One of my favorite Doctor Who episodes is courtesy of Sally Sparrow. What a sweet, sad, horrible, notthatheavyonTheDoctor episode. The Weeping Angels are the scariest. That must be a personality test online. Your Least Favorite Doctor Who Nemesis and What That Says About You.
Anyway. It's spring. And time for cleaning, and love and sex and blooming trees and Accomplishing Things and Drinking Wine and hydrating a lot and riding bikes and Fuck the Diet. Well, not really. I transgress...ish? And then I remember that I make the rules and blah blah blah. I can be sad (?) about my 1920s body when it's winter and I have to pretend to be Boticelli's The Birth of Venus. In the meantime: all shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well. Until the next crisis. Duh. Of course.
Alaska's been having a bona fide heat wave.
I'm trying to figure out how to reconcile Mae West with Debussy with Lykke Li with The Sex Pistols. (That says a lot about me, I suppose. None of it contradictory.)
So.... I have to write a monologue about something I wish I'd said to someone else. Maybe in response to something they said to me. Something I wish I'd done. I interpret this as me not taking responsibility. Being afraid. I don't think there have been many instance of that in my life. Time without number, sure. Sometimes there wasn't anything to say that would have helped.
Sometimes I'm still not sure what I should have done. Should have said. The big important things I've tried to take responsibility for. Relationships with parents. Relationships with siblings. Relationships with significant others. ...with one notable exception.
I find that really what I would do, if I could do anything would be to erase. Not a very flattering thing. Not a good thing, certainly. But a true thing. The things that have grown into weird shapes undermining the person I'm trying to be now. The perfectly true processes I went through that are now jokes. Bad jokes. Because all the people who went through these things with me, who were my friends and who said they'd be my friends 4EVAR (God, that sounds pathetic, doesn't it? Still hurts, guys. Still hurts.). Or at least for the next few years, I guess, are now involved in their own lives to an extent that gives me the icy shoulder.
That's the way things go. That's a part of growing up, and it sucks. With all this globalization and connectivity and the people who fucking SKYPE for Chrissakes.... You don't choose to text me back? It's a choice. It says something to me that is true and negative and that I take to heart.
And that kinda makes me not want to reach out anymore. I think I've written about this before. The difficulty of connecting with new people when you really liked the old ones. When the dimensions of experience available with the old ones was not nearly spent. When the new people are just going to leave. Or have needs you're not going to be able to meet. Or die. Or outright reject you. Or attempt to make you change who you are for no apparent good reason.
Jill just plain got tired of my shit. College was extremely socially awkward times, man. Necessary, but God. So sorry. Totally get it, guys.
I feared Bri would judge me for the non-Christian life choices I'd made. So I stopped answering the phone and eventually she stopped trying. This was a terrible decision on my part, as I loved Bri and she was by far the most supportive friend I've had with the exception of Katie.
Roman got sick and left. He was in terrible pain. I had to disconnect to keep from going crazy.
Luke had a life in Chicago and then Las Vegas that he needed to connect with more than me. Plus it's not necessarily healthy to live vicariously through ones gay ex-boyfriend, amirite?
I don't know why Tyler abandoned me. Not exactly. There are lots of possible reasons. Maybe all of them. This is a big problem for me, though. Because he'd seen the worst of me and helped me through some hard things. Maybe I'm just too big a problem to have around in a person's life for extended periods.
tbc.
