Sunday, February 21, 2010

Father Time

All I seem capable of is music and getting fat.

I haven't been at work in about THREE weeks and I wonder if I'm too fat to even do it at this point. I didn't go to a single class last week. I didn't even record, though I had a bunch of shows, and I won one contest that I didn't even know was a contest. Oh yeah I also hadn't worked out until tonight, in about two weeks.

Eating, drinking, singing, watching House. I can do those things.

Well I hung out with my drug-dealer boyfriend a few times and he gave me Vicodin. So I was doing that, for a week, too. I guess that might explain why I wasn't doing anything else. Hah. That stuff is crazy. I have to catch up on two weeks' worth of homework right now for tomorrow morning. And shower. Because I ran to Kostya's where I ended up playing bunch but not recording anything. And I'm gross.

Specimen from e-mails to Julian that lead to the final e-mail to Julian that said "Wow. I sound completely insane in those e-mails. Please, please disregard them." that lead to a response from him saying "The e-mails are fine." that made me want to end it all:

"I'm thinking: Really and sincerely thank you for everything, I'm just lightyears beyond September, beyond the last decade and the one before and the one before that. You did that, so easily... you're really good at what you do... So I don't want to stop seeing you, the thought of it is, not good, but then the reality of... well, reality, though I have been living in it, the recently exhumed specifics are now blinking mulch blood and sand out of their eyesockets, coughing up worms, dryly screaming, proceeding toward me to Orff or more hideously Rachmaninov (PAXMAHNHOB!), screw this metaphor, okay, this is a relationship that, can't really develop, it's 45 minutes (50 today, thank you- no sarcasm) twice a week, probably soon to be once, thanks to the Albert Schweizers at Blue Cross BS, and that's just. And you know, I really feel like I've grown 20 years in the last one, and it is thanks to you, in large part, and being understood and respected is just, wow, it's really helpful! Hah! It really makes me feel like a human being! And being accepted (though I know it's your JOB to accept and that's often really bothered me...), I mean I tell you things I don't tell anyone, and you still respect and accept (your job, but you do), and I guess I am to learn to realize that other people will do that too because why shouldn't they because it is all acceptable and respectable? That's the idea, no? It's just not for lack of trying or negative assumption that I don't find these damn people, I do actually assume the best and then some of everyone when I first meet them (unless they show themselves within the first few seconds to be utterly simian or reptilian or AI, or just plastic), not having been at the club in weeks (and considering not returning, somehow) has been pretty much good, though meeting people there had its benefits because they were..."


"So I'm done being funny. I think about you, and dream about you, and write about you, and think about you, and I have been, for what feels like ages, and is only intensifying. And you've been really, really helpful in spite of that, maybe partly because of it, because I don't know if I'd have been so diligent about my appointments otherwise... Heh... And it is, it is hard for me to imagine imagine that surprising, you're so sexy, and gobsmacked gorgeous, like a doctor on a soap opera (just physically though), and brilliant, and funny, and sarcastic, and real like not fake you're never fake you're even kind of moody and I APPRECIATE that, and compassionate and respectful, so much, I've never in my life felt so much like a human being. If you know what I mean. And it does feel safe with you. And it means so much to me. And I'm glad you think that this THIS THIS as your Dr Yalom would call LoveObsession doesn't jeopardize THAT I don't want to jeopardize it either, it means so much to me... It's just hard for me to grasp that should be unique to therapy shouldn't relationships feel that way... despite whatever external furies moan outside and rap at the window, despite the creaking wood and the raging waters underfoot... isn't that the point, the ideal, the Form of Love, that sliver of God we mortals can experience in our lifetime, Platonic Love in the real sense as described by Plato and not is not exclusive from romantic love but is just pure like Truth and Beauty and Courage on and on..."



I've never just sat there and remotely lusted after and adored someone for several months without saying anything. It was... good... I LIKED it. I didn't want to change it. INSPIRING. I didn't want to change it. I didn't want to say anything, for just fear and just honestly not wanting to put you in that position I know you're thinking tsk tsk what's your ultimately selfish purpose for not wanting to say anything, well I have no problem admitting the plethora of those- fear of exposure, fear of rejection, looking like a jackass, revealing all this stuff, feeling awkward, LOSING YOU in any capacity like making it so awkward that for some reason well you get it, but also putting you in that position because I KNOW- I wasn't as bad as I thought- but I KNOW I'm not the most pleasant person in the world when being delivered something I don't want to hear, in fact a downright bitch, and I DON'T WANT TO BE A BITCH TO YOU, NO, NOT TO YOU, I know you get it and have years of experience dealing with it and okay one more thing (I have had a vodka, one drink, a heavy pour, but one nonetheless) that bothers me-- you dont have to HYPERSPACE 16 inches back every time i tilt my chin a millimeter in your direction, ok? I GET IT. I've BEEN getting it. It's kind of, unnecessary and insulting. I don't know what the personal space boundary is, tell me, I'll respect it, ok. "




Well. That's what that was. I'm seeing him again on Tuesday. God I'm so mortified. Wow.

Love and Leaving it to Fate


No comments:

Post a Comment