December begins tomorrow. That means there is just over two weeks before Christmas break starts, and I still don't have any work experience for the time we have off. Whenever I have told my head of department she hasn't seemed terribly concerned, and only this week did she offer to look over my CV and cover letter to see if there's a good reason that nobody answers my letters.
And apparently there is. It seems that editors will just throw away letters like mine that start "Dear Sir", because -- I am told -- it says I couldn't be bothered to find out their name. It also offends female editors, but it gets thrown away regardless. I am also told that the tone of the letter suggests I am only writing to them because I have to for the course, not because I want to. I thought they would be more likely to help if they knew it was something I had to do, and not just a whim -- but no.
So I have now drafted out yet another set of letters asking -- or begging -- for some work over the break, and also mentioning that I could do with some over Easter, too. One newspaper has already told me no to Easter, so the chances of getting any over Christmas is slim. I do not yet know what will happen if I don't do the work experience.
On one hand, it would be great. I would have four weeks off to just work and earn money -- though I can hardly remember what that was like any more. On the other hand, it is a course requirement and as such they might be seriously pissed off with me. We shall see.
Anyhow. Eating something today might be a good idea, though non-essential. San would not be impressed if she knew how little I eat if I'm left to my own devices -- especially since I am always telling her that I need to keep an eye on her eating habits. I argue that it's not the same with me because I've never had an eating disorder, just like I don't feel the need to watch her with sharp objects because she doesn't have the same history of self harm.
It's really fascinating the number of ways you can harm yourself without actually resorting to sharp objects -- simply not working, spending when I'm broke and, yeah, probably also not eating enough are all wonderfully subtle forms of self harm.
But yes -- I must go. I haven't done any work all weekend, I need to practice writing shorthand dictation at 50 wpm, and have just over a week to write a 3000 word essay on "the good, the bad, and the unacceptable" in news reporting.
Sunday 30 November 2003
Saturday 29 November 2003
You grow up and you calm down
The Clash once said “you grow up and you calm down”.
I guess when I am still quoting from punk bands to talk about your thoughts I ain’t quite there yet.
Once – years ago now – I started an internet diary called Superman’s Dead. To be honest with you, I don’t remember the day itself. It was the summer, that I remember. Whether it was a long, hot summer or a largely rainy one I couldn’t tell you.
I was troubled.
Yeah, I know – I’m not so very straight these days either. The moods come down on me like summer thunderstorms; the clouds build up, and just steadily lower on me. But I was worse then. Then again, who isn’t at that age?
I was in one of my love-struck funks. I don’t remember what was bugging me about my relationship with [Fiona], but like I say – I was troubled. On this particular day I got bored with my angst, and started my alternative diary.
To describe what I was like you only really had to read my first entry. The anti-hero wakes up in a strange bed next to a girl he doesn’t know, dresses, and leaves before she wakes up. It was a good fiction from my own life. I created a typically anti-social anti-hero who I intended to be largely dislikeable.
The thing with this diary was some days I would write some anti-social fiction, other days I would just rant on about things I didn’t like and didn’t feel comfortable putting my name to. Stuff like how I didn’t, and don’t believe, in such a thing as selfless behaviour...
A funny thing about that diary was that people liked it. Sometimes I used to go to chart rooms and pick fights. I had no interest in “chatting”, I just wanted arguments with people I thought weren’t as smart as me – I can be strangely conceited like that, sometimes. More often than not in these arguments I would end up with person after person sending me private messages, wanting to talk. The diary was a bit like that, I guess people liked the brutal honesty – because although I was sometimes writing fictional accounts of nights drinking vodka and playing pool, it was always honest in the feeling.
Some people were pretty pissed off when I told them I wasn’t who I appeared to be. Some of these people are still knocking about on Open Diary, I’m pretty sure, and I think they’re still bitter about it. I tried explaining once or twice I wasn’t the heel and the fraud they made me out to be, but the diary’s anti-hero would never have apologised for anything, so...
This is all a very long preamble.
A few weeks back, I started to register the same name here. I have periodically revived the diary over the years – but almost always quit it when I get uncomfortable splitting my mind in two the way I was doing. This time I quit one step earlier. I got the “please click here to confirm and register your diary” email, but had changed my mind it I didn’t register it.
I’ve been thinking recently.
I mentioned in a thread over in the forums that when I was a teenager I used to really identify with Holden Caulfield, but how in later years I have felt more irritated by him than anything else. Over the past few days I got the chance to catch the film Igby Goes Down, which I think I’m right in saying is a loose adaptation of The Catcher in the Rye – Igby’s style of speech reminded me a lot of Holden Caulfield, even though the plot had very little in common with Salinger’s novel.
The thing is this. It’s not me anymore.
I could argue it was never me, not really, not in practice – but emotionally, I always identified. And though I still have my... issues, and the occasional diary entry locked from the world, I’m not splitting my psyche into different diaries.
Yes, I still want to stay up all night, high on speed, painting – or probably, more likely, writing. And yes, there is a dark side to me and that cold spot in my head that is sharp and clear as a knife. And yes, I still don’t want to spend my life sitting on the couch night after night, stuffing fucking junk food into my mouth and watching spirit crushing soul destroying game shows…
But now I want to meditate in desert and get a feeling of the great oneness of the universe like that one time I did in Moab.
And, yeah, I get disaffected and sarcastic and, yeah, I distance myself from people almost as often as I get too close to them. But all the same, I’m not my own anti-hero. I may not have the necessary character traits to be the hero, but I’m something more now – I'm more than just the sum of my dysfunctional parts.
This is all.
No great insights, but I just wanted to share this moment of clarity.
I guess when I am still quoting from punk bands to talk about your thoughts I ain’t quite there yet.
Once – years ago now – I started an internet diary called Superman’s Dead. To be honest with you, I don’t remember the day itself. It was the summer, that I remember. Whether it was a long, hot summer or a largely rainy one I couldn’t tell you.
I was troubled.
Yeah, I know – I’m not so very straight these days either. The moods come down on me like summer thunderstorms; the clouds build up, and just steadily lower on me. But I was worse then. Then again, who isn’t at that age?
I was in one of my love-struck funks. I don’t remember what was bugging me about my relationship with [Fiona], but like I say – I was troubled. On this particular day I got bored with my angst, and started my alternative diary.
To describe what I was like you only really had to read my first entry. The anti-hero wakes up in a strange bed next to a girl he doesn’t know, dresses, and leaves before she wakes up. It was a good fiction from my own life. I created a typically anti-social anti-hero who I intended to be largely dislikeable.
The thing with this diary was some days I would write some anti-social fiction, other days I would just rant on about things I didn’t like and didn’t feel comfortable putting my name to. Stuff like how I didn’t, and don’t believe, in such a thing as selfless behaviour...
A funny thing about that diary was that people liked it. Sometimes I used to go to chart rooms and pick fights. I had no interest in “chatting”, I just wanted arguments with people I thought weren’t as smart as me – I can be strangely conceited like that, sometimes. More often than not in these arguments I would end up with person after person sending me private messages, wanting to talk. The diary was a bit like that, I guess people liked the brutal honesty – because although I was sometimes writing fictional accounts of nights drinking vodka and playing pool, it was always honest in the feeling.
Some people were pretty pissed off when I told them I wasn’t who I appeared to be. Some of these people are still knocking about on Open Diary, I’m pretty sure, and I think they’re still bitter about it. I tried explaining once or twice I wasn’t the heel and the fraud they made me out to be, but the diary’s anti-hero would never have apologised for anything, so...
This is all a very long preamble.
A few weeks back, I started to register the same name here. I have periodically revived the diary over the years – but almost always quit it when I get uncomfortable splitting my mind in two the way I was doing. This time I quit one step earlier. I got the “please click here to confirm and register your diary” email, but had changed my mind it I didn’t register it.
I’ve been thinking recently.
I mentioned in a thread over in the forums that when I was a teenager I used to really identify with Holden Caulfield, but how in later years I have felt more irritated by him than anything else. Over the past few days I got the chance to catch the film Igby Goes Down, which I think I’m right in saying is a loose adaptation of The Catcher in the Rye – Igby’s style of speech reminded me a lot of Holden Caulfield, even though the plot had very little in common with Salinger’s novel.
The thing is this. It’s not me anymore.
I could argue it was never me, not really, not in practice – but emotionally, I always identified. And though I still have my... issues, and the occasional diary entry locked from the world, I’m not splitting my psyche into different diaries.
Yes, I still want to stay up all night, high on speed, painting – or probably, more likely, writing. And yes, there is a dark side to me and that cold spot in my head that is sharp and clear as a knife. And yes, I still don’t want to spend my life sitting on the couch night after night, stuffing fucking junk food into my mouth and watching spirit crushing soul destroying game shows…
But now I want to meditate in desert and get a feeling of the great oneness of the universe like that one time I did in Moab.
And, yeah, I get disaffected and sarcastic and, yeah, I distance myself from people almost as often as I get too close to them. But all the same, I’m not my own anti-hero. I may not have the necessary character traits to be the hero, but I’m something more now – I'm more than just the sum of my dysfunctional parts.
This is all.
No great insights, but I just wanted to share this moment of clarity.
Sunday 23 November 2003
Behind the scenes
I don't normally link to news stories I've found -- but this one I just have to share with everyone.
The Duke of York likes hiding his monkey around Buckingham Palace, the Queen feeds toast to the dogs underneath the breakfast table and, naturally, the servants are under-paid and abused... Behind the scenes
The Duke of York likes hiding his monkey around Buckingham Palace, the Queen feeds toast to the dogs underneath the breakfast table and, naturally, the servants are under-paid and abused... Behind the scenes
Friday 21 November 2003
Word
I think it's been about two years since I last 'performed' any poetry, which makes sense since until recently it had been about that long since I wrote anything new. But oh, I had forgotten how great it is.
It started when I first arrived in Derby and joined a poetry group. It was everything I could have wanted from it -- a bunch of people who liked to drink a lot and read poetry and get feedback on their work.
Once a month we would go to an open mike poetry night held in the back room of a pub. This back room was without light, electricity or heating -- but sometimes they would have had the generator running for long enough for the heater to have warmed the place up. It had character. So we would go and drink and read our work and listen to other people from the area and it was good. The organiser was always looking for somewhere better to hold it though -- it was always "When we find a new venue...".
But when the new venue was found and we all moved it had lost its soul. It moved some sterile function rooms. It was heated. The lights were either on or off. There was a bar, but it was over-priced and the bartender always looked like it was the worst place in the world for him to be in. I think I lost my inspiration. One day I went along on my own -- where the poetry group were at this point I don't remember, maybe it was outside of term time. I remember reading one short, unhappy poem to a lukewarm reception. And I didn't go again.
Not until Matt and I returned from Utah years later. By this time the organiser had changed, and the venue was now a church hall. From bad to worse, if you ask me. There was no bar (I need a drink in me before I stand in front of a room full of people to read my work), but instead free soft drinks and an older, stuffier group of people. None of the people I used to know. We went once, and never bothered again.
Two years on and I'm living in a different city. I can't remember if I found the flier for the open mike night before I wrote the new poem -- I think maybe I did. I knew I would be going with [San], which meant that I wouldn't feel comfortable reading old poems written about Fiona. So one drink-fuelled night I wrote a poem about San.
This time the venue is a pub. Not an unlit, crypt-like back room -- but in the main bar itself. Maybe Thursdays are a quiet night, or maybe people have just learned to stay away if they aren't interested in the poetry, but the only people in the place were for the open mike.
It was a wet and dark night. San was late for meeting me as usual, and I was waiting around outside the pub in the rain, watching the traffic and trying to work out if any of the people walking my way were her. After about 20 minutes I saw her -- I could recogniser her even in the dark: a long black coat, an umbrella and she was walking quickly because she knew she was late.
I won't give a step by step account of the night. I liked nearly everyone who read (I found a few pieces that went on for pages and pages very hard to concentrate on for any length of time), and my own poems seemed well recieved.
I read Serial Killer, The Seductive Neon, and my untitled poem about San that I might call Hypothetically Speaking. I don't expect anyone -- other than one or two people -- to recognise any of those from just the title. All the same, I'm not comfortable with posting my poetry in here.
What? I can read my poems to rooms full of strangers, but won't show them to anyone here, who I don't consider friends? Maybe I would I will put them in special entries and only release the links to them on request.
All the same, you can bet I will be at the Castle Rock again next month. With hopefully something else new to read, because I feel like a phony reading old work.
It started when I first arrived in Derby and joined a poetry group. It was everything I could have wanted from it -- a bunch of people who liked to drink a lot and read poetry and get feedback on their work.
Once a month we would go to an open mike poetry night held in the back room of a pub. This back room was without light, electricity or heating -- but sometimes they would have had the generator running for long enough for the heater to have warmed the place up. It had character. So we would go and drink and read our work and listen to other people from the area and it was good. The organiser was always looking for somewhere better to hold it though -- it was always "When we find a new venue...".
But when the new venue was found and we all moved it had lost its soul. It moved some sterile function rooms. It was heated. The lights were either on or off. There was a bar, but it was over-priced and the bartender always looked like it was the worst place in the world for him to be in. I think I lost my inspiration. One day I went along on my own -- where the poetry group were at this point I don't remember, maybe it was outside of term time. I remember reading one short, unhappy poem to a lukewarm reception. And I didn't go again.
Not until Matt and I returned from Utah years later. By this time the organiser had changed, and the venue was now a church hall. From bad to worse, if you ask me. There was no bar (I need a drink in me before I stand in front of a room full of people to read my work), but instead free soft drinks and an older, stuffier group of people. None of the people I used to know. We went once, and never bothered again.
Two years on and I'm living in a different city. I can't remember if I found the flier for the open mike night before I wrote the new poem -- I think maybe I did. I knew I would be going with [San], which meant that I wouldn't feel comfortable reading old poems written about Fiona. So one drink-fuelled night I wrote a poem about San.
This time the venue is a pub. Not an unlit, crypt-like back room -- but in the main bar itself. Maybe Thursdays are a quiet night, or maybe people have just learned to stay away if they aren't interested in the poetry, but the only people in the place were for the open mike.
It was a wet and dark night. San was late for meeting me as usual, and I was waiting around outside the pub in the rain, watching the traffic and trying to work out if any of the people walking my way were her. After about 20 minutes I saw her -- I could recogniser her even in the dark: a long black coat, an umbrella and she was walking quickly because she knew she was late.
I won't give a step by step account of the night. I liked nearly everyone who read (I found a few pieces that went on for pages and pages very hard to concentrate on for any length of time), and my own poems seemed well recieved.
I read Serial Killer, The Seductive Neon, and my untitled poem about San that I might call Hypothetically Speaking. I don't expect anyone -- other than one or two people -- to recognise any of those from just the title. All the same, I'm not comfortable with posting my poetry in here.
What? I can read my poems to rooms full of strangers, but won't show them to anyone here, who I don't consider friends? Maybe I would I will put them in special entries and only release the links to them on request.
All the same, you can bet I will be at the Castle Rock again next month. With hopefully something else new to read, because I feel like a phony reading old work.
All wrong
I have no idea why it is, but I am attracted to completely the wrong type of girl.
I don't mean girls from the "wrong side of the tracks" or just girls that are just wrong for me in terms of compatibility. I mean I seem to be inexplicably attracted to girls who aren't attracted to men.
I'm not sure where it's come from. I think all the girls I have slept with to date are bisexual, and there was a time I just said I preferred bisexual girls to straight ones, since they didn't mind bisexual boys. But they are starting to be less bisexual and more just gay.
It doesn't seem to have anything in common with the typical male fantasy of 'converting' a gay girl, or joining in with a lesbian couple. I just seem to be attracted to gay girls -- whether or not they start out that way when I first knew them or met them.
It might have started with Chloe, from the LGB in Derby. Chloe and I weren't ever what you would call friends, but sure, I fancied her like crazy -- and since she was doing the same course as me, but was a year younger, we had stuff in common. Most people in the LGB just assumed I was gay, so perhaps it was that she didn't feel she had to be on her guard talking to me. She moved to the US, I never saw her again, and almost never thought of her again.
And then there's naturally the on-going issue of my girlfriend being more attracted to women than to men. If you walked into her bedroom you might think it belonged to a boy, with the life-size poster of Christina Aguilera on the wall. And the almost complete absence of pictures of men. Although you might wonder about the boy who seems over-tidy and unhealthily hung-up on glitter.
We talked a little about it today -- I don't know where it came from, to be honest. But she asked me if I really felt that she was going to run off with another girl, and I said yeah, I kind of do. I've learned to stop worrying about it, though, otherwise I probably end up driving her away. She says she just doesn't trust men.
There's also Sonia. I swear, Sonia was straight when I used to know her. But then, she used to be a princess when I knew her. Somehow in the course of about three years, she has gone from being a princess to a stoner -- and switched allegiances.
We talked online yesterday for the first time in ages. I complained that she never answers my emails, she said she honestly means to -- but she's absent-minded and smokes too much pot. My patience with stoners is very limited. She was acting a little strangely -- a recurring theme recently with girls I like, in that she was cagey about giving me contact details. This is the girl who once almost begged me on msn to give her my phone number, then called me -- from Canada -- for an epic-length conversation. She's suggested more than once that I go to Canada to vist, and when I was in the states she invited me to a party at her house. Now suddenly she won't give me a mailing address so I could write her a letter. But then again, I seem to remember she never would.
All the same, she said she felt "silly" about it, since we've known each other so long and she doesn't talk to anyone else that she used to know online. Not even her ex boyfriend. I didn't recognise his name, so asked her who he was -- she explained how they met on Open Diary, got friendly, started dating, got engaged, then split because -- in her words she is now "pretty much gay".
I'm natually confused about this, since I remember her telling me about the break up in the past and it not involving her being pretty much gay at the time. Maybe she wasn't comfortable with telling me about that side of it at the time.
I can recognise that she is gay -- and maybe should have recognised it before in that she lives in a house with just boys and considers herself to be only one of the boys and nothing more. And naturally hates being reminded that she used to be a princess -- which is possibly reminding her that she used to be straight, or at least in the closet.
Who does that leave? Fiona is bisexual, but I have doubts if I will ever talk to her again since she seems unwilling to make the effort to see me. She has said she does want to see me but her boyfriend wouldn't like it. I've had enough, and frankly aren't too bothered by the idea of not having anything to do with her again.
There's more, too. There's Indigo, although exactly what I feel for her I can't explain. I guess it's as simple as just fancying her -- I have no burning desire to sleep with any of these girls (except San, mostly), but all the same at one time or another, I can't get one of them off my mind. And it won't stop -- the girls will keep coming. There's almost a 'b' list of girls who aren't gay yet, but who I fancy and can see going that way.
One idea to disregard completely could be a link between sexuality, and having been abused or assaulted. It doesn't apply to all of them -- but many have been assaulted or abused, and it is recognised this is a factor sometimes in determining a sexuality. Could it be that I am drawn to people with issues? I was never assaulted or abused, but I have issues right enough and there's nothing like it in the world for attracting others like you.
I don't mean girls from the "wrong side of the tracks" or just girls that are just wrong for me in terms of compatibility. I mean I seem to be inexplicably attracted to girls who aren't attracted to men.
I'm not sure where it's come from. I think all the girls I have slept with to date are bisexual, and there was a time I just said I preferred bisexual girls to straight ones, since they didn't mind bisexual boys. But they are starting to be less bisexual and more just gay.
It doesn't seem to have anything in common with the typical male fantasy of 'converting' a gay girl, or joining in with a lesbian couple. I just seem to be attracted to gay girls -- whether or not they start out that way when I first knew them or met them.
It might have started with Chloe, from the LGB in Derby. Chloe and I weren't ever what you would call friends, but sure, I fancied her like crazy -- and since she was doing the same course as me, but was a year younger, we had stuff in common. Most people in the LGB just assumed I was gay, so perhaps it was that she didn't feel she had to be on her guard talking to me. She moved to the US, I never saw her again, and almost never thought of her again.
And then there's naturally the on-going issue of my girlfriend being more attracted to women than to men. If you walked into her bedroom you might think it belonged to a boy, with the life-size poster of Christina Aguilera on the wall. And the almost complete absence of pictures of men. Although you might wonder about the boy who seems over-tidy and unhealthily hung-up on glitter.
We talked a little about it today -- I don't know where it came from, to be honest. But she asked me if I really felt that she was going to run off with another girl, and I said yeah, I kind of do. I've learned to stop worrying about it, though, otherwise I probably end up driving her away. She says she just doesn't trust men.
There's also Sonia. I swear, Sonia was straight when I used to know her. But then, she used to be a princess when I knew her. Somehow in the course of about three years, she has gone from being a princess to a stoner -- and switched allegiances.
We talked online yesterday for the first time in ages. I complained that she never answers my emails, she said she honestly means to -- but she's absent-minded and smokes too much pot. My patience with stoners is very limited. She was acting a little strangely -- a recurring theme recently with girls I like, in that she was cagey about giving me contact details. This is the girl who once almost begged me on msn to give her my phone number, then called me -- from Canada -- for an epic-length conversation. She's suggested more than once that I go to Canada to vist, and when I was in the states she invited me to a party at her house. Now suddenly she won't give me a mailing address so I could write her a letter. But then again, I seem to remember she never would.
All the same, she said she felt "silly" about it, since we've known each other so long and she doesn't talk to anyone else that she used to know online. Not even her ex boyfriend. I didn't recognise his name, so asked her who he was -- she explained how they met on Open Diary, got friendly, started dating, got engaged, then split because -- in her words she is now "pretty much gay".
I'm natually confused about this, since I remember her telling me about the break up in the past and it not involving her being pretty much gay at the time. Maybe she wasn't comfortable with telling me about that side of it at the time.
I can recognise that she is gay -- and maybe should have recognised it before in that she lives in a house with just boys and considers herself to be only one of the boys and nothing more. And naturally hates being reminded that she used to be a princess -- which is possibly reminding her that she used to be straight, or at least in the closet.
Who does that leave? Fiona is bisexual, but I have doubts if I will ever talk to her again since she seems unwilling to make the effort to see me. She has said she does want to see me but her boyfriend wouldn't like it. I've had enough, and frankly aren't too bothered by the idea of not having anything to do with her again.
There's more, too. There's Indigo, although exactly what I feel for her I can't explain. I guess it's as simple as just fancying her -- I have no burning desire to sleep with any of these girls (except San, mostly), but all the same at one time or another, I can't get one of them off my mind. And it won't stop -- the girls will keep coming. There's almost a 'b' list of girls who aren't gay yet, but who I fancy and can see going that way.
One idea to disregard completely could be a link between sexuality, and having been abused or assaulted. It doesn't apply to all of them -- but many have been assaulted or abused, and it is recognised this is a factor sometimes in determining a sexuality. Could it be that I am drawn to people with issues? I was never assaulted or abused, but I have issues right enough and there's nothing like it in the world for attracting others like you.
Wednesday 19 November 2003
I would settle for a decent meal
I'm going to stop my complaining now, as I'm sure you kids will all be glad to hear. I am not even going to bother to comment on if things are improving, or how far they are going one way or the other. I'm bored with the subject now.
It's nearly 3pm and I haven't eaten yet today. I didn't have time for breakfast, but figured I'd have lunch without a hitch since my law class would be over by about 1. Even including a little extra time to my course leader how I am feeling, I didn't expect it to be so very late when I got round to eating something. That would actually involve turning off the computer and leaving the library, and I seem to be obsessed with checking my email at the moment. If I wake up in the night, I find my phone and use the 'mobile internet' to check my yahoo. First thing in the morning, I turn off the alarm and check my email. If I could check my diary I would probably never leave the thing alone.
Today is a grey day in Leicester. It seems to be that the rain has over the past few days have warmed up the city, which is always a good thing. Looking over at the window, it doesn't appear to be actually raining -- but it's certainly threatening it. I can't explain why exactly, but I love the patterns that rain makes on the window. Sometimes I lie on my bed (which is alongside the window) and stare up at the falling rain. The best thing is watching snow fall at night -- standing out in the middle of it, and staring up at the snow at all different heights. It can be very Zen -- which is something I need more of in my life. But first I need the discipline for it properly.
Today I would settle for a decent meal, some cold Mexican beer and knowing where the hell the swimming pool is. Because there isn't a pool in the city itself -- only in a suburb/town place that involves catching a bus.
Hardly the most life-changing of updates -- but it beats my incessant complaining.
It's nearly 3pm and I haven't eaten yet today. I didn't have time for breakfast, but figured I'd have lunch without a hitch since my law class would be over by about 1. Even including a little extra time to my course leader how I am feeling, I didn't expect it to be so very late when I got round to eating something. That would actually involve turning off the computer and leaving the library, and I seem to be obsessed with checking my email at the moment. If I wake up in the night, I find my phone and use the 'mobile internet' to check my yahoo. First thing in the morning, I turn off the alarm and check my email. If I could check my diary I would probably never leave the thing alone.
Today is a grey day in Leicester. It seems to be that the rain has over the past few days have warmed up the city, which is always a good thing. Looking over at the window, it doesn't appear to be actually raining -- but it's certainly threatening it. I can't explain why exactly, but I love the patterns that rain makes on the window. Sometimes I lie on my bed (which is alongside the window) and stare up at the falling rain. The best thing is watching snow fall at night -- standing out in the middle of it, and staring up at the snow at all different heights. It can be very Zen -- which is something I need more of in my life. But first I need the discipline for it properly.
Today I would settle for a decent meal, some cold Mexican beer and knowing where the hell the swimming pool is. Because there isn't a pool in the city itself -- only in a suburb/town place that involves catching a bus.
Hardly the most life-changing of updates -- but it beats my incessant complaining.
Monday 17 November 2003
Destructive can be beneficial
In case anyone is wondering, things aren't any better. I don't feel any better.
I went out Thursday night with people off my course, in the hope that getting out of the house and having my mind taken off things would help me get things in perspective. But they didn't. I forget for a little while, but deep down it feels like I have a rat inside me. Then I remember and the thought comes back to me; I can't carry on.
It's nice to see that people care, and don't want to see me hurt -- but this was never about if anyone cared about me. This is about not wanting to fail, and not feeling able to carry on.
I guess you should know the background. I've had my troubles with my course before, despite only being something like nine weeks into it so far. I contemplated quitting before, because I didn't want to fail. But things got better. The lecturer I went to see told me that he didn't think I was doing all that terribly at all, and I thought maybe I could turn it around.
But weeks later, and it hasn't turned around. I was told on Thursday by a lecturer that I am not improving, or that I have hit a plateau at a very low level -- at around 40%, if you are wondering. Add on to that still being truly terrible at shorthand, having more assignments set, and not having any work placement for over Christmas I don't think I can do it. And failing to my mind would be so much worse than quitting.
I'm looking online for energising supplements -- if maybe I could concentrate better, or stay awake for longer, I could get more done. I'm not particular bothered about what they contain, either -- since I'm not particular bothered about looking after myself. Being self destructive can be beneficial sometimes. If I could get more done then I could perhaps pull up and make all the difference, all for a little less sleep or a little more energy.
I find myself, perfectly calmly, sitting around and reasonably wondering how to make a suicide look like an accident. I said it was small stuff, and sounds trivial -- but I can't face failing, and who said this world is a place worth staying in to begin with?
I went out Thursday night with people off my course, in the hope that getting out of the house and having my mind taken off things would help me get things in perspective. But they didn't. I forget for a little while, but deep down it feels like I have a rat inside me. Then I remember and the thought comes back to me; I can't carry on.
It's nice to see that people care, and don't want to see me hurt -- but this was never about if anyone cared about me. This is about not wanting to fail, and not feeling able to carry on.
I guess you should know the background. I've had my troubles with my course before, despite only being something like nine weeks into it so far. I contemplated quitting before, because I didn't want to fail. But things got better. The lecturer I went to see told me that he didn't think I was doing all that terribly at all, and I thought maybe I could turn it around.
But weeks later, and it hasn't turned around. I was told on Thursday by a lecturer that I am not improving, or that I have hit a plateau at a very low level -- at around 40%, if you are wondering. Add on to that still being truly terrible at shorthand, having more assignments set, and not having any work placement for over Christmas I don't think I can do it. And failing to my mind would be so much worse than quitting.
I'm looking online for energising supplements -- if maybe I could concentrate better, or stay awake for longer, I could get more done. I'm not particular bothered about what they contain, either -- since I'm not particular bothered about looking after myself. Being self destructive can be beneficial sometimes. If I could get more done then I could perhaps pull up and make all the difference, all for a little less sleep or a little more energy.
I find myself, perfectly calmly, sitting around and reasonably wondering how to make a suicide look like an accident. I said it was small stuff, and sounds trivial -- but I can't face failing, and who said this world is a place worth staying in to begin with?
Thursday 13 November 2003
Out of the blue and into the black
(taken from my paper journal)
For once, this has nothing to do with San. Things with her for the moment seem fine, at least for the short time that I saw her earlier today.
All the same; I'm not sure that I can -- or will -- carry on.
It's sort of funny, in a way. I've been down, I've been depressed. I have stood on motorway bridges in the freezing rain and looked at the traffic. I've been kept in hospital to stop me from cutting myself. But that's a whole different set of feelings to this -- this calm. Sad, but calm. A feeling of wanting to step out into the road. Just look the wrong way for a moment, and step out.
It would sound so very trivial for me to try and explain how I got from yesterday to today. They say "don't sweat the small stuff -- and it's all small stuff" but what they don't realise is that the small stuff can kill you.
There is really no use in bothering with reason. With logic. None has any real effect.
Like I say, it feels strange to feel this way -- none of the body-snatched estrangement, no burning desire to cut, pierce or mutilate.
All the same, there is a certain familiarity behind it all. A familiarity in not wanting to carry on any more, at least on the most basic level of getting out of bed.
This is all.
#"When you're gone
you can't come back
When you're out of the blue
and into the black"#
Neil Young Hey hey, My my
For once, this has nothing to do with San. Things with her for the moment seem fine, at least for the short time that I saw her earlier today.
All the same; I'm not sure that I can -- or will -- carry on.
It's sort of funny, in a way. I've been down, I've been depressed. I have stood on motorway bridges in the freezing rain and looked at the traffic. I've been kept in hospital to stop me from cutting myself. But that's a whole different set of feelings to this -- this calm. Sad, but calm. A feeling of wanting to step out into the road. Just look the wrong way for a moment, and step out.
It would sound so very trivial for me to try and explain how I got from yesterday to today. They say "don't sweat the small stuff -- and it's all small stuff" but what they don't realise is that the small stuff can kill you.
There is really no use in bothering with reason. With logic. None has any real effect.
Like I say, it feels strange to feel this way -- none of the body-snatched estrangement, no burning desire to cut, pierce or mutilate.
All the same, there is a certain familiarity behind it all. A familiarity in not wanting to carry on any more, at least on the most basic level of getting out of bed.
This is all.
Wednesday 12 November 2003
Catharsis.
I feel good today, and I think the word for the day would be "catharsis". Which is funny, because San used to keep a diary by that very name, which she claims she only chose because her first choice -- Cardiac -- was already taken.
I don't know what I expected to happen. I'd been thinking about it all day and although I know damn well I spend way too much time on my own and thinking, and that I think myself into knots, I decided something had to be done. So I first gave San my permission to sleep with the friend of a friend she thinks is hot, or thought was hot when she met her. How seriously she took me, I don't know -- since she gave me permission to shag a cowgirl the other night. It's not as weird as it sounds.
I then decided that I should tell San I'd been thinking it over, and that she was right all along and should be able to date other people. San didn't get what had brought on the change of heart, and actually didn't want to see other people any more. I called her, briefly, and tried to explain what I was feeling, or not feeling, or not knowing what I was feeling, but didn't do a very good job of it. So she agreed to come over.
And like I say, what I expected to happen I don't know. When your girlfriend has been thinking that everything is great and your relationship is the best it's been in a long time it would appear to be a bad idea to suggest that you might not have been feeling the same way.
Maybe she over-reacted, maybe she didn't. San took my talk of confusion and my feelings of estrangement from my life to mean that all the time when she has been thinking things were good, they were really not. She took from this that our whole relationship has been crap, and that I have effectively been deceiving her. Which was fun.
I tried to explain that if I seem to be happy then I am happy, and if I seem moody and detached then I am moody and detached. I also pointed out that I had nothing to gain from lying to her about that, if I was telling her how I felt to begin with. San decided she needed time away from me, indefinitely, and left.
Fortunately, she came back a short while later, a little calmer, but willing to talk and curious as to why I had let her walk away. I pointed that other than forcibly stopping her, I couldn't control what she did.
To try and summarise, we talked it through and I have managed to satisfy San that I was not looking to break up with her, was not telling her to date other people because I'm not really that bothered about our relationship, and basically have just been feeling confused and frustrated.
I don't know what has been going on in my head recently, but I do know that I want to be with her. Right now -- and even before the cathartic events of last night -- I really and positively and very actively want to be with her.
There is going to be a lot of work involved now, though -- because San no longer feels happy, safe or secure in our relationship. I don't know how long it will be before we get to a point where San is once again completely relaxed and comfortable with me, without wondering if I'm secretly thinking I don't want to be with her. I'm hoping things will return to normal pretty quickly.
I need to stop over-analysing things, need to get out more -- and yes, I do need more confidence.
It's sort of funny really -- yesterday, San thought everything was fine, and I felt bad. Today she is possibly thinking that I have been deceiving her any of the times when she thought I was happy, but I'm feeling pretty much okay.
Yeah, I know. It's not sane.
I don't know what I expected to happen. I'd been thinking about it all day and although I know damn well I spend way too much time on my own and thinking, and that I think myself into knots, I decided something had to be done. So I first gave San my permission to sleep with the friend of a friend she thinks is hot, or thought was hot when she met her. How seriously she took me, I don't know -- since she gave me permission to shag a cowgirl the other night. It's not as weird as it sounds.
I then decided that I should tell San I'd been thinking it over, and that she was right all along and should be able to date other people. San didn't get what had brought on the change of heart, and actually didn't want to see other people any more. I called her, briefly, and tried to explain what I was feeling, or not feeling, or not knowing what I was feeling, but didn't do a very good job of it. So she agreed to come over.
And like I say, what I expected to happen I don't know. When your girlfriend has been thinking that everything is great and your relationship is the best it's been in a long time it would appear to be a bad idea to suggest that you might not have been feeling the same way.
Maybe she over-reacted, maybe she didn't. San took my talk of confusion and my feelings of estrangement from my life to mean that all the time when she has been thinking things were good, they were really not. She took from this that our whole relationship has been crap, and that I have effectively been deceiving her. Which was fun.
I tried to explain that if I seem to be happy then I am happy, and if I seem moody and detached then I am moody and detached. I also pointed out that I had nothing to gain from lying to her about that, if I was telling her how I felt to begin with. San decided she needed time away from me, indefinitely, and left.
Fortunately, she came back a short while later, a little calmer, but willing to talk and curious as to why I had let her walk away. I pointed that other than forcibly stopping her, I couldn't control what she did.
To try and summarise, we talked it through and I have managed to satisfy San that I was not looking to break up with her, was not telling her to date other people because I'm not really that bothered about our relationship, and basically have just been feeling confused and frustrated.
I don't know what has been going on in my head recently, but I do know that I want to be with her. Right now -- and even before the cathartic events of last night -- I really and positively and very actively want to be with her.
There is going to be a lot of work involved now, though -- because San no longer feels happy, safe or secure in our relationship. I don't know how long it will be before we get to a point where San is once again completely relaxed and comfortable with me, without wondering if I'm secretly thinking I don't want to be with her. I'm hoping things will return to normal pretty quickly.
I need to stop over-analysing things, need to get out more -- and yes, I do need more confidence.
It's sort of funny really -- yesterday, San thought everything was fine, and I felt bad. Today she is possibly thinking that I have been deceiving her any of the times when she thought I was happy, but I'm feeling pretty much okay.
Yeah, I know. It's not sane.
Tuesday 11 November 2003
Making me sick
It amuses the hell out of me that between ten and 15 people have been here each day since my last entry, and nobody has a single thing to say about it.
San knows something is up. I'm distant and restless, and easily irritated. I sent her text messages apologising for being the way I am, and she says that she understands. She says I understand it when she's this way, and she understands how I am. I tried to explain the body-snatched feeling. The lack of feeling, or not knowing what I feel, except for engulfing frustration.
But I think it's making me sick. San probably thinks it's a physical illness that I'm keeping quiet. She will ask why I'm rubbing my head, or holding my head in my hands. I tell her that I'm okay, that I'm not sick. But I don't think she really buys it.
The thing is, I don't know what to do and I feel like it is driving me out of my mind. What do I feel for San? I don't know. Sometimes an affection, missing her when she isn't around -- and sometimes nothing at all. Sometimes I feel as if I am looking at her and not knowing who she is.
I don't know what I want. I don't want to be without her, but can't say that I want to be with her. I can't say I particularly want to see anyone else, but have little idea how I would feel about her seeing other people.
Ever get to the point where you wish that everyone you know would just disappear? When everything is so inter-connected and you don't know how to even begin getting it back to good? When one person leads to another who leads to another and you have hurt them all.
San knows something is up. I'm distant and restless, and easily irritated. I sent her text messages apologising for being the way I am, and she says that she understands. She says I understand it when she's this way, and she understands how I am. I tried to explain the body-snatched feeling. The lack of feeling, or not knowing what I feel, except for engulfing frustration.
But I think it's making me sick. San probably thinks it's a physical illness that I'm keeping quiet. She will ask why I'm rubbing my head, or holding my head in my hands. I tell her that I'm okay, that I'm not sick. But I don't think she really buys it.
The thing is, I don't know what to do and I feel like it is driving me out of my mind. What do I feel for San? I don't know. Sometimes an affection, missing her when she isn't around -- and sometimes nothing at all. Sometimes I feel as if I am looking at her and not knowing who she is.
I don't know what I want. I don't want to be without her, but can't say that I want to be with her. I can't say I particularly want to see anyone else, but have little idea how I would feel about her seeing other people.
Ever get to the point where you wish that everyone you know would just disappear? When everything is so inter-connected and you don't know how to even begin getting it back to good? When one person leads to another who leads to another and you have hurt them all.
Saturday 8 November 2003
Well, maybe you're right
I just re-read my paper journal entry for Wednesday, that I was intending to post here yesterday -- but you know what happened with that. Incidentally, it turned out I did have the notebook with me after all -- it had just slipped inside my copy of Jack Kerouac's Desolation Angels. I love Kerouac, but wish he would use punctuation sometimes.
But yeah, the entry isn't worth repeating. It made sense at the time, it had its purpose, but that is lost back in Wednesday. It's now a grey and very cold Saturday afternoon.
I still don't know what I'm doing with San.
Yesterday we were talking about this girl she knew the last time she was at university, a friend of a friend more than anything. I remember clearly we were broken up at the time San met Anna, and remember how San wrote in her diary she wanted to kiss Anna more than the guy she was making out with that night. This week, Anna and some of San's other old university friends are coming to Leicester for a visit and staying in her room. San described it as "wall-to-wall-hotties".
We got from there to the idea of San sleeping with girls. I told her that the idea of sleeping with girls while we're dating doesn't bother me half as much as it would if she was sleeping with other guys. I guess you can't compare apples to oranges. We talked a little about how she had been curious about dating other guys a little while back. She said it wasn't about sex, she didn't want to sleep with other guys, she just wanted to see how she was around other people.
It could be that I'm feeling more detached from 'us' now, but the idea doesn't bother me too much. Not on the surface at least. Maybe it would be a good thing for us both to see other people, it could help me get my head straight on what I want. But it could also complicate things beyond all recognition.
I could probably have San agree that we should see other people, and have her think it was her idea to begin with and that I'm just being open minded. It makes me feel manipulative, though, and I should probably be honest about my thoughts and feelings.
The truth is, bang in the centre of my skull there's a strange coolness. A strange detachment. Sometimes I'm unsure to what extent I'm really me, and to what extent I just play a different parts to suit certain people.
Sometimes I write a fictional diary, about a guy with no feelings except self-interest and a certain rage. I started it way back when, when I was dating Fiona and got sick of my incessant whining. But the truth is, I think it's a little closer to me than I like to admit. Unlike the nameless protagonist of my fiction, I do have a conscience -- but sometimes I know what's wrong, and I do it anyway. This is drifting way off topic. The point is, I don't know if I care -- or how long I can care for. This sours me to the idea of seeing other people.
I'm ending here, before I go too far from the point.
But yeah, the entry isn't worth repeating. It made sense at the time, it had its purpose, but that is lost back in Wednesday. It's now a grey and very cold Saturday afternoon.
I still don't know what I'm doing with San.
Yesterday we were talking about this girl she knew the last time she was at university, a friend of a friend more than anything. I remember clearly we were broken up at the time San met Anna, and remember how San wrote in her diary she wanted to kiss Anna more than the guy she was making out with that night. This week, Anna and some of San's other old university friends are coming to Leicester for a visit and staying in her room. San described it as "wall-to-wall-hotties".
We got from there to the idea of San sleeping with girls. I told her that the idea of sleeping with girls while we're dating doesn't bother me half as much as it would if she was sleeping with other guys. I guess you can't compare apples to oranges. We talked a little about how she had been curious about dating other guys a little while back. She said it wasn't about sex, she didn't want to sleep with other guys, she just wanted to see how she was around other people.
It could be that I'm feeling more detached from 'us' now, but the idea doesn't bother me too much. Not on the surface at least. Maybe it would be a good thing for us both to see other people, it could help me get my head straight on what I want. But it could also complicate things beyond all recognition.
I could probably have San agree that we should see other people, and have her think it was her idea to begin with and that I'm just being open minded. It makes me feel manipulative, though, and I should probably be honest about my thoughts and feelings.
The truth is, bang in the centre of my skull there's a strange coolness. A strange detachment. Sometimes I'm unsure to what extent I'm really me, and to what extent I just play a different parts to suit certain people.
Sometimes I write a fictional diary, about a guy with no feelings except self-interest and a certain rage. I started it way back when, when I was dating Fiona and got sick of my incessant whining. But the truth is, I think it's a little closer to me than I like to admit. Unlike the nameless protagonist of my fiction, I do have a conscience -- but sometimes I know what's wrong, and I do it anyway. This is drifting way off topic. The point is, I don't know if I care -- or how long I can care for. This sours me to the idea of seeing other people.
I'm ending here, before I go too far from the point.
Friday 7 November 2003
Abating confusion
I have been carrying my moleskine journal around with me, as I said I would. And I wrote an entry in it the other night, that I was going to post here.
But today, as you might expect, I don't have it with me.
Somewhere between unpacking yesterday's stuff from my bag, packing today's stuff, and moving a pile of junk from one place to another, the notebook has disappeared. Not that it matters a whole lot.
My confusion over San as abated to a degree. I don't *have to* feel anything, I remind myself -- I just have to enjoy her company, and enjoy it more than anyone else's. Just like I told her when we got back together last time. And things have settled for me emotionally there.
Last night a quick drink with my class mates after a meeting of the city council turned into an all night drinking session, getting in at around 2. I was told by a guy on my course at one point that I looked "wonderfully dishevelled, like a romantic poet".
A couple of people made references to poetry to me, which makes me wonder who knew about my comments in my intake interview where I described myself as more of a frustrated poet than a frustrated novelist. Who knows.
Either way, I know there's an open mike poetry night towards the end of the month in a bar we like to go to, and have actually written my first new piece in about two years. It needs work, I expect, since I was drunk when I wrote it -- but it's about time I wrote something new.
But today, as you might expect, I don't have it with me.
Somewhere between unpacking yesterday's stuff from my bag, packing today's stuff, and moving a pile of junk from one place to another, the notebook has disappeared. Not that it matters a whole lot.
My confusion over San as abated to a degree. I don't *have to* feel anything, I remind myself -- I just have to enjoy her company, and enjoy it more than anyone else's. Just like I told her when we got back together last time. And things have settled for me emotionally there.
Last night a quick drink with my class mates after a meeting of the city council turned into an all night drinking session, getting in at around 2. I was told by a guy on my course at one point that I looked "wonderfully dishevelled, like a romantic poet".
A couple of people made references to poetry to me, which makes me wonder who knew about my comments in my intake interview where I described myself as more of a frustrated poet than a frustrated novelist. Who knows.
Either way, I know there's an open mike poetry night towards the end of the month in a bar we like to go to, and have actually written my first new piece in about two years. It needs work, I expect, since I was drunk when I wrote it -- but it's about time I wrote something new.
Wednesday 5 November 2003
Body-snatched
There's very little to say today, except that there is now a first-draft cast list available, and you should click the link (also now on the link menu): What do you really think of me?
The truth is, though, I'm confused about how I feel for San. It's bad, and it shouldn't be like this -- but recently I've just been feeling detached from our relationship. San herself, after being away from Friday until yesterday, is very affectionate, but the trouble is bang in the centre of my skull there's a strange coolness.
I can't quite describe what it is. I know that I am happier with her than I am without her. And yet I feel like I am somehow not quite connecting emotionally.
On one hand, what's the big deal? This is the girl who can't or won't ever say "I love you", who seems to have real issues with intimacy. But perhaps for the first time, or the first time in some time, I feel disconnected.
What this means exactly, I don't know. Sometimes I feel as if I am an alien invader just pretending to be me, and pretending to feel. But I do feel something, or some things, it's just hard to know what. I feel like carrying a notebook so I can jot a note like "2.00am: Wake up next to San, with one arm around her. Feel loved". It doesn't seem like such a bad idea, since I am having trouble remembering specifically feelings when I am not feeling them.
An obvious course of action -- and one that I do not even consider an option -- would be to tell San. "Say, baby-- have I told you lately that I have no idea what I feel any more?". That sounds like a great idea.
What I am going to do I don't know, and couldn't tell you. I wish there really was some way I could take notes of feelings, any feeling, when I am around her so I can look at it later and try and make some sense.
But there are deadlines to meet, copy to write on cases heard in last week's magistrates court, and a freezer that is beginning to look decidedly less-full. I've promised to make San dinner on Friday night.
The truth is, though, I'm confused about how I feel for San. It's bad, and it shouldn't be like this -- but recently I've just been feeling detached from our relationship. San herself, after being away from Friday until yesterday, is very affectionate, but the trouble is bang in the centre of my skull there's a strange coolness.
I can't quite describe what it is. I know that I am happier with her than I am without her. And yet I feel like I am somehow not quite connecting emotionally.
On one hand, what's the big deal? This is the girl who can't or won't ever say "I love you", who seems to have real issues with intimacy. But perhaps for the first time, or the first time in some time, I feel disconnected.
What this means exactly, I don't know. Sometimes I feel as if I am an alien invader just pretending to be me, and pretending to feel. But I do feel something, or some things, it's just hard to know what. I feel like carrying a notebook so I can jot a note like "2.00am: Wake up next to San, with one arm around her. Feel loved". It doesn't seem like such a bad idea, since I am having trouble remembering specifically feelings when I am not feeling them.
An obvious course of action -- and one that I do not even consider an option -- would be to tell San. "Say, baby-- have I told you lately that I have no idea what I feel any more?". That sounds like a great idea.
What I am going to do I don't know, and couldn't tell you. I wish there really was some way I could take notes of feelings, any feeling, when I am around her so I can look at it later and try and make some sense.
But there are deadlines to meet, copy to write on cases heard in last week's magistrates court, and a freezer that is beginning to look decidedly less-full. I've promised to make San dinner on Friday night.
Monday 3 November 2003
Here it ends.
Her name was Fiona, and I hope this to be the last entry I write about her. Because, it is official now -- I have had it with her.
We have known each other for longer as just friends than we were together, but what I can't understand is why is still so cagey with me. It is time to just let it go.
She hasn't exactly done anything. We have been living in the same city since I moved here in September, and in previous conversations it seemed that she wasn't completely against the idea of us meeting up as friends. It has been two years since we last saw each other, and it was her that said it had been too long.
What I don't understand is her seemingly complete reluctance to stay in contact with me. She emailed me a few weeks back, which is to her credit since she initiated it. But my reply went unanswered, and I hadn't heard a word from her until last night. When I sent her a message.
I was just curious as to how she was, as friends do. She told me she had a cold and I expressed sympathy and said I hoped her boyfriend was looking after her, and to let me know if there was anything I could do for her. She didn't answer. I asked her if she would like to borrow a couple of poetry books, by a guy we both like. About an hour later she answered, with an aside comment about John Hegley and not answering the question on if she would like to borrow them. I replied to her message, and asked again if she would like the books. Absolutely no reply.
It seems that she can answer when she wants to, but won't answer a direct question. Just like she has ignored any past questions about the albums of mine I know that she still has, or the idea of just meeting up one day.
If there is one thing I hate, it is being ignored. I would prefer that she hated me and told me that she never wanted to see me again to her silence. I see no problem with telling someone "I don't think meeting up would be such a great idea" or making an excuse if you don't want to offend. Ignoring me completely -- and for weeks on end, until I make contact -- I find rude.
What is the issue with the books? I expect that it the problem is that to borrow them she would end up having to see me. But she can't even do me the courtesy of politely declining, whatever her reasons are.
As over the top as it sounds, I have now had enough. I loved that girl, and I was sorry that things ended the way that they did -- but it was nobody's fault. And god knows, I apologised enough for telling her when I came back that I still loved her. I thought we were past all of that, and could be just friends. Or at least honest enough to say what was going on.
But now she ignores messages that she doesn't want to have to answer, and she ignores my emails. Maybe she didn't get my email? It's a possibility. I don't have to carry on this way.
(funny thing -- I could still remember her email password, so logged in to her account to see if my mail was there. Before I remembered that I had sent it to her university account, I noticed that every single email I ever sent her had been deleted)
I can't say that I have feelings for her any more, and that's a damn good thing to my mind. I thought we could be friends, two people who just got along. It would seem that she has other ideas, but although I have done nothing wrong, she won't give me the time of day enough to tell me what's going on. So here it ends. I will not contact her again, and hopefully will have nothing to write about her in here again. Short of a definition in the cast list, when and if I ever get that written...
We have known each other for longer as just friends than we were together, but what I can't understand is why is still so cagey with me. It is time to just let it go.
She hasn't exactly done anything. We have been living in the same city since I moved here in September, and in previous conversations it seemed that she wasn't completely against the idea of us meeting up as friends. It has been two years since we last saw each other, and it was her that said it had been too long.
What I don't understand is her seemingly complete reluctance to stay in contact with me. She emailed me a few weeks back, which is to her credit since she initiated it. But my reply went unanswered, and I hadn't heard a word from her until last night. When I sent her a message.
I was just curious as to how she was, as friends do. She told me she had a cold and I expressed sympathy and said I hoped her boyfriend was looking after her, and to let me know if there was anything I could do for her. She didn't answer. I asked her if she would like to borrow a couple of poetry books, by a guy we both like. About an hour later she answered, with an aside comment about John Hegley and not answering the question on if she would like to borrow them. I replied to her message, and asked again if she would like the books. Absolutely no reply.
It seems that she can answer when she wants to, but won't answer a direct question. Just like she has ignored any past questions about the albums of mine I know that she still has, or the idea of just meeting up one day.
If there is one thing I hate, it is being ignored. I would prefer that she hated me and told me that she never wanted to see me again to her silence. I see no problem with telling someone "I don't think meeting up would be such a great idea" or making an excuse if you don't want to offend. Ignoring me completely -- and for weeks on end, until I make contact -- I find rude.
What is the issue with the books? I expect that it the problem is that to borrow them she would end up having to see me. But she can't even do me the courtesy of politely declining, whatever her reasons are.
As over the top as it sounds, I have now had enough. I loved that girl, and I was sorry that things ended the way that they did -- but it was nobody's fault. And god knows, I apologised enough for telling her when I came back that I still loved her. I thought we were past all of that, and could be just friends. Or at least honest enough to say what was going on.
But now she ignores messages that she doesn't want to have to answer, and she ignores my emails. Maybe she didn't get my email? It's a possibility. I don't have to carry on this way.
(funny thing -- I could still remember her email password, so logged in to her account to see if my mail was there. Before I remembered that I had sent it to her university account, I noticed that every single email I ever sent her had been deleted)
I can't say that I have feelings for her any more, and that's a damn good thing to my mind. I thought we could be friends, two people who just got along. It would seem that she has other ideas, but although I have done nothing wrong, she won't give me the time of day enough to tell me what's going on. So here it ends. I will not contact her again, and hopefully will have nothing to write about her in here again. Short of a definition in the cast list, when and if I ever get that written...
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