Tuesday. 10.22.13 10:07 pm
Tuesday. 10.8.13 4:22 pm
l'appel du vide
Wednesday. 10.2.13 9:06 pm
We're in a metro station, talking about The Void.
"You know, when you're driving, and you think about swerving into the other lane? Everyone has that, to some degree, right? It's exciting to think that you could just do it." He gestures to the train tracks in front of him.
Some of us say no, laughing, but it's obvious that, to some extent, they do. Thoughts like that are incredibly common. Why? Human stuff. Brain stuff. Mortality stuff. Existence stuff.
I stand more quietly towards the benches, as they scoot forward and back, over and over again, towards the edge of the platform, glancing over like puppies that aren't sure about something. I'm thinking about how the fear of my own thoughts tends to outweigh the desire to draw closer to The Void. I think about how the balance between excitement of The Void and the fear that comes from hearing your own urges essentially determines the lifespan of some.
In Ireland--so long ago, eleven years--we visited the cliffs of Moher. I remember that day very clearly, because my mother was hungover from mixing mead with wine, the night before, and it was a cold, windy day--so windy that my ten-year-old self had to hang on to my dad's arm to stay upright. At the head of the cliff, there were signs driven into the ground warning tourists to stay away from the edge--good advice, especially on windy days when a gust could take you straight over and into the ocean below--and my dad joked that they were put up for Germans because they were egotistical enough to stroll straight to the fringes of solid ground. I clung to him, teeth chattering, unwilling to close any of the gap, myself.
Even back then, at ten years old, I knew that my terror outweighed my excitement by a long shot. And, sometimes, that's a great thing. When you're staring at the vast ocean beyond a cliff's end, and down onto the rocky fate that awaits any who draw too near, the terror is a wonderful, preservative reflex.
--But when I watch one of them, later, jumping and singing along with his favorite band in the pouring rain, and see that candy-sweet joy and abandon, I wonder if The Void shouldn't beckon me just a bit more.
Monday. 9.30.13 10:59 pm
It's been a rough road, but, mostly, it's about how I react to the people in my life, rather than who, exactly, I let in.
I feel like Mike walked up to my driveway and I was already sitting in the front yard, holding a stop sign with one hand and drinking a glass of sweet tea through a straw from the other. Sure, he tried to stroll back into my life. I didn't expect it until the other day when he started talking to me out of nowhere, but then it was expected. So fine, he wants to be part of my life. Go for it. He's interesting, he's funny, and he likes to converse in Spanish--which is so refreshing. I'm all for allowing him back into my life, in a general sense.
Still, there's no way in hell that he's earned a place in my circle of friends, and I think he might even be seeking more than that.
Big red stop sign.
This is a lot like how it sort of went with The Artist Formerly Known as Monster; I didn't let him back into my life right away. I deleted his number plenty of times after he started talking to me again, and was strong, up against all his weird, drunk stuff, and we ended up being able to have a pretty nice time out on the town, as friends. I saw a lot in him that hadn't been apparent in years.
Mike is different, sort of, because we were a couple. I saw him in public, and in private; sort of drunk, and very sober; tender, and harsh, and plenty in between...it's harder for me to believe that I have such a partial view of him. But still, I feel like he needs to be kept at a distance for the same reasons. He hasn't apologized--not really. He didn't give me any chance to get to know him, so I know he hasn't really gotten to know me. And, you know, just one night out on the town with TAFKAM destroyed any attraction I'd ever felt for him, physical or emotional--basically kicked me all the way back to the ground floor--so I have big hopes for ice cream with Mike. Not that it would kill all the residual relationship thoughts I have surrounding him, but that maybe our perspectives might change. Together or in different directions, I don't know. I've changed a lot. I've developed a lot of self-respect. He may have known me, but he doesn't, anymore.
And that's the theme, here. Not being...that...me...anymore. Smiling at the cute guy I missed a chance with, before; walking with my adorable and dry-humored neighbor, whenever I see him; MAYBE ASKING THAT PERSON I'VE BEEN SECRETLY PINING OVER FOR LITERALLY EIGHT MONTHS TO GET COFFEE, IF I'M SMART???
Because here's the deal...I have stopped caring. I'VE STOPPED. I cared, at one point, about so many trivial things, like Oh No If I Smile At Him He'll Think I Like Him (yes????? Good????), or Gee What If I Say The Wrong Thing and He Breaks Up With Me (YES???? GOOD????), and not about super major things in my life like what would make ME happy, and what sorts of things I want out of my relationships, and that was silly, so I've just...stopped. No more.
Friends don't like the fact that I'm talking to any of the old flames. Fine. But there have been points in every friendship I've ever had when I had to seriously question whether to keep that person in my life or if they were just way too unhealthy for me to be around, so maybe they should get a grip, perhaps on this big red stop sign.
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