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Friday, Mar. 25, 2005 / 9:39 p.m. ~It's Written to Me, and to You, and to Him, So Let's All Take it to Heart, Shall We?~ I find I'm liking him less and less. I know he said, "No one has ever NOT let go before", and I said, "I'm special", and I've continued holding fast, then loose, and almost losing my grip completely, only to grab a little higher up and a little tighter, but to what? To. Fucking. What?! He ignores me. I write. I send email, photos this time. Text messages sometimes. And today's response alluded to me startling him during a shit taken. Nothing more. Nothing. You tell me I need to forget about him, and he is your friend, but you read this crap and your concern is that I am SO wasting my time, and really we are mismatched, and you are sick of reading the little veiled entries about him, and know what? So am I. Every time I backed off and quite sanely told myself, he is not worth this, I metaphorically slapped myself and said, yes, yes he is, I am in love with him, and he is going to come around, he wanted me, he will again, and he is so stubborn, he is a Cancer, and George Bush is a Cancer, and look at him, how defiant he is, especially when he's wrong, and I never should have reminded him how he'd already severed all ties, and told me so, and how he had his closure, and never wanted a long distant [sic] relationship, so fuck me and what I want anyway, and did he ever even really care about me at all??? Ever???????????? Wasn't I just the new woman, the new fuck? It's too late to wonder any of this, but the timing is perfect to wonder why in hell I still try to be friends with him, why I genuinely want that, why when something fun or exciting happens, or my car breaks, or I need help, I want to turn to him. Why I text messaged him last night to tell him I'd talked to Moby. Why? Again. Why? And he never replies. I'm talking to a dead person, no one is there, there is no feeding tube, no bed, no body, no soul, nothing. Insensitive? I have been nothing but compassionate and caring since the big blowout, and the blowout was due to his insensitivity then. So why? He never even admitted to hurting me, never apologized, never agreed to recognize what pain he caused me. He is callous and cold, and unfeeling, and uncaring, and why would I fall in love with someone like that? What was it I saw, and where is that person, how did I see a caring and beautiful man, a kind soul, a loving human being? I think he only would want to hurt someone like me. And I could rationalize it and find him fearful, and focused, and no doubt ensconced with a new woman, a new fuck, someone far more appropriate and not hundreds of miles away, but why should I even care? And then I'd have to write about last night, again, and I'd have to remind myself that I am very attractive to men, and that when I leave my apartment, when I step outside my den of hibernation, I am magnetic. I draw people to me, it's crazy, but it's true. And today, today I got a double take, comical in its deliberateness. A man in front of me in line to buy a lottery ticket turned around, saw me, turned back, and immediately turned right around again, practically causing an audible snap in his neck, to see me again. I think I'm old and a has been, and all washed up, because of people like the 'him' in question making me feel like I don't exist and might as well be dead. But when I'm out and about I'm striking and I get attention without wanting it, and men grow weak in their knees around me, and I am mostly unaware until I sit next to one and we chat and I know I have him in the palm of my hand. Yet later, when it's over and done, and I come home alone, I think of him, and how he won't talk to me anymore, and I wonder which of the myriad of reasons is the cause, and then I tell myself it doesn't matter, really, but then it does, really, and the ignoring part on his part is the hardest. It's childish, it's immature, it's evasive, dammit, and it's rude. And plenty more adjectives, but I grow weary just writing this. I honestly want to give up all hope of ever talking to this person again, I do, and I remember sitting with him, as I do remember every time I think of him, NOW, and saying, this is it, you'll never see me again, because I fucking knew. Inside myself, not even deep inside, I saw this coming. This is who he is, this is how he is. And why would I want this??? The challenge? Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh... Last night was amazing. I met someone brand new and I rode his bike and I squeezed my crotch up against him just to hold on, and we kissed and he said he'll never see me again, and it was a trigger, surely, but it was his own insecurity which surprised me, and which reminded me, and which infuriated me, because I'm tired of meeting weak men who can't live with gusto. I want a man who wants me, which is not hard to find, not really if I expose myself, just by leaving this apartment, and who is not afraid to have me. What is this fear and distaste for actually living, for grabbing life by its handlebars and punching the throttle, or throttling the throttle, and going as fast as you can, and feeling that cool breeze wash over your eyes right as you close them and you hang on tight so you won't fall off? Men are afraid of me. Wow. And some think they are not good enough, they don't deserve someone like me. Wow again. This is not confidence on my part, nor is it cocky self-assuredness, this is experience snarling and growling and saying, hey, look, it's like THIS! Yes, I'm tired of it now. Oh, so many times I'll try, and then you're right, you won't be worth it, not anymore. And your loss, so your loss, SO. Will it be mine though? I can't figure this out. I'm holding on to this dim memory, and it's harder and harder to see any of it. I remember a walk in a garden lit by multicolored lanterns, I remember a warm embrace under trees in the darkness, and I remember falling asleep while the DVD started over and over and we lay in a sweaty heap, me on top of him, and I remember talking and watching him stroke that cat and avoid my eyes, then look hard into them trying to persuade me... of anything, and seeing through it, and that was the hard part, that I did see, and that he hated that I saw, and refused to admit I did. It was all so easy, but we made it hard, and I remember the phone calls, when he began to try, and I could feel him trying, but it was good then, comfortable, and he agreed we'd wasted time, and then he asked if our cats would get along, and then I was going to go there, to be with him... and then... ????????????????????????? Anyone? Anyone at all? Will I ever know? In a year? In two years? Back it up, in six months? I'm left hanging, and if you don't see that, while you tell me to forget, if you don't see me hanging on and my grip failing because my hand is losing interest, you are blinded. I'm tired though, the hanging here is hard. I never wanted to let go, I was opening up, I was allowing myself to feel I could be intimate and close, and tell me you know how this feels, that I am wounded, so very wounded, and there is this wall, have I mentioned the fortifications lately?, and it was coming down and I was thinking of a future, and a partnership, and being... with... this... person... Ah, I'm tired of it, I'm so tired of it. I don't do well with the ignoring portion, and he KNOWS this. He knows every time I write to him and I hear nothing back I am furiously waiting, and impatient, and angry and he hopes I lose interest, he is waiting for me to let go, he is waiting for me to go because he told me to go, but this last time there was no telling, there was, "Do you think our cats will get along?", and "Tell me why you're stuck on me, write it to me", and "Why do you interpret everything I write as a slap in your face?", when I meant it really must be nice for someone to fall in love with you, not a snarky "Must be NIIIIIICE", but it must be nice, that must feel good, I'd like to feel it too. I'D LIKE TO FEEL IT TOO! Last night was amazing, and I never want to forget it, and in a way I wish I'd handed him my phone number anyway, let him throw it away later, or not, and I wish we'd stepped outside the car and walked more, and kissed more, and I wish we'd not stopped there, and this new person, I wish this new person were going to be in my life, now, and I wish we would fall in love instead, and I could forget the asshole who treats me like shit and makes me want to make him want me all the more for it. It's all kinds of way fucked up, that's what it is. And it can't last too much longer, so tell him that, go ahead. Tell him if you talk to him. Cost of the War in Iraq
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