As soon as I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be completely carried away by the morphine (which is what codeine is metabolized into by the liver), I was out cold. I don't recall stirring once during the night, and I did not wake up--not even for a moment--for seven straight hours. The last time I slept like that was... well, it's been too long.

I dreamed of him last night, in that morphine-induced pseudo-coma. I always do, when I'm that relaxed. We were both in the same bar, completely by chance, and I pretended not to notice him, as I'm sure he pretended not to notice me. We were forced to interact in the men's room, when he physically bumped into my on my way out. I said his name and immediately looked down at the floor; I could never quite look at a picture of him without immediately feeling shame and regret. How did we ever drift that far apart? He was my best friend. He was my first real crush. Oh. So that answers that question.

He stood there for a few seconds before saying hello. Pleasantries exchanged: it's been so long, what have you been up to, let's catch up sometime. Sometime? What about now? What about six years ago? I hated him for a split second before realizing it was futile to do so. I could never hate him. But I could hate what he does to me. He entered the restroom; I swung by my table and told my friends that we had to go.

Religious readers of my blog know that I think of him from time to time. A truly paralyzing series of thoughts that reduces me to mental invalidity. It stops me in my tracks like a stalked animal frozen with fear, and when I gather enough strength to tentatively take a few steps, I can feel it following me, lurking beyond the shadows. Sometimes it takes me days to get over the feeling, but a part of me never does. Why else would I have these recurring thoughts, flaring up from time to time like a bad case of herpes, the sores spreading across my heart, tender and open and weeping, oozing with regret over things long since past and a friendship long since irremediable, a constant painful reminder of the good times we used to have back when my soul was naked and unprotected.

And now I hide it from everyone I am remotely interested in; and even if I did decide to once again bare it, it would look shriveled and be diseased; and I am afraid that it is poison, that it will pass on to the ones I love and destroy them slowly--an insidious venereal disease of the heart.

Well, you know what? I'm tired of it. I'm tired of falling victim to this constant self-pity and loathing. Let the healing begin.

*     *     *

In less depressing news, you have got to love the federal government. As a result of a Homeland Security Directive issued last year, all NASA employees were required to get a new badge. I got my picture and fingerprints taken in October of last year for this supposedly more secure badge, but there were some problems with manufacturing the badges or processing the badges or... something. Anyway. Yesterday, I get an e-mail from the badging office informing me that my new badge has finally arrived! Just in time for me to turn it in tomorrow, when my tenure here ends...

Oh, bureaucracy. Or should I say, bureauCRAZY? (-10 points for bad punnage.)

That sounds so sad, to lose your best friend that way. I hope it never happens to me... :/
» randomjunk on 2008-08-14 07:06:15

Hello, herpes metaphor!
It seems that you need closure with this man. Not that I want you to tell the internets about this, but from what I read, it would appear that you guys drifted apart and didn't end things completely. Maybe that's why thinking about him leaves you in such a state.

Anyway, good for you for finally starting to move on and take charge. It takes a lot to move past a relationship, I know. Time heals all wounds, that's for sure.

So, are you going to work for NASA next summer? Sounds like a pretty nice gig. Fingerprints and flashy new badges that come too late and all.
» eroosterton on 2008-08-15 12:04:13

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