Why do I always end up neglecting the blog!?
I want to blame it on the fact that this is my "secondary" blog, where I'm a little more anonymous and haven't really told most people about. The primary blog is the one my family knows about, where I am supposed to write about travels, and exciting things, and my house. But I can't really cite that excuse, because I haven't updated that one since October 2009. But I'm back, because I'm beating myself up today, and that's what Rockjock is for.
I tweeted one sentence this morning: "What have I done." It started while I consolidated my digital life and gather all my files into one place, and in doing so, I came across these glaring, stabbing reminders that I've made a mistake. I'm not referring to the computer, but a woman, of course. I've liked a few women over the years, but I thought about one particular girl differently. I had this definition of her in my head, and I couldn't figure out how that definition could work with my definition of myself. A lot of times I worried that we couldn't work, and it hurt to think that. Now the passage of time might by clouding my memory, but I can't remember ever feeling that way for anyone else. I felt that I wanted her, but convinced myself I couldn't have her, and it was a specific feeling for her, not just that I didn't want to be alone.
I say "I convinced myself," because I'm pretty sure the only reason we never had a relationship as adults is because I never asked. I never gave her the chance to turn me down, or to accept me and prove my concerns false. I never gave her a chance, but for some reason, I expected her to come to me. She didn't, though. She lived her life, and one day I found out her ex boyfriend was moving in with her, and my reaction was typical for me. I assumed they were back together (probably a safe assumption, but still, I assumed instead of just asking), and I got angry that she didn't tell me, and decided that she just didn't talk to me enough, and I tried to protect myself (aka I acted like a tool) by giving up. I left her alone and had this stupid notion that if I shut up, she'd contact me. She didn't, though, and I acted all self-righteous and told myself that if she didn't need to talk to me, I didn't need to talk to her. And I waited for time to heal all wounds and fade it away. I think we last saw each other in late 2006, and I still miss her. I want to call her, or better yet, knock on her door tomorrow afternoon (I happen to be going to her town for the day) and tell her what I've tried to say here.
I'm sorry I dropped off the planet, and that I blamed you for not nourishing our friendship. I'm sorry I never asked you to try to make a relationship work. You used to know me, and after all these years, I don't know if you do anymore, and I wish to god I hadn't wasted all those chances. Yeah, that would go well, just like in the movies. The movies I despise for messing with our perceptions of reality and teaching us to want fairytales. Maybe we would have worked, maybe not. Maybe she would have moved here, or maybe we would have moved somewhere new. Maybe we'd have fizzed out in a month. But I'm 30 now, and I never tried, and I'm pretty sure trying and failing would have been preferable to this.
I tweeted one sentence this morning: "What have I done." It started while I consolidated my digital life and gather all my files into one place, and in doing so, I came across these glaring, stabbing reminders that I've made a mistake. I'm not referring to the computer, but a woman, of course. I've liked a few women over the years, but I thought about one particular girl differently. I had this definition of her in my head, and I couldn't figure out how that definition could work with my definition of myself. A lot of times I worried that we couldn't work, and it hurt to think that. Now the passage of time might by clouding my memory, but I can't remember ever feeling that way for anyone else. I felt that I wanted her, but convinced myself I couldn't have her, and it was a specific feeling for her, not just that I didn't want to be alone.
I say "I convinced myself," because I'm pretty sure the only reason we never had a relationship as adults is because I never asked. I never gave her the chance to turn me down, or to accept me and prove my concerns false. I never gave her a chance, but for some reason, I expected her to come to me. She didn't, though. She lived her life, and one day I found out her ex boyfriend was moving in with her, and my reaction was typical for me. I assumed they were back together (probably a safe assumption, but still, I assumed instead of just asking), and I got angry that she didn't tell me, and decided that she just didn't talk to me enough, and I tried to protect myself (aka I acted like a tool) by giving up. I left her alone and had this stupid notion that if I shut up, she'd contact me. She didn't, though, and I acted all self-righteous and told myself that if she didn't need to talk to me, I didn't need to talk to her. And I waited for time to heal all wounds and fade it away. I think we last saw each other in late 2006, and I still miss her. I want to call her, or better yet, knock on her door tomorrow afternoon (I happen to be going to her town for the day) and tell her what I've tried to say here.
I'm sorry I dropped off the planet, and that I blamed you for not nourishing our friendship. I'm sorry I never asked you to try to make a relationship work. You used to know me, and after all these years, I don't know if you do anymore, and I wish to god I hadn't wasted all those chances. Yeah, that would go well, just like in the movies. The movies I despise for messing with our perceptions of reality and teaching us to want fairytales. Maybe we would have worked, maybe not. Maybe she would have moved here, or maybe we would have moved somewhere new. Maybe we'd have fizzed out in a month. But I'm 30 now, and I never tried, and I'm pretty sure trying and failing would have been preferable to this.