No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction at anytime.
There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,
a blessed unrest keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others.
-- Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille
Was || Will Be || Past Moments || Now || Notes

2010-06-19 - 11:45 p.m.

Email unsent

An email written (this past Tuesday night), but not sent.

I'm angry with myself for even starting to write this to you, and I suspect (and in some ways hope) that I'll never send it.
On the other hand, I can't help but remember the evening at D's house so long ago and I don't want us to spend another twenty years with each of us misunderstanding the motives and emotions of the other.
In the "I shouldn't send this" column, I've been drinking pretty steadily since you left tonight.
There are so many questions I want to ask you right now, and so many things I want to say. But I have a hard time imagining that you have any interest in hearing my thoughts or answering my questions. I want very badly to believe that you care for me in some way, but that doesn't give me the right to badger you. And I don't want to be a pest.
Anyway, caveats aside, here's what's on my mind:
I'm angry.
Jesus Fuck, I'm angry.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't angry at you, but it's the kind of anger that will fade.
Right now, tonight, I'm more sorry.
I � I feel like I was rude to you tonight, like I was quiet and closed off and just in no way my normal self.
Not as much of that as you might imagine came from anger.
For the most part it happened because I had to focus most of my attention on keeping myself in control.
I wanted so badly to talk to you about what's going on, about how you're feeling, about what you're feeling about me, about you and Motherfucking J. But I was clinging so ferociously to the tattered remains of my pride that I just couldn't.
There's a large and vocal part of me that is crying out for you to be put permanently into my past as soon as possible. It is unutterably tempting to cut you out of my life completely and never speak to you again. There are things that would be so much easier if I could do that.
But as angry as I am, and as eager as I am to put this whole thing behind me, there's a much larger part that just plain misses you.
Angry me claims that I would never take you back, that the bridges have been well and truly burned. But I know that that is a lie. I would take you back in a heart-beat and be glad to do it.
I tell myself that you will never come back, because it is easier (and I hope) healthier to assume that things are irrevocably over.
Anyway, I know you don't owe me any kind of explanation, and I won't blame you if you don't want to talk to me anymore. But ...
But, well, I miss you.

It stops there. I didn't really know how to end it. And I obviously never sent it.
And two weeks on, I'm nowhere near over this.
As a friend said to me tonight "sometimes, numb is a blessing." Here's to finding a way to be numb.
Anything more than that will just have to wait.

Hosted by my beloved DLand
Sign My Guestbook!�� powered by SignMyGuestbook.com