Take Another Look











{May 12, 2010}   Tick Tock

Can’t possibly live up to the expectations. The rumors, going past closed doors and flapping in the wind. How will I return to working there? Doomed if I don’t, doomed if I do. I could go back to school, but it would be like starting over. Finish lines have never been my strong suit.

In January, Lana, my fiancée, stopped asking about my days. I suppose she’d never been somebody who asked. I always volunteered, but the volunteering slowed down to a crawl, which must have created a larceny. A larceny of what we’d built together. Maybe a silent alarm triggered. So, she sabotaged things quietly and efficiently. She was always the one to keep things private, not me. She was way below the radar while my friends joked about the way my name accidentally popped up on the internet where it was least expected. But then I felt like my job became an avoidance clause. I had no good scraps of information to give her. Maybe it was something she was familiar with, being the private one and all, but I had never gone there before. I did it for us. I didn’t question what the government asked of me- not much anyway- because I needed to have something, even if it wasn’t what I wanted. Even if it led me nowhere. When I had to, I filled in the blanks by coloring a picture using markers. I was so terrible at it. And I should have had a photograph to describe. Instead it felt like an invention I had to coordinate. I grasped at straws so we could be together. I attributed her lack of interest to self-involvement. I was grateful but angry that she appeared not to care much about how I spent my time when she wasn’t around, making the decisions.

She wound me up, wound me down. I was lathered like a yo-yo, like in those comics where the guys socks go up and down when the girl uses a certain tone of voice, or after weeks of acting cold, does something affectionate. Maybe I became a downer to be around. It felt like she was a lantern leading my way. And I hate sentimentality. Always!

“Bobbi, I was just about to call you!” she said once, in a soothing tone, even though she’d fallen asleep and was not about to call me. Not that day. Probably would have waited months.

I’d be tempted to tell Lana that “forgetting to call about when and how we’d hang out or not” was the dumbest excuse I’d ever heard, but I kept my mouth shut. But the lack of reciprocity was the focus in the end game. We’ll get there.

Now I just wish she had been more open. She was like a banana that was still green. I only wish I had been able to go to her with my problems, but she came from a certain background . Her parents would have talked her down. Even after what they put us through, they still talked her down. I had a bad feeling that she lied to them. That she wanted people to think badly about me. Projection or just another one of Lana’s many tests?

Never been good at tests. I always go outside the box.

After all I put on the line, I lost her to her own demons. She became more beautiful to me every day, but she closed herself off to me in a calculated way that later gave me goosebumps. In the beginning, I remember I never had to beg. For us, I said, we must have a ritual of our own, where we could discuss anything. In those days she was game. But her follow through was terrible. I might find it funny if it weren’t for the fact that my follow through in my job lacked all sense. Now I’m at risk because I keep flirting with the idea, getting calls from the office, then trying to hide from them. You aren’t allowed out in this game.

The times I left my office turned from weeks to months.

Lana and I got cut short- cuts were made everywhere, so no surprise- but I didn’t think it would feel like a cord that needed to be dispensed.

Now, since Lana’s been gone, I haven’t seen any reason to continue the job. Which is funny, because what if it was the job that mangled our engagement? I know we said it was all these other things, but I can’t help but wonder. In the end, all I’m left with are the memory of her beautiful, brown, undaunted eyes. So alert, never missing a beat. That last year, she wouldn’t let me look into them anymore. Or was it me who stopped making eye contact? That refreshing voice. The way she positioned herself in restaurants so she’d observe all that was going on behind us. Her pithy wit.

I feel like I am speaking at a funeral.

Maybe I didn’t keep her in line enough. She needed that, and that was me, until I became so underwhelmed by the challenges of work that I started to hyper-focus on random things. She constantly needed somebody who wasn’t afraid to stand up from time to time and tell her to stop being such a snot. To keep her whining in line. To make sure she channeled that tyrannical streak elsewhere. Like in bed. She was too afraid. One time she used it, such a beautiful thing, to see her using her control, to have it define what she wanted, for it to turn us on so much, I let her guide us with her restraint. Nobody could turn me like she did. I’d never known desire until I met Lana. I’d had so much experience and none of it counted. I know Lana had her issues with touch, her issues with intimacy, but they were nothing compared to the memories of when she let her guard down. Compromising with me instead of choosing to work against me. I know that she was so used to being on her own that she needed somebody to remind her that adjustments and negotiations were necessary when you involved another person in your life.

Maybe I let her get away with too much. I fell into patterns. Sure, I called her on her shit, but I was a little too sweet about it. I’m a fairly brash person, but the past has eaten away at that, taken advantage of it, if you may. Tell me if I’m playing the victim card, because I used to have more than a healthy amount of bravado and arrogance that accompanied my blue streak at all times.

I didn’t know what else to do but give in to her. I thought it would be the solution and that she’d even be grateful at me. Instead, I fear I let myself become the punt of another one of her Saturday night jokes. The butt of one of her cigarettes.

I let out my anger when she wasn’t there. I put it into everything but her. I don’t usually let the people I’m angry with become aware of my anger. Maybe they see it, but Lana and I went long periods not seeing each other. She became unavailable. No comment. No comment. And again, no comment. Voicemail.

The longer this little game went on, the more I felt like the victim to one of Lana’s jokes. Being hypersensitive to criticism in the first place, being paranoid of the advances other men made on Lana, being very aware of that one night she used sex as a weapon against me at my expense.

But I still thought we could make it work. It has to work, I thought. What else? To me, there were no other options. I loved her. Fuck everything else she thought was in the way, she was wrong.

The way we got along with each other, that was a one in a million shot. So we could get through anything as long as we remembered the other. But the way she communicated. It became so rushed, so grudging, and eventually, so blocked, I felt like I’d get more out of a brick wall. I looked elsewhere for my support. I hated going anywhere but to Lana for support, but I felt like she had once driven me to want to be better. Now her avoidance was making me return to bad habits for comfort- dare I say it- maybe even intimacy, the intimacy I felt she was begrudging me. It was nothing compared to the wreck I was when I didn’t even have her resentful permission. I didn’t have her whining, or her annoying blocking, and maybe I wanted that back. For her? Yes.

I had given up a lot so I could be with her. It was gradual. Some were sacrifices she didn’t know about, sacrifices I would never tell her, for they were parts of myself that I’d left behind me. However, there were other sacrifices. The ones that I vigorously let on about. As if she owed me. Yeah, fuck me too.

But my compromise had became greater and greater.I couldn’t stand on water.

We were both stubborn. And when she tied my hands behind my back, not only was I not getting anything from her, she made it so I couldn’t give anything to her without it being something she had to pay for. Like the time I gave her something, and she was upset because, well, she didn’t give me anything in return. What was I supposed to do? Say, “Well, Lana, I will return my gift, because I see it upsets you that you weren’t considerate enough to think about getting me anything. Because you never think about getting me anything. Even though there was that email, where I said I had a surprise for you, and it was three days before Christmas? What did you think I meant? A candy bar?”

I should have said it. Would have been better than watching a movie I’d already seen, swallowing, and pretending that I hadn’t seen it before, because she was really really tired of looking up movies. All my fault, said her reluctant posture, the arms crossed in front of her chest, the cigarette inside the room when she knew how much I hated secondhand smoke. I’d made the process tiring instead of fun, her downcast eyes warned me. Maybe she felt I’d done the same to our relationship. Turn our whole process inside out to search for firewalls and hackers with viruses, and in the process looked too closely, thus taking away the security that she could do no wrong. There are two mistakes people make- they ignore their relationship, or they inspect it too closely. We did both. It depended on the day. But eventually Lana stopped going back and forth on me. She malignantly ignored the relationship, as if it was a snake she was hoping would slither away.

My heart started to slip.

There was a glimmer of hope. That was the shard of light that really burned me. The last time I saw her, she showed me her glaring insights, and shocked me away with her vulnerability. I wanted back.

She chose when to reveal her insights. My guess is as good as anybody elses. But that incredibly empathy combined with her fine-tuned control. Turned on when she wanted, turned off when she wanted. We want what we can’t have, right? I am detached but emotional. And she- oh she was a contradiction in terms, too. But a contradiction I grew to love and respect.

She showed me desire. Who was she to take it away from me?

Let’s take a step back. Back to when I wasn’t getting anything back from her. Should I have really pulled the card I did? The one you can’t take back? Well, I did. Girls flocked to me. But I was ready to settle down. Then she had to fuck with me. Right when I was trying to get in line.

If you tell somebody you might kill them, you should do so very carefully. It’s the same with friendships, when you warn somebody you might not talk to them anymore. In the case with Lana I made threats I wasn’t sure I could uphold. She made promises she wasn’t sure she could finish. My threats turned into her actions, and I kept her promises for her. Switching places was not good. Had it ever been? Why didn’t we just set it straight! We needed to split the difference, make up, and hold hands. In the end, that’s what I thought would happen. I even imagined it did happen, in some foreign universe where we were close, close friends.

I was dead wrong, and I would pay dearly for my mistake.

Her parents would never completely approve, and her friends thought I was too different to ever fit in with her elite group of blue-collar friends and neighbors. (or white-collar? See, i don’t even know the term.) I didn’t really have a collar at all. I fit where I fit, and that was with the people I loved. It was enough for Lana. Then, it became another excuse for me to go. I don’t ever want go where I’m not wanted. It’s one of my biggest fears. That somebody will think of me as so needy I’d chase them down. But I didn’t see what other options I had. The only other option was to bail out.

Instead of appear unwanted, I immediately bailed. But if this were some kind of game, Lana won over and over again, because I couldn’t hold back the force of my will. From a distance I tried to win her back. I didn’t go over to see her, and there was no chance we would run into each other. Maybe if we had run into each other, she’d have remembered. I left messages, I wrote notes, I sent flowers. I felt like the fool. I hated myself for my so-called “weakness.” My weakness was that I continued to care for her, my weakness was that I continued to tell her so even if she wouldn’t pick up the phone. My male friends told me she was the bitch, the cunt, the self-serving piece of shit, but Lana already knew that in a juries eyes, she would not be seen as a friendly party. I didn’t care about the coldness, and even though I thought my friends were trying to be helpful when they weighed in, all I wanted was her. I wanted us back.

I never even saw her back again. I watched her back. But the distance became greater and greater. I don’t know if Lana knew how to make contact with me without committing some kind of social faux pas her elite friends would have to comment on. As the seasons passed, I wasn’t sure how well I knew her. Doubt crept in. And I felt like if I didn’t know, she did. So the sting of her control hurt but reassured.Why? Because maybe she could assuage my doubts, if I ever did get a hold of her. But it stung because I felt like I couldn’t move.

In my eyes, she chose to use something I used to treasure about her as a weapon against me. I felt very conflicted that I wasn’t using weapons against her. There was the truth, for one. There was power, number two. I threw them away. I wouldn’t use anything against Lana. Never. Lana might consider me a masochist for not treating her like an enemy, but I kept her words in a bag beside me. She had said she wanted my friendship. Her actions, as usual, contradicted her words as much as possible. I should have seen it coming. I usually do. I suppose I didn’t want to look forward ten moves. This time, I chose to walk in blind because of trust.

I trusted her…

even with eggs on my face.

Her fucking friends poisoned her. The took a beautiful girl, and they made her feel unworthy of herself. So she pretended she was someone else, someone she was not. This angered me so much. Unlike Lana, I didn’t turn to my friends with my anger. Nobody was better here. I was just filled with self-indignation, something I don’t usually fear.

I’d been warned, and I’d ignored the warning.

I wanted a new line of work but my work wouldn’t let me go. The past has a way of grabbing onto you when you turn away from it. I think because I didn’t see an end in sight, I didn’t know how I could go back there. And without Lana in my life, I didn’t know how I could deal with the baggage. Sure, I was really good at what I did. And if I tried, I could be the best. But I wanted to put everything on hold. In the end, I did. I watched the clock move onwards. I put one foot in front of the other and counted the days. Until I stopped counting how long it had been since I saw Lana. Until every Wednesday wasn’t characterized by the fact that it used to be our Wednesday.

Still, in the back of my mind I remembered. I’d get brutal cravings to send her text messages. Harmless? Not to me. Because for every message I sent, I wanted to kill my ability to reach out to anybody. I wanted to punish myself for being so brazen as to act on my impulses. And I had a record. Even if I deleted what I sent Lana, there was the record in my brain. How many times I called. It wouldn’t go away.

Finally, I felt like it was a lose lose situation. If I didn’t call her, I would lose her. If I did call her, she wouldn’t pick up, and I would squander what little belief I still had in my self-control.

To reach out, to yield as far as I could, to turn to water and let her float in my surrender. I’d fight these cravings by turning my stereo on, closing my eyes, pouring time and place into some meaningless Buddhist pool.

Sometimes my friend Dale from the army would call. He said I sounded really sketchy. He got me to talk about Lana. I ended up ranting to him about Lana, which was strange, since I now spoke of her to no one. I didn’t want to burden anyone. He was the exception. After I talked about her he said I sounded better now, less “shut off inside.” I trusted his judgment. Who else was I going to trust, myself? That was a laugh.

Lana had effectively proven her case- I would never be able to trust myself again. I was too prone to spontaneous gestures, to whims and impulses few people understood the meaning behind. All they could see was the desperation on my face. I was transparent. To make matters more complicated, I never saw shallowness in others. If anything, I took it to mean potential. Impressed by their presentation, something I never had, I took what they said as if it had a special meaning to them. I saw potential in everybody.

I wore the same clothes days in a row, or forgot to shave. Stumbled out of bed and didn’t bother to shower. I dressed like a gangster, with larger jeans and shirts with cigarette holes on them. Couldn’t bring myself to throw out my favorite sweatshirt. I got attached to everything, even the simplest possessions. I cleaned up real well. So well that Lana never understood why I dressed the way I did. Why didn’t I “grow up,” she wondered. My dress code didn’t sit so well with her friends and family. Never mind that I would have “cleaned up” if she’d taken the chance to formally introduce me to her relatives at a dinner. Fuck, I would have taken them all out and paid.

She said the rebellion wasn’t really me. Her presumption! As if she’d known me longer than I’d known myself. Yes, I admired her presumption, and for her, I might have worn a suit every day. I might have found a nine to five job. But we will never know now, will we.

I gave up… It might be the biggest mistake I’ll ever make.

But then there is tomorrow.

I don’t need to love again anymore. Nobody else. She was enough for me. But I wasn’t given enough time. And for that, I will remain angry.

So it ended badly, you are thinking.

But maybe, that’s all you need to know.

Maybe someday I will find somebody who shares my interests, and she will bear my children. I would like a son. Time is still clicking, but I’ve been ignoring the clock. I need to start paying attention. I plan on changing soon enough, but nothing is demanding it. In the meantime, I’ve stayed as far away from the recruit as possible. Teaching, paying bills late, and considering whether it’s worth it that every cent I make goes into my rent.

Rent has never made sense to me. I keep making money, it keeps getting funneled into this hole. If you took all the money I’ve paid for rent over the years, you’d have enough for a house. It’s sick the way people actually charge for rent these days. My idea for society is different, one that I’d like to bounce off somebody else somebody.

My time with Lana made me over-cautious. I wear latex gloves anytime I open any doors, in case somebody traces for prints. I’ve gone from being made of steel to being invisible. I’m not sure it’s worth it. Any of it. I’d ask for my money back, but I don’t want to ask. They should just give it to me, but I’m not stupid enough to believe they’ll ever do that. I want the old days back, and I miss the days from the army, when camaraderie was more than a word. It meant everything, and without it you were alone without anybody watching your back. Sure, you could become a sniper, but somebody could find your hiding position and take you out. Without anybody to protect you, you were AWOL. No benefits, no pay, no friends. This was a little like how Lana thinks she wants to live life. But like everything Lana says, her actions go against her words.

She reminds me a bit of a Dale, who can fill me with hot boiling anger. Hypocrisy is something I can live without. It makes my blood run fast, and suddenly I am working overtime just to stand still. Standing still in the same room with somebody who doesn’t know themselves is hard for me. I start yelling at them, showing them big pieces of a mirror. They keep repeating the same blackmail. I don’t like their argument, it breaks the mirror into slivers until I don’t have much of a case left. I can’t show them anything with that kind of high-pitched wrecking ball in the office. Well, you should have thought of that before, they tell me. No, you should have looked at a mirror dammit. I don’t like mirrors, they tell me. I don’t care what you do or not like, you make it a priority to see what you actually look like instead of what you think you should look like. They argue some more until I just nod and gesture. Face goes down, hands point at things. Motor skills. Second thing to lose in these arguments. They are such close friends, but they argue me to pieces. The adrenaline that was straining against my vessel walls starts to break down into something toxic. They understand toxins, they always do. Suddenly it’s me who needs them. Testify at the trial, I tell them. They refuse. Another example of your hypocrisy, I tell them, too warn down by the circumstance and the dialogue to watch my words. They don’t turn on me, but they take out their black book and draw a big black line for the times that I’ve become “unpredictable” or “unreasonable-” not to mention “unfathomable.” They tell me that they love me- except for this one percent of the time- and they show me the lines in their book. I continue to nod and gesture. They take this as a measure of agreement. Evidence for their pretrial motions. They can now say they don’t want things suppressed. Motion granted. This is a complex stature of limitations, after all. Time marches with them in the room. When they leave, I see it start to slide.

I go to my favorite diner. Who knew it still existed? Margie is there. I drink coffee sludge. Extra cream. as always.

“They are going extra hard on the felony convictions this year. I don’t like it Margie.”

I read my book. I turn the pages. The days pass. The bills pile up. The rent is due. I don’t like it.

I have no idea what I will do, where I will go, but that’s always how it is. Even as I know myself, as deeper and deeper I go, I can’t do a thing about the time.

PROBLEMS WITH THIS STORY- how do I solve them?

It needs work. What is Lana’s job? Is it so unimportant that it’s never mentioned? What about her point of view? Maybe she had good reasons for backing out, if that is what happened, it gets purposely ambiguous. Is there too much ambiguity in here? and wtf is Bobbi doing that he feels doomed by? that he feels subversively jeopardized his wedding? Is he some kind of assassin? Lana knows about some things, but what does he feel he has to hide? Do people need to know? And when does he start to hide? Since it doesn’t follow simple chronology, what can hold it together? There are a lot of sticky metaphors in there. The story needs more simple ties… to something. Maybe to a base of some sort.. descriptions. And the random diner… comes out of nowhere.
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{April 22, 2010}   which flash? which time?

“Muzak-haters, on the other hand, are terrorized by the stuff, because it turns everything uniqe about every era into the same homogenized mush, and moreover does so with ease, thus reinforcing their suspicions that there’s essentially nothing unique about their era or themselves; that their cherished individuality is nothing but a merchandised illusion begrudgingly maintained for them by marketers; that when you get right down to it, it’s all the same crapola…

Look around you. How many people can ever experience a great passion, a great love, a great cause? A product can stand in for those experiences. A surface can stand in for the depths most people will never know. That’s what it all comes down to: surfaces.” -alex shakar, the savage girl

This is where I must start if I am ever going to try and talk about how it was that E. Downing took my heart and snapped it like a birds neck. Surfaces. How one maintains the manipulation…how from the one experiencing the passion, the fall is long, beautiful, making cliff-diving seem like safety. But to the other person, the one being loved for more than they could ever understand, you become nothing more than a toy, if only because the depths of beauty threaten the security of existence. His kids never thought of me as a shiny toy, as he told me.

He did.



Dear Diary,

the break up with Downey has been by far the ugliest and hardest on me… i dont know what to do. im still friends with people i dated in the past. A guy has NEVER treated me this badly and gotten away with it and received my pardon. Downey used to not return my calls when we were boyfriend/girlfriend.. and as time went further he got worse and worse and slid so bad that there were entire months where i had to initiate all contact with him. “Had” is probably not the correct word here- if I was more of a laid back “I dont give a shit person” than he might have called me instead, but I am not that type of person. So… now that we are not together he is doing it again but it is much worse. with ANYBODY ELSE i would not try to contact them. With anybody else, I would have given up six months ago. But things were different between us and every time I saw him I saw something in his eyes that gave me hope. That hope got broken over and over and over again. But fuck the pity party or blame game, fuck that, my point is simply what the precedence was in protocol and yes, I let it happen because I felt I had no choice in the matter. He set this huge precedent and said all these things about wanting to be in my life. But he knows I have no f-cking patience and not hearing from him is making me hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt. It’s not like the 24 interrogation rooms where they can only hurt you so far before you become dead of a heart attack or loss of blood and they can push it to the limit but… No; This kind of pain can go as high as it wants without killing you. And I can push it down but then the silence continues and I feel like he wants to torture me and I dont understand why. So I should say OKay he is an asshole. But he wasn’t an asshole when he was with me. I don’t get it. So I should leave it at THAT. But I don’t leave things there I am incapable of that. Why did he pick the one person in the universe who cannot leave a friend who they believe is in pain (yes, ironically, I think he must be in a worse spot than I am to be doing this and it scares me to think about it because in his world he has people that depend on him. Maybe he thought cutting me out of it was a bandaid, but I know better. I could go on but that would be going against what Downey wants disclosed. I’ve probably already gone against it but.. Fuck, his lack of trust against me freaks me out. I’ve proven to him i’m one of the few people he can trust. He shared more intimate details with me than anybody else and.. it’s like he is doing anything he can to try to get me to explode and reveal them. Like this girl that called me up and at the time me and Downey weren’t speaking and I thought we were over and she told me he lied about some stuff to me… anyway I forgot (for real) that I had told Downey I wouldnt talk to her about stuff. I told Downey what we talked about. Downey became visibly upset… and Downey said that he knew the next time she called me I would talk to her. Not true. Now that he had proved to me that she was a liar I proceeded to delete her from my facebook and I don’t have her phone number… and I have no reason to call her.. and I won’t. Ever. But his lack of trust in me.. that just makes me feel sorry for him. He has built a wall (he told me this when he was open with me and loved me, but once he felt the stakes were important be somehow became incapable of love. But I still love him even when I dumped him I still loved him! It doesn’t count though. Talk to the friends that try to get me to get over him and they will tell you I don’t call them because I dont want to fucking burden them because I know if they dig deep enough I will start going on. but anyway, going with my metaphor, metaphorically his heart will shut down from not being able to get out. I DONT UNDERSTAND WHAT HE WAS THINKING. THERE ARE SO MANY OTHER THINGS I COULD SAY BUT SOMEBODY ELSE COULD READ THIS. AND THERE ARE TOO MANY SECRETS HE COUNTED ON ME TO KEEP AND THEY BURDEN ME BECAUSE HE WONT TALK TO ME.

lol- i reread part of my book where i am yelling at radcliff (my best friend dave C. a composer, but I should be careful about using his last name the same way I am not using Downey’s real name as I think in the midst of all this I have forgotten to be careful recently about disguising names.) And I say “Radcliff, you know the number one easiest way to make a women violent? It’s to ignore them and not speak to them!” And I go on speaking and quoting from the magazine. I should find the paragraph. But there are many verbatim paragraphs with me analyzing the girls point of view and Dale Radcliff analyzing the male perspective. It is very funny… and some of it is prophetic.

There is so much I can’t tell you diary. Because this is a public place. But even if it were a private place, Downey made me feel like there were things I could not let go of… that is the first time anybody has done that to me…

Why do I feel I need him?

Is it just my problem of wanting what I can’t have?

I REALLY lack patience, that is a HUGE understatement, B understands that VERY well. On a good note, I was able to read large portions of my novel to Burdough (even with slandering remarks about him) and he said he thought it would sell to the audience I was aiming for. It had no damaging impact on our relationship. He did not say “ouch you slammed my hand in the door” (something Downey used to say whenever I brought up a boy I had a past with).

That was a huge relief.

I can still sleep with Burdough… and he brings me comfort.. and love..

but I miss the passion, the incredible “I cant put a word to it” rightness of Downey. Like he fit me… he fit me… how many other girls fit you Downey?

I need to give you time…. this sort of behavior is what scares radcliff away (he still holds a grudge for an outburst I had 7 years ago although he wouldn’t tell me to my face) but what upsets me SO much is that he can’t just be a f-cking man and say “Hey. Nicole. you know what? I need some space. SO to answer your question YES. We are friends. But I don’t want you to call me.. I’m sorry. I still care.. Etc.”

Or.. “No, I don’t give a shit, and stop contacting me!”

But this indecision.. it is torturing me. Not knowing how to handle it.. if I should take action.. ignore it.. Im trying to live my life and move on.. but he is crippling my ability to go on by not giving me any answer.

And the more silence goes by, the more bad things he did I am willing to forgive just because “I miss him.”

Christina said she wrote him a hate message on facebook but didn’t send it. I appreciate her caring and I love her but she is in a marriage that SHE needs to get out of.. I love her. He doesn’t deserve her. Anyway, I’m really glad she didn’t send it. I feel like everything I do is the equivalent of a tip toe but he interprets it as a gun being slammed against his head. I suppose after years of being oversensitized to violent behavior he could get this way. But what I REALLY don’t get.. is that it seems like the reason (in my opinion) his marriage failed is that they were too alike. Him and his wife. They both seem to approach life at the same tempo. Ying and ying as opposed to ying and yang.(I am NOT ying. Whether that makes me yang, we don’t know.) But Downey would never admit this.. HE IS MAN AND LET HIM ROAR! HE IS ABOVE WOMEN! WOMEN WILL NEVER BE EQUAL TO HIM! LOL!!!! Don’t think I’m some kind of fucking martyr for still loving him because I’m not.So what, I’m good at forgiving him. I don’t know why. I do know the second words out of his mouth when talking to me on IM was “I am your future.” Fuck you Downey for making that true. Maybe I was just a dare somebody set him up to take…Downey I miss you even though you were cruel… I can look past everything…. Why can’t you? Too afraid people will judge you for getting back with your ex? “I tried the relationship thing and I realized I just can’t do it,” you said. What crap… I don’t know how to understand that statement so I don’t try.

I just tell you how I feel, even if you don’t answer.

And I sound like a kid.

i miss you.

i leave out everything else

all the loneliness and despair

because that comes with the territory.

I guess I want to know if I’ve lost the reciprocity.

Ha, I’ve answered my own question haven’t I?

Not exactly (I’m talking to myself, something I can only do while typing)

somebody can love in silence, in secret.

I try everything to break the silence, but it’s impenetrable… Maybe I should just show up at his place and say Hi.He’s set me up for it.

I DUNNO.

Anyway.. later diary.

much love… somewhere.

Maybe I should stop living in isolation…. I have a lot of friends that call me but it’s like I’m going through the measures. Yes. my true friends break through those barriers, stop by my apartment at two in the morning, etc, at the time I dont like it, but I appreciate it.

Oh, good news by the way.. Zick (he wouldnt mind if I used his last name) is going to be okay, I think.. he has a 70 percent chance.. they are doing the chemo on him and hopefully he wont need a colonoscopy bag. I’m worried about him.. I hope he can handle all of this… plus the heart attack…And what does he have to live for? No family… no girlfriend…. But he has a good heart. Our friendship has not always come easy. But it is worth more because of that.

Later…

-Runaway Girl



{February 22, 2010}   Those Damn Tree-huggers

A friend says he’s not the only one who gets this way, who gets angry when he sees evidence that somebody did something that will hurt him; I try to hide my gratitude when he tells me that he also finds himself thinking, is this all they can do to hurt me? Well, I can hurt myself a lot worse and I will, just to prove that they aren’t as good as me in this arena, and that if I wanted to, all that would be left in front of me is a puddle. But even if forced into a corner I would choose to hurt me, not them. Never them! I choose to treat them with the care of an infant but this is how they repay me, the only way I know how to react is to take the ante up further, put the knife where I will bleed out the fastest. Then maybe they will know  how it feels to be hurt even if Oshiro says that I am not teaching anybody anything, that they won’t feel anything. When my friend tells me that he finds himself thinking this too there is a moment of lightness amidst all these threats that we condone ourselves with. We giggle like children, seeing the idiocy at what’s at stake as the weight slowly melts, and also feeling understanding for our own behavior from somebody else, something we don’t find very often from other people. Why? Because we are not other people and we will never be other people and still I try. I think he finds more peace in not trying, but me, dammit if I don’t get them to admit I was right.

Maybe the guy that has the whole world at his fingertips in terms of hurting me won’t be able to sympathize, maybe he won’t understand, maybe he will use words like insane again because that is what feels comfortable and nice. But they won’t be able to close their eyes. No, they won’t. I feel so relieved that I am not the only person that goes down this competitive line of thinking, and ironically, the person who got me going down this bad road, is the one who always tells me how silly I am for going on it. They are the one who reaches their hand out and dusts me off and calls me names. But mostly I sit out here and they don’t come outside. And definitely not anymore. If I think of the total picture, I am not making things better by trying to create anything. But these are emotions. I couldn’t hold back when I felt like that just as much as he couldn’t hold back from erasing those things that hurt me. He can’t blame me for feeling hurt and I can’t blame him for hurting me because we were both just doing things people do. I just wish…. I just wish I was with him. But then my friends go on their rap about how he isn’t good enough for me but  I want to shut them up for if I had never listened to my friends I wouldn’t have broken up with him in the first place because getting nothing is better from him than getting less than nothing but than I see through that too, because that is crap too because the truth is that he does leave women three months into the relationship no matter how special they are and nothing I did was going to change that so I need to move on too, it’s just I’ve chained myself to this tree to show him that I am not going to leave with a fight that I really did care, that i care more than anybody will ever care, and nobody can win in this war of who cares the most about him, that he will have to saw this tree down to get me to stop. Even if I go to New York and the deal goes through and I become famous I still won’t stop with the metal handcuffs and the tree. So he can move on all he wants to but no matter how many things he does to push me away I still can’t cut the cord. I just found the cord again. It had been lost for so many months, how can I let it go again?



{February 14, 2010}   charity case

What is the going rate these days? I guess I’m a charity case. And a hard one. I should know better than to even think about writing something to Downey like “Happy Valentines day” because he might think too much of it, or actually maybe I’d think too much about it or he would assume I’m thinking or instilling too much into it, a lot of that has been going around these days, maybe I don’t always think as much as he thinks. The problem is bells, you see, so many can’t be unrung, and a lot of them I rung as a test or mainly to see what he would ring. Then there were no bells at all except I kept swinging but I didn’t hear his bells anymore, so I just wildly swung contradictory bells because how could I have a meaningful discourse with myself? But you are missing the point if you think this was ever about communication. I would never leave somebody behind, I think, because it seemed like the things he said he said when he meant it, and now he is trying to unring that, and I let myself buy it? I mean past tense on all this maybe. “things are fluid” and lots of other things that are not really true but what can you say you can’t you don’t say you let them ring contradictory bells too and you hide behind them. Alone I don’t have to think about it because he never came here but the one time he did he loved it, and if there is anything I can blame it on it is that he didn’t spend enough time in my space making my concessions. I thought it could exist anywhere under any conditions but certain conditions hailed on me like poisonous scorpions falling like rain. I swung my bat at the ground ready to kill and instead I don’t know what I did. I feel sad on occasions like this.  I want to know what it really was, because honestly, there must have been something. Oh no, there wasn’t. There has to be something he tells other people the way he told me things he didn’t tell other people. Maybe I was no longer a safe place, a safe person. That is it, really, that’s all there is, I became too full of things he didn’t want to mean, but he didn’t want to not mean them either, and now he needs a new blank slate. Doesn’t he understand I know all too well about blank slates that any day it could be a blank slate? I know how to do that I’ve done it a thousand times for B I think. I wish you could know everything and have your interpretation of it that’s how lonely it is to leave you behind. It’s not for me. Maybe if I make lots of money and become famous then you won’t be afraid of me but more likely I’d just be more like a fire grenade, I feel like anything I do is a fire you can’t put out these days. Only my tears would put them out buckets and buckets of them but oddly they seem to cause strange evacuations that result in more fires, how that can be possible I don’t know. Maybe I do know but I mean the opposite and all this carnage when I wanted such peace. In a speeding way of course. I don’t know how to end this. What if somebody is reading this? Read away. Don’t think. Don’t feel. I don’t understand and it hurts, I am not afraid of pain but I am afraid of this loss.



et cetera