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2004 27 November :: 2.10 am
I have no idea how many "oaths" I've taken, what their full scope is or how un/healthy they may be.
But I know that. The second one. Is just as necessary as the first was. I know that it pulls but that in the end I can no longer . . .
The first was because of an unhealthy obsession, a knowledge that everything I said or did in relation to this person would be of itself flawed, stupid, and probably harmful. Somehow, this situation seems exactly the same. I will watch from the sidelines, but can no longer be a part of it.
I have the miniskirt, the fishnet, the black shirts in a paper bag waiting to be thrown out. Discarding the memories, the signifigance. The sick feeling in gut when I remember my appearence. A car driving by mistook me for a hooker.
Worse case scenario, it'll be maybe another year. Worse case scenario, this revulsion will remain for the rest of my life. Worse case scenario, I grow into the boring little shit I was always afraid to be. But this is so much worse. Somehow.
Shillowe wanted nothing more than to settle down. She was sick of that life. The partying and the fucking and the none of it meaning a damn thing. So she meets this wonderful guy and now there are plans for marriage. If there was hope for her, of all people, perhaps there is hope for me too? I feel stained. Ruined. Tarnished physically by that which taints my soul.
I was always afraid of being used, and yet I walked right into it. Dan had no intentions of simply fucking me when we met. He just thought I was this incredibly geeky chick and . . .
He said, why couldn't I have met you three years ago?
Coming to grips with feeling affection for anyone has never been my strong point. I literally have no idea what I felt for him. Only that I killed it.
For what it's worth, though, he was a good friend.
. . . . And I guess I can see Shillowe's point regarding Benson, as well. But I am easily swayed by a sense of humor and a capacity to brood. And he's a nice guy under all that alchoholism.
Something something something. Dirty little secret. Isn't, but feels like it is. That backlash, that fear. I failed to understand until two weeks before leaving Keesler that yes, I would see Jim. For reeelz.
On the phone, I was crying, and said I wanted nothing more than to be where he was. I said it without thinking, hardly believed myself afterwards. This is such shit, it must be, I don't say things like that. I'm not romantic. I'm incapable of love. This is not a Disney movie.
But I knew it was true. I had, at that point, only known him in person for four days. But I'd missed him from the second he left.
I want to go back to the beach in Biloxi. Walk along it for hours and forget everything but the streets and the sand.
Eventually, Virginia will be a home too. Ghetto or no ghetto. Car or not. Tomorrow, I hit the streets. This may be the shit part of town, but it's mine now. I'll do with it as I please. [egoegoego.i'msoscared,really.]
Tomorrow's the 27th.
. . . I don't feel any older. Just irreperably covered in filth. This is my [November] This is my time of the year.
myxomatosis |