The Last One
It has been such a very long time since I posted anything here, and this will probably be my definitively last entry. I used to post here with the almost certain knowledge that my thoughts and feelings would be read by someone and now I'm posting here with the almost certain knowledge they will be read by no one. That's probably for the best. The last dozen or so entries of mine were all emotional outbursts and late night ramblings that may have been best kept to myself. This is no different.
I have changed so much over the past three years (give or take). When last I wrote here I was a relatively smart kid hopelessly lost among the precepts of order. Now I wander free and I laugh, though not always openly. I think I am a better person than I once was, but I still have a way to go because some journeys, once started, never really end. I still have my dark moments, full of fear, uncertainty, and, above all, loneliness. That'd be what brings me here, after so long: I have to write something and I'm not sure I want it to be read, but I'm also not sure I want it to remain unread.
I still think of her, more often than I ought to and far more often than I admit to even those I trust most. Almost everyday, truth be told. It's been so long though I can't even be sure if she is all I remember, or believe I remember, anymore. Perhaps I ought to be referring to her as Her instead, though I know she would most definitely not approve. Oh, my Beatrice, how I miss you.
It would, of course, be simple to just pick up the phone and call you, or send you an email, but I can't. If we meet again it will be through the will of no less a force than Providence alone. Damn, I didn't mean to address you (her) directly. I wanted to keep separate the idea from the actual. There is her and there is you and I doubt very much they are the same.
Nevertheless, I owe you yet another apology. Well, actually, more of an explanation, but, well, same thing (ha ha, etymology humor!). I had a reason for leaving (well, several I think, but this is the big one), and I can't claim it's a great one, but I don't think it's the worst either. Anyways, here it is: I was alone, and you weren't. I've gone through dozens of explanations in my head since that December, because back then I didn't rightly know it myself; I just knew every intuition I had was telling me to get out and save myself worse hurt, so I did. In the end though, that's what they all boiled down to. I could imagine us all hanging out, smoking weed, chatting, playing games, watching movies, and generally having fun, but at the end of all that I'd end up walking home alone and you wouldn't (or at least wouldn't have to). It is something of a selfish and narcissistic explanation I think, but it's the honest one and you deserve that much. Someday I hope to give it to you myself.
I think I've always been a bit of a narcissist, though I have only recently begun to admit it to myself. The only thing that seems to weather this is my desire to be the good guy, the hero, and not just the protagonist. This seems to be yet another thing I have in common with James "I wrote you a letter" Joyce. I'm just going to have to learn to how to healthily deal with the fact that I will likely always require a bit more attention than someone of a--let's call it--baseline personality. Given how few people there are in my life at any given time, it may be something of a challenge, but I'll manage. Whatever the case, I won't let anymore relationships be hurt just because I'm not getting all the attention I want.
It's kind of amazing how much a little philosophy can organize a mind. Mix in three parts Hume, one part Discordianism, one part Daoism, one part Hofstadter; reflect for 1-2 hours; add in two parts Victor Hugo, two parts James Joyce (Ulysses for preference), one part Dante, one part Odyssey, with additional Shakespeare, Milton, Chaucer, Dostoevsky, Herodotus, etc to taste; stir lightly once every 1-3 days until ready to serve (if left unattended for too long, ingredients will separate and cluster into hard to digest theses).
Okay, really not sure where I was going with that. Just sort of came up with it on the spot and decided to throw it in. I wanted to talk about how much organized my mind feels these days, compared to three years, but I came up with a recipe for intellectualism instead, so I guess it's not that organized. Still, it's more centered than it was three years ago, and I think that's the important thing. Like I always say, there's no need to be surefooted if you know you can catch yourself.
When I started writing this I was feeling all of those things I mentioned up in the second paragraph, but I feel better now. A little writing goes a long way. One last thing though, to her and you: if perchance you are reading this (and I'll be honest, I'm kinda hoping you won't) then I just want to know that you were one of the best things to ever happen to me. Before you, I felt as though my father was always looking over my shoulder, telling me to think, that I'm being stupid, to lower my expectations and being generally a bad influence. Now, however, I've got you back there and although you can be infuriatingly reasonable sometimes, it is, to put it lightly, better. I know you believed in me and I know that you always thought highly me, even after I was less than... well, just generally less. Although my life isn't exactly great right now (being in a semi self-imposed limbo state and all), I'm convinced it will be better for having known you.
There, that's it for now.
I have changed so much over the past three years (give or take). When last I wrote here I was a relatively smart kid hopelessly lost among the precepts of order. Now I wander free and I laugh, though not always openly. I think I am a better person than I once was, but I still have a way to go because some journeys, once started, never really end. I still have my dark moments, full of fear, uncertainty, and, above all, loneliness. That'd be what brings me here, after so long: I have to write something and I'm not sure I want it to be read, but I'm also not sure I want it to remain unread.
I still think of her, more often than I ought to and far more often than I admit to even those I trust most. Almost everyday, truth be told. It's been so long though I can't even be sure if she is all I remember, or believe I remember, anymore. Perhaps I ought to be referring to her as Her instead, though I know she would most definitely not approve. Oh, my Beatrice, how I miss you.
It would, of course, be simple to just pick up the phone and call you, or send you an email, but I can't. If we meet again it will be through the will of no less a force than Providence alone. Damn, I didn't mean to address you (her) directly. I wanted to keep separate the idea from the actual. There is her and there is you and I doubt very much they are the same.
Nevertheless, I owe you yet another apology. Well, actually, more of an explanation, but, well, same thing (ha ha, etymology humor!). I had a reason for leaving (well, several I think, but this is the big one), and I can't claim it's a great one, but I don't think it's the worst either. Anyways, here it is: I was alone, and you weren't. I've gone through dozens of explanations in my head since that December, because back then I didn't rightly know it myself; I just knew every intuition I had was telling me to get out and save myself worse hurt, so I did. In the end though, that's what they all boiled down to. I could imagine us all hanging out, smoking weed, chatting, playing games, watching movies, and generally having fun, but at the end of all that I'd end up walking home alone and you wouldn't (or at least wouldn't have to). It is something of a selfish and narcissistic explanation I think, but it's the honest one and you deserve that much. Someday I hope to give it to you myself.
I think I've always been a bit of a narcissist, though I have only recently begun to admit it to myself. The only thing that seems to weather this is my desire to be the good guy, the hero, and not just the protagonist. This seems to be yet another thing I have in common with James "I wrote you a letter" Joyce. I'm just going to have to learn to how to healthily deal with the fact that I will likely always require a bit more attention than someone of a--let's call it--baseline personality. Given how few people there are in my life at any given time, it may be something of a challenge, but I'll manage. Whatever the case, I won't let anymore relationships be hurt just because I'm not getting all the attention I want.
It's kind of amazing how much a little philosophy can organize a mind. Mix in three parts Hume, one part Discordianism, one part Daoism, one part Hofstadter; reflect for 1-2 hours; add in two parts Victor Hugo, two parts James Joyce (Ulysses for preference), one part Dante, one part Odyssey, with additional Shakespeare, Milton, Chaucer, Dostoevsky, Herodotus, etc to taste; stir lightly once every 1-3 days until ready to serve (if left unattended for too long, ingredients will separate and cluster into hard to digest theses).
Okay, really not sure where I was going with that. Just sort of came up with it on the spot and decided to throw it in. I wanted to talk about how much organized my mind feels these days, compared to three years, but I came up with a recipe for intellectualism instead, so I guess it's not that organized. Still, it's more centered than it was three years ago, and I think that's the important thing. Like I always say, there's no need to be surefooted if you know you can catch yourself.
When I started writing this I was feeling all of those things I mentioned up in the second paragraph, but I feel better now. A little writing goes a long way. One last thing though, to her and you: if perchance you are reading this (and I'll be honest, I'm kinda hoping you won't) then I just want to know that you were one of the best things to ever happen to me. Before you, I felt as though my father was always looking over my shoulder, telling me to think, that I'm being stupid, to lower my expectations and being generally a bad influence. Now, however, I've got you back there and although you can be infuriatingly reasonable sometimes, it is, to put it lightly, better. I know you believed in me and I know that you always thought highly me, even after I was less than... well, just generally less. Although my life isn't exactly great right now (being in a semi self-imposed limbo state and all), I'm convinced it will be better for having known you.
There, that's it for now.