A few things I don’t often dwell on.

I’ve made it a habit to let (force?) my mind to wander to other topics when I become emotionally dissatisfied with its focus.  Tonight, I have just a few of those to share, in the hope that maybe, just maybe my acceptance of them will set me free.

Topic #1: I am struggling to hold on to a friendship I can’t help but feel is doomed.  How I could have been so close with someone in such a short period of time makes me want to believe there is more, but with each conversation we barely have, with each new picture I see, I feel more and more disconnected from her existence, slipping further from her reality.  I want to fight for it, but I can’t seem to find a hole in the ice so I can get back to the surface.

Topic #2: I still feel betrayed, or I wouldn’t find pleasure in the fat alcoholic being…well, himself.  There will always be a level of vanity that permeates any situation that seems clear of superficiality.  He might be ecstatic with his life, but he’s still a fat drunk.  I somehow find pleasure in that, probably because I can’t imagine true happiness existing at the bottom of four Budweisers.  Maybe I just haven’t found peace.

Topic #3: I’m amazed at how far from emotion (on the whole) I’ve run.  I let everyone see a little piece of Linda, but no one gets the package.  I’m full of defenses, perhaps?  It’s quite sad when there’s no family to divulge everything to, no best friend to offer support regardless of situation, no one to call when I ace a test or decide I need to share a sudden thought that only really has meaning to me with.  I don’t miss these things often, but once in a while I remember what it was like to feel, to trust, and I wish I knew how to do those things again.  But I can’t help but note the comparison between the pain that accompanies the loss of them and the complacency that surrounds their absence.

Topic #4: My dreams have been occupied by someone other than he-who-caused-a-year-of-pain-and-anger.  Yes, occasionally John Cusack, for some wacky reason.  But also, the man who still feels like my net.  Of course, if you were to Google how many times I’ve said/written those words, it’s kind of a common notion of mine.  So, once again, I go back to being the estranged strange girl who can’t even trust her own instincts.   Someone who’ll be there for a random relationship-like experience, because it’s just enough to satisfy a longing, but gone for weeks thereafter.  Don’t try to capture me; I’ll probably just run away.


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