SheFallsSoftly

You know it has been a long week when I don’t have the energy to over analyze the things you say… I’ve been learning the art of just letting it go. It’s odd but I’m beginning to trust that if it really mattered, you’d probably tell. Now you just need to learn how to broach statements without feeling confrontational.

I had intended at some point, to give a good long discourse on nomenclature and its importance or lack thereof, however I’ve come to the conclusion that if I’m happy and the object without-name is making me happy then I ought to just calm down and take it as it comes.

On another note, I’m really not liking the status of this entire McHugh issue right now. A desire to be the hero in a situation you know nothing about has never looked more childish. If you don’t want me to feel like I have to justify my actions, why put me on the defensive?

What I want to know is this–is it more moral to break a promise or to lie?

I can’t past-tense deny comment. All I can do is tell the truth, or keep lying. Break a promise, or be honest…

What I want to know is why I’m stuck feeling like the criminal here, like I’m the one that should be apologizing for what happened.

I walk all night long
Hidden beneath my thick wool jacket
From the rain
And your eyes.
If I could bleed, or sleep–
Maybe then this restless ever waking hopeless
Feeling
Maybe this solution in my veins, so meaningless
Might drain through a nightmare’s seive…
Maybe then I might live. ("Do Not Resuscitate")

I wish I could be afraid of something simple right now. The normal insecurities that I am used to, that he won’t like me or that I’ve alienated him. I can get over boys, that’s easy. I can’t get over this restless ever-waking hopeless feeling, this growing inability to forget the past as I have before. If it could be as simple as a relationship that won’t work because of my past and my only just now blossoming ability to deal with it, that would be simple. This is far more complex, this is the surmounting inability to ignore reality. This is meeting face to face with the role I played as object and my anger and dread and humiliation in dealing with that.

It’s easy to be angry at her. It’s easy to be aloof about him. It’s easy to blame myself entirely and make excuses and do what’s easiest. It’s easy to let this humiliation make me run again.

The problem is, I know what’s right, and it’s not going to be easy.

It’s been a "repeat-one" kind of week on my playlist. Current obsession: "The Engine Driver" by The Decemberists.

Today has been complicated and it’s only 3pm. I hate to think what the rest of my day holds in store. I received a phonecall at work from Headmaster Ross of The Meadows School, where I attended highschool. The topic? Had I had inappropriate relations with one Kevin McHugh, a teacher of mine while I was there. I see no reason to discuss the validity of these claims–if you know me, it’s pretty obvious–however that was enough to really stress me out. I remember leaving highschool to get away with childish rumors among other things. I also get to work a split shift because everyone is quitting. We’ve lost 2 closers in the last week, and another has put in his two weeks notice. Our manager is out sick, and one of our cashiers had a final today, so that means our work pool was 5 people for the entire day. It makes me feel bad enough for my entirely overworked managers that I almost want to stay just for their benefit.

Billy and his unfortunate example usage when discussing those things that make me the most neurotic is really making things in my life more..interesting. Then again, I do that enough on my own by not checking the "sender" field on received text messages. Patrick will never allow me to live this down, I think.

It seems so complicated from this perspective, with threads of meaning tangled and stretched out across miles and cities. The closer I get, the more sense the meaning makes, the less it looks knotted and the more it looks woven. Strangely enough, I know the problem isn’t the distance as much as my perspective, and that at some point I’ll have to change it.

It’s funny the sort of things I can work myself up about. I don’t really ever worry that boys will become interested in someone else and no longer want to date me. I’m not offended at the concept of my significant other being attracted to someone else. I know very well that if they desire to be with someone else, there’s nothing I can do to stop them. I know that if they’re worth being with, I’d want their happiness more than the relationship for its own sake anyway. The odd thing is, the more convinced I am that someone is attracted to me the more I fear misrepresenting myself. Trying to explain who I am (as if there’s any linear sense of being at all) becomes this farce of my impotent anger at the inadequacy of any symbolism I might attempt and the crises of representation and interpretation. I don’t need to be guaranteed that no one else will have a chance as a partner for the one I’m pursuing, only a fair chance of my own. If they can get a decent approximation of who I am and the meaning of my various neuroses and still prefer to be interested in someone else, that is by all means alright.

For someone who doesn’t believe in fate, I say this an awful lot: if it is meant to be, it will be.

For the record, even if my first interpretation was that you were an idiot, your first interpretation of my attraction to you was that I must have been crazy.