2 years just go by, they didn't even ask permission.
fuckers.
someday soon i'll write about my first love. At the very least for everyone who's read the rants and meanderings that came about because of it ending, I'll write the beginning. Those first three days in Dec of 2000. It feels like time to do it.
circa 1993-94
I got chicken pox and my perpetually traveling father came "home" to see me, although to be fair by this time i think my parents where almost divorced.
I was going to spend all week in bed, trying and failing, not to scratch myself silly.
My dad having just returned from a trip abroad handed me a brand new powerbook 150.
He said here. this is for you to keep you busy. So really this mac thing is all his fault.
I'm a geek cause of him.
might as well, write something.
shit if i do then i can pretend some part of the last hour of useless and slightly self destructive reminiscing was in some way constructive
add 1 part: thinking about ex, seeing her myspace, and wondering what the fuck if anything is left, yet again, reused thought, recycled, shat it out and ate it once again, and it still taste like shite.
add 2 parts: my ex-gfs sister is staying in my flat and has been for a week. She's lovely, and not at all like her sister, which is to say i feel i can relate to her. but goddamn if it isn't a challenge not to thing about the ex, the lack of contact, friendship, failed attempts at friendship, and wonder yet again if it isn't a shame that after 5 years all thats left is a little bit more than nothing and a friendship with her sister.
add 1 cup of: after 7 days, the diplomatically vague topic of P. the ex, came up with the sister in conversation. bits and pieces really, of who she is, seen through the eyes of a younger sister that doesn't always relate to her, nothing really of much use. the sort of half conjectured observations that serve only to highlight how estranged the once loved can become.
blunt: i hate that i give a shit. But now in the presence of a, house guest, reminder it saddens me that there isn't anything between us, it scares me to think that having loved so intensely and so blindly it or rather i left so little room for anything else, But hey man a bad break up is a bad break up, you get over it but it doesn't quite motivate you to invite the person for tea, or send an email every few months to catch up. There's always that lack of trust.
More than anything, i wish one of us had had the balls to end it sooner, before it got ugly, before the cheating, before the blog reading, before my faux attempt at post break up friendship because i thought she needed me, before she confided in me that she had a [removed at the her request as a courtesy], her process, finding herself through her darker side, i wish i'd known to walk away, COLD, because i think maybe today i'd have that occasional email to say hello, and it would be ok, as she seems to be okay now, except i wouldn't have born witness to her destroying the person i loved before discovering who she was.
maybe thats why i can't reach out or send the email i've been writing to her in my head all week.
maybe it all boils down to i haven't figured out how to forgive her for tearing to bits the version of her that i loved so utterly.
We had these very silly and very personal nicknames for each other, i was peep and she was peo, and really it was just the personas for two lifetimes of unexpressed childhood playfulness and wonder that we discovered we could indulge in with each other, One day, of the many shared with her, i playfully "threatened" to do something, lick her eye i think, and she squirmed and said "no, don't do that, it's the instant death of peo spot" i laughed at the thought, thinking that the playful childish side of her was in some naive way eternal, in the same way i though we were.
For months, and months during the course of the first year after we split, i kept thinking, "instant death of peo." over and over again, Aware of how ridiculous it sounded but also of how precisely it expressed my utter disgust and heartbreak. could it be that even now, somehow i haven't forgiven her for the "not so instant death of peo" and with it peep, some bit of my ability to love naively.
I'm not sure how to end this post. there's still somethings i can't quite bring myself to write.
I've noticed a trend. the end of the month/ beginning of a new month are slow blogging times. something in my internal clock takes a moment to realize that we have in fact carried on into the next month.
It's almost as if i'm a sailor trying to sail to the edge of the world only to realize its round.
I still think the end of a month should include a small pause, a day or two to say phew that month went by quickly.
that's it for now. but at least the May index of my blog archive has something in it now.