Blah. If nothing else, I take a sick bit of comfort in knowing how foolish I'll be thinking myself in twenty years.
I really did start the letter meaning to be all friendly. But it just degenerated, and now I feel bad for having been bitter as well as just feeling dreadful and miserable all on my own. Fuck. I feel very small and I miss the cats and I miss Jim and I'm so ANGRY. It's all so fucking UNFAIR, and it just feels like there's no way to fix it. So ironic that it should all be set off by the matter of a single key... Lars was so happy to see me today, and shutting the door on the two of them, locking myself out, felt more final than anything else has. I felt, as long as I had that key, that I could pretend that we were just taking a break, but now, but now it feels like it's just all permanently on the other side of that door. Left with a pair of purring cats and the kitchen of the best cook I've ever known; it's so hard to eat anything these days, did you know? It doesn't stop me, of course, but each bite hurts so badly... it's the wrong faces across the table, it's my hands stirring dinner instead of his, and it all feels so fucking wrong. So very very wrong and a little corner of my head is screaming at me all day every day saying You FOOL, you fucking fool, how could you have let it happen? And I can't do anything but sob uselessly because there's nothing else to do. Goddamnit... damn it all a million times.
It's been a long time since I felt quite so ineffectually miserable as I do tonight. I hate crying by myself so very much; I know while I'm doing it that it does no good other than tiring me out... And there's no one to cry to, of course. Because when you cry to other people it always feels like it has to justified, you know? It's such an intrusion on their patience, and I'm so obviously not worth it that I just get uncomfortable and have to stop. I always have to be the okay one... except when I can't be and I just cry and cry and cry and it doesn't make me feel any BETTER. You want to be comforted, when you cry, but who is there to do it? No one here, and no one who'd offer that I'd be able to accept it from... Except from the one that won't give it. And so I just have to sit and smear tears on my knee and breathe through sobs and hope that writing it down makes it go away because nothing else does. I'm just trying to shame myself out of it, I know, and who knows if it'll work... likely not and all that'll happen is a few people getting all worried about me, but there's no point to it because I find myself incapable of taking what they offer; I'm too suspicious, too fretful of the time I'm taking, too self-aware of the sneaky beggishness of it all. So why bother to write it down, where I know someone will read it? It just seems the overly convoluted request for a hug that ends up not counting because it was asked for... perhaps I just write it down so that I can look back in a year or two and sigh; perhaps I write it down simply so that I can try to sleep. I should probably read back over this... but I don't think I will. I think I'll just try to lie down without bawling. Because I really do hate doing it.
It's always the case that I think I have something to write about when I get home... then I spend an hour or two loafing around (doing laundry and watching Japanese cooking shows was the entertainment of the night) and everything flitters out of my head. Ah well - I had a good evening out with friends (it's really dreadfully amusing to pick on Brandon with Kate), and sometimes there's not anything more that could be asked for... especially not to wax profound on it all.
Random bits - I think I forgot to upload this yesterday, apartment-hunting this weekend preceded unhappily and necessarily by lots of phone calls tomorrow, and OS X is so pretty I can barely contain myself.
Little bits of unintendedness, bleeding bleeding bleeding out all over the floor. So tired and knots in my back killing me; how cruel that time should pass so quickly from the important events in life.
There was a gloomy scent to the air today. Well, perhaps nostalgic, rather than gloomy, would be the correct word, but the result was relatively similiar. Smell of springtime Seattle, so recently associated with Jim; the morning smelled of waking up curled in a tangled ball, of blinking home though sunlight to get books before quant. The walk home, damp and not-quite-cool, scented through and through with memory of walks between his apartment and my dorm room at night. So cruel, memory is, calling up not images but sensations, so much more deeply entwined in self, in fingertips and in nostrils. I need to stop thinking; I've done nothing but think for days. Think think think think think think think think, and nothing good has ever come of me thinking, that's for certain. I need distraction from thought, distraction from the constant denial of selfish desires. Few things are worse than when I want something that I will not let myself have - fret and fret the child does, and fretting in response the responsible self, constantly. Not that I always win, but losses are manipulated to be carefully timed transgressions rather than full-blown defeats... but I'm so tired. I'm tired of worrying; I am used to it, to be sure, such that my normal level of worry is barely perceptible - but still I tire. Tire of holding self in check, of wanting, of resisting, of worrying, of life... as always. And as always, there is nothing that will really change, rigid self-control raging always against the tantruming child, Jen-as-normal continuing always with the studying and the working and the smiles and jokes and the mild outbursts of so-called crankiness. It seems sometimes as there could be nothing else... but there is, I think, I feel, I know, and I wish dearly that I knew why I refuse to let myself grow up.
I dreamt last night, with the terrible part being that I didn't realize I was dreaming (though the fact that it was taking place at my apartment, if nothing else, should have tipped me off). I dreamt that I was finishing up my homework and screwing around online, waiting for Jim to get home. He did, late, and we joked around affectionately while we made something to eat. Pasta? Perhaps. I was my normal attention-desiring self, and he joked a few times about me needing to settle down; he was right there, he said, and going nowhere anytime soon - I'd have plenty of time with him.
I rubbed his neck as we ate on the couch, watching something on the Discovery Channel about dolphins and sonar; we put the dishes in the sink, promising each other to do them later, before going to sleep (we both knew we were lying, of course). We brushed our teeth and I pushed him into bed with a playful shove; I curled up next him, and fell asleep snuggling my cheek against an arm.
I woke up, for real, some time in the middle of the night, and blurrily thought I felt him next to me; I fell asleep again almost immediately, thinking vaguely that I'd been having a very bad dream about something that I couldn't quite recall. I woke up, this morning, disorientedly feeling around, wondering if he'd gotten up already...
And then the "Oh... yeah." hit.
Not that my day was horrible (far from it), but I find myself, at this later and more depressed hour, with only one thing I'm happy about concerning my present situation : At least I can listen to Arabic music without feeling like I'm bothering him with it now. Small graces that fail miserably to make the whole thing worthwhile.
Out of all the things that I could have done tonight, I think what actually was done could quite possibly be the last predicted. I went, with my mother, to a body-building competition. Her trainer was competing, in the lightweight men's division (he got 4th out of 15, and was the best looking in his class, I thought), and she wanted company (that wasn't Dad) to cheer Mark on.
I expected to be rather bored, and to be grossed out by hulking men and women; I admit to prejudice. What I did not expect was to be tapping my toes to music, cheering my lungs out and clapping my hands sore. Sure, there were the hugely over-defined and bulky ones, and many of the people in the audience were dreadfully frightening, but while I certainly wouldn't want to date many of the competetors, I certainly didn't mind watching their (mostly naked, hehe) routines. Most impressive, and my favorite men by far, were the 40+ divisions (40-50, 50-60, and 60+). They weren't overly ripped, like the younger groups (as my mother said, they most likely use far fewer drugs), and had several quite handsome men among them. However, the one who blew me away was Sang Hoon Park, a man 15 years older than the next oldest man in the 60+ division. He was slight, and his face was fragile, but below his neck his body was decades younger. He told us that he intended to continue competing until the day he died, and the fluidity of his routine had my jaw dropping. What can I say... he's the man. It's not a great picture (his chest is wrinkled funny), but here he is at a competition in February, where he placed first in the bantam weight division. The most awesome 84-year-old man I've ever seen.
Ii na. Tanoshikatta, isshou ni iru koto. Ne.
It's 2:03 am. I'm going to scribble down an unfinished answer to the last stat mech thing and recopy the essay in the damn morning and then I'm going to fucking bed.
Holy bejeezus something BAD bloomed today. My allergies exploded as I believe they never have before, all day, resulting in the most physically uncomfortable day I've spent lately where I couldn't just crawl into bed to get it over with. I think my brain has alternately trickled and been sneezed completely away. To change the subject, it's funny how memory pairs people to experiences. I knew that I'd met Matt before, and that it involved Magic - sure enough, he knew Lon and Mac and that whole crew, and I suspect we met several times my freshman year. How's that for wacky? Once we'd established the connection, I remembered which figure he was, in my memory - he was much taller and more imposing. The wonders of relativity - I've grown no taller and I doubt he's grown more immature; it's just that I've grown internally much bigger and less impressionable.
I should be contemplative, mysterious, something, anything at all. But instead I simply feel as if a part of me is missing, and I sigh.
I came home intending to be up for several hours, though I wasn't sure doing what. I walked home in the rain, feeling it sting my face and drip down behind my ears, and couldn't for the life of me get Snoop's "Nothin' But A 'G' Thang" out of my head; I wallked home in the rain and avoided the trees and bushes lying in ambush and mused on how glad I am that people like Kate exist to remind me that girls are not always awful things. I walked home in the rain, pushing my hand deeper into my pocket as damp tendrils began curling around my face and I thanked someone who wasn't there for watching out for me; I walked home in the rain and as I unlocked my door and began climbing stairs, I realized that all I really wanted to do was to sleep.
I really should have written something last night, but perhaps I didn't want to spoil the day by reflecting on it too much. It was the first real actual good day I'd had since the Saturday before (thanks to Brandon, Patrick, Nathan, and Niko for making it so), and was so welcome that I decided to just crawl into bed and revel in it. Not that I expect it to last, mind you, but perhaps that was why it was even more important to lie in a quiet, dark room, petting Nikki, and replaying it in my mind. Moments of happiness are so fleeting that they have to be savored for a long time afterward - if there's nothing else I've learned in the last several years, that's it. Sappy, but so true.
Sometimes I just wish my life would get itself over with faster, and save me so much thinking.
Plenty to say, but I'm too tired and it's nearing 2 am.
I brooded today at the Roma, if the word may be used when one is thinking about nothing in particular. I brooded while I stared out, vaguely registering the people flowing in and out, vaguely registering Noah laughing with his girlfriend. I stared out at nothing, really, eyes unfocused, chin in hand, other fingers absently twirling my pencil. I tuned out music, I tuned out the Chinese conversation beside me, I tuned out the cars. And I brooded. I was filled with a great melancholy, the source of which I didn't want to think about in public lest start crying. I felt alone, truly alone, and I was lonely.
I'm noticing more and more, each passing day, the lack of physical contact. Before, I took it for granted that even if I wasn't touching someone and being touched right at that moment, I would be before too long. Now... nothing. A tactile wasteland where gestures are caught short so as to not seem more than they are, but I find myself longing yet to lean a head on Patrick's shoulder, to press an arm against Brandon, to find Kate and ask, childishly, for a hug. My apartment, in all its strained loneliness, has never seemed as empty as it does now.
I find myself wrapping my arms in warm laundry, for the semblance of a person that it brings.
What to write? Nothing does life justice, of course. A conversation, a class, a few hours at work, all blurring together without any sort of unifying threads. I'm glad we talked today, and I'm glad we cried and hugged. Did it make everything better? Of course not. How can I feel good, when we love and miss each other and know that to be together just isn't meant to be right now? It's all very unhappy and displeasing, more discontenting, in many a way, than if we were furiously angry at each other.
In a word, blah.
I staved off feeling dreadful so well so far today that I had begun to think that perhaps I'd be alright. I saw Jim today; I don't know if he didn't see me or just pretended not to... I suppose I didn't expect him to be on the verge of suicidal or anything, considering that the whole thing is for his benefit, but it still hurt to see him laughing and joking with Dutch, walking along as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I suppose I'm doing the same, though. But I pushed it down and opened the door for Patrick and went on with my day, and everything was fine until I sat down to rewrite my essay for Japanese. It's not a long one, as essays go - three short paragraphs. Three short paragraphs about my spring break, where I talked about how happy I'd been to see Jim's parents for a few days, and how lonely I'd been with only the cats after I'd come home. And unbidden the tears rise, as I'm reminded how I'm losing not just a boyfriend, but a family that loved and accepted me far more unreservedly than my own ever did. Hated for the weakness they represent, the tears fall, as I'm reminded how much I could have done, had I only not been so selfish, to stretch things for longer. Sobs escape and the tears continue, as I have to remind myself that keeping him in a cage with me would only have destroyed him in the end, a thought more hurtful to self than anything else could possibly be.
I am all layers today. On the surface, I am feeling remarkably philosophical about it all. I am reminding myself that I've known since the beginning that it would happen - that I know not a single person who has successfully settled down with their first boy/girlfriend. I am reminding myself that while I may not have, in the end, tried enough, I did try and things still didn't work out. Below that, however, I am in denial. I am saying to myself that surely, surely he'll email tomorrow and say "I was hasty, let's talk, work something out." I am so actively not thinking about the world that's in my lap now, full of gaping holes and dangling threads, that at moments it may not exist at all. And then, gradiations below, there is simply a little girl, weeping quietly in a corner and plaintively asking "why?"
In so many ways, it's so much worse when you know that it's coming. It turns it into a pain you don't really feel that you can scream and wail away, so it just sits there, a leaden, dead feeling in your chest. And all there is to do is to keep all the lights on and untie your shoes.
I think I'm going to throw up.
Snicker - went to Spike and Mike's Sick and Twisted tonight for the first time in years. The dreadful Funhouse one made it back, but thankfully the other awful one didn't... ugh. But Stinky Monkey and Rejected were GREAT!. I was so glad that Kate reminded me - it was fun to spend time with her and her boyfriend and Brandon and Jim. See? Things all good.
Bill teased me tonight, and I had to sit and wonder if I'm being good. I'm trying, but I can't control every aspect of situations, which always makes me fret. But mostly, I'm still sick and cranky and I'm going to bed.
It's interesting what the amount of ambient light can do to your musical preferences. Driving on I5 today, I wanted "up" music. Whether that meant Sugar Ray or Rage Against the Machine, Paul Simon or Days of the New, Madonna or Green Day, I didn't really care. But it was not a day for Ozzy, or Delerium, or Dido (well, no day is really a day for Dido anymore), in any sense at all.
My head is 7 inches of hair lighter.
I know I shouldn't be minding as much as I am, and I certainly am not minding in a OhMyGodMyHairLooksTerribleNow sort of way... But it's like taking a inch a year leap back in time. My hair now looks nothing so much like it did my freshman year of high school, when it'd finally gotten out of that akward stage of growing-out, but wasn't really loooonnnng like it became later. Seeing my high-school hair framing my college face in the mirror is disconcerting - I can't help but think of my school picture from that year, floating in my mind's eye next to my reflection, the glare and transparent unhappiness contrasted with a face that's learned to artfully hide and conceal, save when it's strategically appropriate. It's a callous way to put it, but I would be doing myself a hypocrisy if I tried to couch it otherwise. The hair framing this deceitful face doesn't belong - it belongs to an earlier, artless self, one with her nose in a book or with her hands dealing 7 cards to a small table in front of her.
But with that said, I cannot say that I dislike it. It's different, an imejiichenjii, and most importantly will take 7 inches less time to wash. It's long enough to fit into a (small) ponytail, and I'll get used to the bits not quite staying behind my ears as they used to. Given that I have determined to like it, though, the next most important thing is others. I know they're not supposed to matter, but who's kidding who? I was glad that Sara at the Roma told me that it looked good - otherwise I'd be sitting here, worrying at my lip, wondering if were going to laugh at me tomorrow (not that I can think of anyone who'd out and out laugh at me, but snickers are all too often unintentionally externally noticable). She may have just been being polite, why else do I love her and the rest of the crew so much if not for the fact that they give me reassurance day after day that I'm interesting, worth flirting or chatting with, etc?
I think I was going to go somewhere with this, originally, but I've forgotten where. So instead I'll to bed.
I was late to work today. It was in a very good cause, but that didn't help my feeling guilty.
I was comfortable today. Then Scott emailed me.
I was happy earlier today. But then I got moody.
I had a possiblity of a roommate today. But then his housedeal with his current roomies came through.
I refound Grant's page today. Do you still check in on me, Grant, so much later? I never knew.
I did some homework today. But not enough, so I'm writing this instead, at nearly 1 in the morning.
I finished all my homework today. Except 1E in stat mechanics and 1,6,8-10,13 of one of my Japanese assigns.
I lived my life today. So why can't I be happier about it?
A lovely dinner out at an intimate Italian restaurant (complete with dirty old Italian man) and a comfortable evening spent goofing off together at home - better ways to celebrate a one-year anniversary there are not many.
How's that for damn snappy service? I was (as always) intending to write more before I became so t-i-r-e-d. Scanned for apartments today... houses were such better deals, but none of the ones that I found will likely be up still in September. Stupid out-of-control renters' market in Seattle has me scraping to find a place to live that I can afford that won't be a total hole. Bah humbug.