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Tuesday, Apr. 30, 2002 / 9:36 p.m. ~The Vacillating Between Disgust and Guilt~ (That whole "options" thing just threw me way off. I just wanted to click on "add an entry", that's all. I can't sit here and think about options, not right now.) I just wrote to Sandy, and I feel terrible. What did I say? I feel like I need to keep reading it over and over again, and I know I'm not past this heavy emotional period, this time when nothing feels right, and the past two days at work have consisted of me wanting nothing more than to lie down, to sleep, trying so hard not to. It's too slow, it's all wrong, everything feels too wrong. But he wrote to me. He knows I'm online. I did tell him last night, didn't I? I told him I spend a lot of time involved in an online diary community, and he did ask, didn't he?, do we read each other's diaries?, and yes, we do, I'd said, and no we don't know each other, and that's as far as it got. Before he ruined it by rushing, by wanting directions to my apartment, already. And the "I just WANNA TALK" comment, the frustration that rolled off him at that moment, his grabbing for me, through the phone, it was too much. So he thought better, and I was thinking how nice it was not to hear from him for one day, how this is how it needs to be, when I came into the room, thinking I'd wrap this up, I'd finish this up here, online, log off, get ready for the rest of Tuesday night, since "24" is mysteriously not on, take these last few minutes, while my laundry dries, and there was email from him. So short, he's not a writer, and how can I associate with anyone who doesn't write? Writing is everything, when I'm not reading, I'm always thinking, thoughts on paper, or online, or reading someone else's, thoughts, words, always, constantly, even when I'm sleeping. Short, but he knew, he felt it, I am not so transparent and thank god he can see. No, I don't want him to come over Thursday. I was vacillating, back and forth, back and forth, he's a stalker, he's needy, I'm overreacting, it will be fine, he'll know where I live, he'll start dropping by, unannounced, we'll have fun, I'll enjoy his company, oh god, what am I doing? That kind of thing, unstoppable. And now, it's stopped. And I feel bad, I'm a bad person, what have I done? Where was it going? What did he want from me? What was he thinking, how far had he gone in his mind, what had he fantasized, had he thought anything, anything at all, or is he the one who lives in this moment? I told him I do my TV thing alone, it wouldn't feel right any other way. I told him I'm not used to accommodating anyone else, I'm not good at it, I told him my job makes me tired, my free time is here, online, writing, reading, and TV. It's my life, I'm set in my ways, and I told him he was pressuring me, so I backed up, and how did I word it? What did I say? Here, this is what I said: "You're right, I don't feel comfortable with you coming over Thursday. I'm not sure why. I have seen basically every room in your house, so it doesn't seem fair, but on the other hand it feels like you're coming on really strong and it's making me back up. It's a natural reaction, I think." Yes, it's natural, I think so. Push me, watch me move backwards, maybe to the side, but definitely away from you. I didn't want to be hard, harsh, mean, I wanted to offer hope, I ended with a postsript, asking if he'd like to see a Playoff game soon, since this is the Stanley Cup Playoffs right now... and that was my last date, wasn't it? One year ago, with Robert, going to the sports bar to watch the games. We did that just the once? Or was it twice? No, it was one game, one movie, and he ruined it by kissing me. It's not right, it's never right anymore. And I can remember when it was right. When there were men I wanted to be with, when the kiss was something I couldn't wait for, when my home was open, my heart was open, everything I had was available to give. But it was mutual, and it never is now, it's always someone wanting from me, and me backing up. Trying to find the right way to say No. But No is hard. No is mean, and I don't want to be this way. Is Lulu right? Will it be worthwhile to wait until next week to even talk to me? Give me time to let the hormones wash away from my body with my blood? Will it be like Nelson? Once he's gone will I wish I still had him? But it's not the same, Nelson and I had "sex", in our own way, and the first time or two or three were amazing, we scared ourselves, we thought of each other when we weren't on the phone, and I had to wait for him to call. When? When? When will I hear from him?? It was always too long to wait and when he finally called I'd be slow to warm to him. But I warmed. Sandy is different, and yet he moved too fast, in a different way, like a boy in high school, unsure of himself, trying too hard, not knowing how to proceed, making mistakes all along the way. He's too old for that. I feel terrible now. What is he thinking? Is he reading that email right now? Will I hear anything at all back from him? How mean was I? Was I wrong? Just direct? I saw his basement, we stood in his backyard, we walked his dog all around his neighborhood, and I won't let him sit on my sofa to watch "Survivor" and "CSI"?! What kind of horrible person am I? What's wrong with me? I guess I just sensed more there than I knew. It didn't feel right. He's leaving me a message on my CallWave right this second. It's too much, the vacillating between disgust and guilt. (he wants me to call him, when I can, he wants to express himself, says it will clear things up for me) Cost of the War in Iraq
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