Saturday, August 19, 2006
How you holding up?
Well, thank you for asking. Actually, at the moment I am sadder than ever. That pain is back in my chest. It's hard to breathe. I've been smoking so much I'm worried I'm developing the lung capacity of a little fish. You know, little fishy gills. Having to take quick, short breaths. It's all I can do to stay calm in moments.
Man, I'm fucking great. I'm doing unbelievably great ...
I start school Monday. I am taking 15 hours.
Geology, Italian, Photography, and some communication classes ... Monday.
I've even talked to Aaron a couple times in the last week. We've smoothed a couple things over. Not like we're going to be friends or anything, but he did offer to give me some expensive photo paper for my class ... that's cool.
I have a new rule.
I remember when I went out to Seattle and I was all fucked up about boys. Three or four of them, actually, overlapping in some kinda sea of what ifs. I remember sitting on the pier one night when I spilled the whole story to Tom: the entire history of my short love life.
He said things too simply for me then for me to comprehend. He said things had to be black and white. No gray areas. When something's over, it's over. Not even friendship, or "Maybe Someday." It had to be clearcut. It was clearcut, he said.
And he was right. So, new rule. Never date anyone more than once. If it didn't work out the first time, it was for a reason. All other time spent would be time wasted to reach a similar conclusion, you dig?
That in mind, it will be easy to be friends with my exes. Fuck, since I decided that I could go have a drink with any-fucking-one without having to worry about the repercussions.
I'm in the most antisocial mood ever.
But I've had a long week of work, and I have been hanging out with my friends a lot.
I just got sad for a moment, and that's okay.
I wish I could be like Marie DeSalle. She said two very cool things in High Fidelity: -- at least, that's what I think -- she said, for one thing, that her ex wasn't going to come between her and a fuck. The other, was when John Cusack asked her if she missed him. James, her ex. And she said, "Of course. That's how it works, right." Then she smiled and tipped her hat and walked on like everything was cool.
I'm trying to channel Marie DeSalle. I'm not kidding. I don't care if that sounds crazy. I'm trying to keep my cool. To do what I do. What I enjoy. To spend time with my friends.
Only, once in awhile, and you know what I'm talking about. When certain conversations or smiles run through your head before you can stop them. Moments you can't get out of your head and you fear they may never, ever leave you.
Like making love, and how a certain person feels right. And how they might say things to you that no one else has ever said, and how, in those moments when they were said to you, you believed them, as they echoed through your brain, and you imagined they would float around for eternity.
And you were right. And when I say you, I mean me. My thoughts. Those thoughts. Those moments like dreams. Can't be any less real than anything you ever felt in your waking life, right? Even in the past. Even in "revisionist history."
So you want to go on. You want to make more memories. But the pain of daily life after such a loss is like trying to carry the weight of a thousand pounds on your shoulder.
Meanwhile, people keep saying things like this, for example ....
"Hi, how are you?"
"I'm fine. I'm okay."
"I saw ______ a couple weeks ago. Is that why you're just okay?"
"Yeah ... He broke up with me last Saturday."
"Oh, well, I'm sorry. But you know, I like ______, but don't sweat it. You can do better. There are plenty of fish in the sea."
"Well, thank you, I ... the thing is I don't even feel like swimming. Or fishing. Or anything like that...."
And you know what? I fucking don't.
Well, thank you for asking. Actually, at the moment I am sadder than ever. That pain is back in my chest. It's hard to breathe. I've been smoking so much I'm worried I'm developing the lung capacity of a little fish. You know, little fishy gills. Having to take quick, short breaths. It's all I can do to stay calm in moments.
Man, I'm fucking great. I'm doing unbelievably great ...
I start school Monday. I am taking 15 hours.
Geology, Italian, Photography, and some communication classes ... Monday.
I've even talked to Aaron a couple times in the last week. We've smoothed a couple things over. Not like we're going to be friends or anything, but he did offer to give me some expensive photo paper for my class ... that's cool.
I have a new rule.
I remember when I went out to Seattle and I was all fucked up about boys. Three or four of them, actually, overlapping in some kinda sea of what ifs. I remember sitting on the pier one night when I spilled the whole story to Tom: the entire history of my short love life.
He said things too simply for me then for me to comprehend. He said things had to be black and white. No gray areas. When something's over, it's over. Not even friendship, or "Maybe Someday." It had to be clearcut. It was clearcut, he said.
And he was right. So, new rule. Never date anyone more than once. If it didn't work out the first time, it was for a reason. All other time spent would be time wasted to reach a similar conclusion, you dig?
That in mind, it will be easy to be friends with my exes. Fuck, since I decided that I could go have a drink with any-fucking-one without having to worry about the repercussions.
I'm in the most antisocial mood ever.
But I've had a long week of work, and I have been hanging out with my friends a lot.
I just got sad for a moment, and that's okay.
I wish I could be like Marie DeSalle. She said two very cool things in High Fidelity: -- at least, that's what I think -- she said, for one thing, that her ex wasn't going to come between her and a fuck. The other, was when John Cusack asked her if she missed him. James, her ex. And she said, "Of course. That's how it works, right." Then she smiled and tipped her hat and walked on like everything was cool.
I'm trying to channel Marie DeSalle. I'm not kidding. I don't care if that sounds crazy. I'm trying to keep my cool. To do what I do. What I enjoy. To spend time with my friends.
Only, once in awhile, and you know what I'm talking about. When certain conversations or smiles run through your head before you can stop them. Moments you can't get out of your head and you fear they may never, ever leave you.
Like making love, and how a certain person feels right. And how they might say things to you that no one else has ever said, and how, in those moments when they were said to you, you believed them, as they echoed through your brain, and you imagined they would float around for eternity.
And you were right. And when I say you, I mean me. My thoughts. Those thoughts. Those moments like dreams. Can't be any less real than anything you ever felt in your waking life, right? Even in the past. Even in "revisionist history."
So you want to go on. You want to make more memories. But the pain of daily life after such a loss is like trying to carry the weight of a thousand pounds on your shoulder.
Meanwhile, people keep saying things like this, for example ....
"Hi, how are you?"
"I'm fine. I'm okay."
"I saw ______ a couple weeks ago. Is that why you're just okay?"
"Yeah ... He broke up with me last Saturday."
"Oh, well, I'm sorry. But you know, I like ______, but don't sweat it. You can do better. There are plenty of fish in the sea."
"Well, thank you, I ... the thing is I don't even feel like swimming. Or fishing. Or anything like that...."
And you know what? I fucking don't.
Labels: Breaking Up, College, Movies
0 Comments:
