot, or how I don't pay her enough attention, or how she may or may not have been seeing other guys. Or maybe It'll be why I don't commit, that would almost be a nice change from the usual. 

Next week I'll find myself at her door again, begging for forgiveness. Again. And again the week after that, and the week after that, and the week after that. 

Its a pattern. The relationship is repeating itself and my live revolves around my relationship. 

We're going in circles, and right now I'm fine with it. Then I won't be fine with it, then I will, then she won't, then she will again. 

Who knows, maybe someday, this will change and we'll be able to go in ovals instead of circles, it would be a nice change from this repetitive life.

Ovals. That would be the life. 

2: Circles

Thanks for reading.