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Sunday, May. 22, 2005 / 9:42 p.m. ~Love Hurts~ This is funny. I think I was just rejected. And not that that is funny, but the fact I didn't really absorb it is. Yes, it can be hard to be around someone who has feelings for you, when those feelings are not shared. That was nine months with the French lover, that was what that was like. I thought I loved him, he was seeing other women, he felt little for me, other than 'surges of affection', displayed in a sexual manner, which I clung to, as if any bone he threw to me was good enough. And then there was my best friend, the one I made the mistake of kissing, and that was only because I was missing someone else, I was lonely for him, and alcohol was involved, I was longing, horribly, for someone else, so I used him. And he never forgot it, and tried for it, for that moment, again and again, until I had to be someone I never want to be again, and tell him to go away, forever. I know what both sides are like, I know rejection, I know rejecting, and I know that increased sex drive during ovulation is perfectly biologically normal, for me, and yet it doesn't make it any easier to feel all I'm feeling. Talking to people from my past, dredging up feelings best left there, in that past, and being told that there are no feelings for me, and I should know this, I should know better. There never were. This particular 'him' felt nothing, and feels nothing still, and for me to try to relate what I feel, even if it's just a biological urge to procreate on this day and no others after it, is not only futile, but embarassing, and ultimately humiliating. Just as the ones I've rejected have stepped away, walked away, run away, left for good and never turned 'round to see if I was looking at them still, I should do the same. I'm amazed I don't, and ask myself, what is this tenacity, what is this hold on to a past that was never meant to be, as if holding on to it will somehow transport any and all moments transpired then to now, make them happen all over again, and create new memories to which to cling with the same ridiculous grasp? What is that? Abject stupidity? I'd say yes. Maybe it was waking up and watching an Elvis movie, maybe it was downloading African and Indian music all day, bouncing around in my chair to Indian rap, or maybe it was being inside for too many days in a row, maybe it's the full moon upcoming, or the ovulation singularly, or any and all in a grand combination of a physical manifestation of an emotional desire to connect with someone who still has an unexplainable hold on my psyche. But why, still, I ask why?, and want to purge if there is to be no satisfaction there. This, then, is Cainer's horoscope for me, for tomorrow: Love hurts. But, then, so too does a visit to the dentist. Some things have to hurt, at least a little, now and then. Other experiences are comparatively painless but we can't conclude from this that they are good for us. You have lately had an uncomfortable encounter. It has left you inclined to avoid any involvement that might lead to a repetition. Now, though, you are due to discover great fulfilment in the very area of life where you have lately had to endure great discomfort. It's absurd. I haven't felt anything for anyone in the longest time, other than empathy and compassion, while maintaining distance, steeling myself after months of unfulfilled and quite dramatic longing for an inappropriate partner who would never be. And lately it's been car, cat, car, job, cat, job, cat, cat, job, job, and now no job, no job, need a job, need a job, uncertainty, flux, stasis amidst flux, if that is even possible, and depression, fear, dread, and yesterday found me sunk in a pit, from which I extricated myself quite admirably and amazingly quickly. I surprised even myself. I'm down... down... down, wait, back UP! Fine, I'm fine, no future, no life, no nothing, no hope, no love, never, never, nothing, never, and then, hey, how about a shower, and a nice hair washing with that fabulous shampoo and conditioner that smell so wonderful?! And hey, I look great! No one would ever know I'd been so close to tears, fabulous, amazing, wonderful, but this isn't manic, it's not manic depression, no meds needed, it's just inner strength, and why? Where does this come from, and why does it exist to keep me alive and surviving? How long will it be there in reserves? How much is left? And how is it I can tolerate someone from my past, someone for whom I longed with such tremendous passion, fighting, actually fighting to be with, tell me he doesn't want to hurt me because he knows I have strong feelings for him still? This means: "And I feel nothing for you - and it would hurt you if I told you that, so it's all rather thinly veiled, and I can say no more, you understand", and yet I felt nothing. It didn't hurt, until I began to think about it, really think about it, and a realization dawned, and I said to myself, "Yes, I know what this is, I've done this, I've said those words, I haven't wanted to hurt this person and that person, and the other, too, I know what he was not saying, it's all clear to me now, I will never see this person again, because he knows how I am, he knows I will make the effort at seduction, and possibly succeed if he is in a weak state, and this will hurt me in the long run, and his kindness prevents this from ever happening... ahhhhh, he is kind? Is the right man?" Nothing, I feel nothing for anyone, other than light affection, empathy, sympathy, compassion, distance preventing anything more, and me, I built my walls back up, I haven't let them down, this was not a weak moment, this was a biological urge, a primal subconscious, unconscious need to inseminate one of my last remaining eggs, I know this, and across the ether of the Interweb, that was futile too, absurd, it's all absurd. And humiliating enough for me to document all right here right now, in a lengthy wordy fashion, to purge, I'm purging now, I'm releasing myself of any and all feelings of hurt and derision, for I won't allow any of that now. I feel nothing. It was a long time ago, and I no longer feel a thing. It's all about me now, there is only me, this apartment filled with my belongings, the two geriatric cats, and an uncertain future that is only about those things aforementioned. No one else other than the few friends I know are there. This is all. It must be hard to be desired by someone so undesirable. This, I know. Yet it wasn't a mistake, the reaching out, because that is part of the compassion, that is part of who I am, and all that I am, now. Cost of the War in Iraq
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