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Tuesday, May. 28, 2002 / 6:44 p.m. ~You Can Find Me In My Coccoon, Permanently~ Right now I'm reacting. I'm bleeding, my life blood is seeping out of me, another egg not fertilized, I'm shedding, I'm weak, I'm tired, and now I'm crushed. A boy was met, a boy kissed me, as if kissing is what we all do. I was taken for a kiss or two and it meant nothing. I just read a newsy email from Jon, all about his weekend, and I hadn't even asked. I hadn't even asked. I didn't want to know, it didn't involve me, it wasn't about me, he never called me, he wasn't online, he didn't write to me. I read and read, he went to this art show and that, he went out here and there, hither and yon, and etc., and etc., and met this person and that, and saw this woman who is so attractive, and that one who he had the crush on and nowhere in there was me. I wasn't anywhere. There was no me. Why do people write letters like that to me? I, the selfish Aries, the me, me, me person, I don't do that. I really don't. I ask about the recipient of the letter, always, at least a little something. But this letter? It could've been mistakenly sent to me. No mention of thinking of me, no mention of wanting to call me, no mention of replaying those kisses over and over and over as I have been doing. I am so crushed. I'm about to cry and that would be so fucking stupid, wouldn't it? Why do I put myself through this crap? People like Lulu think I'm being negative every time something good happens to me because I say something realistic, like "Oh, nothing will come of it", or "I'll probably never hear from him again", or anything similar. Because it's true. I hate setting myself up for pain. Because it always hurts, every single time. To think that someone new wants a bit of me, wants to know me, to maybe even fall in love with me, but that would be unthinkable, wouldn't it? It's not possible for that to happen. So, I go out in the world, amongst the living, and I'm attracted here and there and I meet people and they meet me and I get my hopes up, every time, and every time, without fail, I'm crushed. Every time I tell myself that it was pointless, useless, it only hurts to interact. Someone needs to smack me "upside the head" right about now, tell me to work on me until I get me right, to stop fucking around with the outside world, to slap men who try to kiss me, not kiss them back, to take care of me, and only me, and the girls, we are all that matters to me, in my life, everything, everyone else is just window dressing, and some of it is really unpleasant window dressing, ready to take down and be replaced. I'm not responding to that letter. Are you kidding? I had sent him the link to my friend B's web site, wanted to show him his art, and I wrote to B, after all this time, and I'm going to call him this week. B wrote back, is excited to hear from me. Another friend, similar to Mark in the way we are, together. Jon didn't even comment on the link. I sent Jon a photo of me, an old one, a self portrait, and he only thanked me, didn't even comment on its photographic merit, or not. Just this list of things he did, each day, a run down, Here's what I did, Friday, Saturday and Sunday, and then Monday, and then I went here and then I played tennis and then I saw this woman and that woman, and what the fuck? Why did he write that to me? I have no idea. No "When are we getting together again?", no "Can I call you?", nothing. I'm angry, I'm hurt, I'm just as bewildered as I was before and right now I wish I'd never stepped out of my coccoon. I wish I'd never left here except for work and shopping, the occasional movie, alone...... well, Jazz was nice with Mark. Fucking humans. Fucking men. Oh, how was my day? Boring. Tedious. I was unused to sitting in a chair for most of 8 hours. That was hard to do again. Otherwise it was okay. I'm tired. And now I'm going to go cry. Cost of the War in Iraq
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