the right guesses

tell me - what do you care, really? why am i permanently reduced to making clumsy guesses about what it is that makes you tick? why am i always the one making overtures? why does the burden of making things comfortable always fall on me?
and i wonder if perhaps i really am not the one expecting more from this strange relationship.
you once made conversations elegant and delicate and fun. once, conversations with you were wonderful things. and now i tread around eggshells, and on them. inadvertently. oh, my dear. i am tired of tiptoeing around your perceived weaknesses.
when have you ever considered mine?

for someone who asked

at times i am "not the most mature"
(still taking adolessons)
but everyone's immature; some just deny it better. they tell me - oh, not They; just they - my friends, the people i ask - they tell me everyone who is, worries about dying alone. and i think, that would be okay, if i knew. i need to know for sure, that's what i need. perhaps i have too great a regard for spelling things out. most people don't like it; they say why must you ask so many questions just let it go why can't you let it go only i can't.
i worry that i will always never always never... i worry. i find my wisdom in my misery; and it hurts that all those whom i believe can or will see it - don't. it is because of time spent, i suppose. time spent around the immaturity of me. i am tired of being seen skewed. i am tired of guesswork. spadework. work. i wish, so much, for a friendship where i will not be the only one making the advances, the offers, the sacrifices. i wonder why i am always so ready to be the one helping. does it make me better in any way, trying to be the person others turn to?
no, because they will not always turn to me. i am terrified of being unneeded. am i so ordinary that everybody everybody everybody can do without me? ah, but wait. it isn't everyone, is it? no. it's just one big mess and a series of one-sided arrows, and a person who will insist on pushing me away.
if i were to break it down
(to pieces pieces)
i would have to admit that i'm better off now than i was the last time this happened. definitely i have come ahead in the departments of blame, tears and silent suffering - except that i'm leaning on walls a lot more leaning this time around. perhaps because there's a larger measure of honesty there this time. perhaps. but the problem is (and has always been) that i am a past master at fooling myself into thinking whatever i feel like thinking. why worry? why worry about could have- should have- would have- why? because i can?
i wonder now if i'm looking for something to blame. i usually am - i like things to be someone's fault, or something's fault, or because of something that can be avoided the next time. i collect these guesses like little pearls of something almost approaching wisdom and i ask ask ask everyone i ask them what did you do what would you do what should i do and people will tell me things i want to hear because all the people i ask are as mad about the lost romance as i am. and all the advice is bad, and all the advice is wrong, and my instincts are sending me horribly mixed messages. alas, egad, agog.


I have far too great a fondness for symbols. Superstition! ahoy. So weak and powerless over you. Odd, it's only because I will. I want to be. How much self destruction must I recognize before I'll step in and stop it? I can advise until I'm blue in the face, but I will not believe it's over until someone says it in so many words. I wish I could just be loved by someone I love, you know? Just once, have someone I like more than anyone else in the world return the feeling. It's okay if it doesn't last more than a day, or if it never happens again. I just want to know what it's like - and I want to be able to say I've felt it, too.
Is that too much to ask?

Is it too soon?

it's done, then

i will be okay, i will. i'd like to say "fitting", because it is, in a way. and at the very least there will be one more person with something to remember me by. i suppose i should be happy about it, though i cannot find it in myself. and the fact that i was right, in one way, at least one way - but that counts for so little now. will i always be so wrong?
i didn't expect this to affect me so much, i didn't. i do care; that's a bad thing. it means i gave in, in the end. in spite of all the warnings, and all the worries, and all the wisdom of past experiences. that is why wisdom is important. it is. it is maturity.
i want to get through this as i convinced myself i would.
ask me next year, and we will see if i did.

i will see this to the death!

why, where's all the screaming? the crying? the million letters written in the head? all i have are some very erratic heartbeats and a face that tends to blush inappropriately.
oh, dear.

I don't care. don't care don't care don't care don't care.
The horoscope; it says:
Luck is on your side this week.
Something you've been wanting for a very long time will finally be yours.

...
...
...
to the death.

oh, why did you

and what have i done now?
I can never tell.

I want to believe in good things, but sometimes the feelings I get don't really go with the good things. I wait around for people to clarify, so I can tell myself: there was a good reason, there was. Eternal optimism will continue to believe until it drops dead, or until the moment when it can say: there. that is what made it worth all my while.

But it is not. This is not worth my while, it is not.
The upside is this: Now I know. I know.
This time I will not put up with a person who is reckless with my heart.

listen

you fool yourself. you talk too much. you lie to yourself and to people who will tell you what you want to hear. you ask questions that can be answered only two ways, and you ask them of people who will always choose only the one option - that is not fair. you imagine what is not there, you read into words what they don't say, you make believe where you have no right -
just leave him alone.

for god's sake.

No, I'm not blocking you. What am I, five?
(or twenty-one? I did it; in those days).
I just can't be bothered any more. I'm not so fond of you that I will help mend you when you refuse to be mended. I've done all I can; and all I'm prepared to do; and there's my good deed for the year may I get my gold star now, please miss? Far easier if you school yourself to hate me. It's a pattern you're familiar with anyway, isn't it?
I have problems of my own - I cannot fix yours too.

there is a new-post link in the top right-hand corner

Once upon a time I wrote that. Very astute, methinks.
:)
And hasn't it been too long since I've written something here from me, from I; from me about I; from me about T? Yes, too long. Too long. I've been worrying about the people who read this, and there can't be that many; and they can't matter because they won't say it
(hush a secret where's the secret where is it)
to me anyway because Were you invited?
Sometimes I wonder if the blue isn't losing its purpose; if I haven't become slowly, (slowly, slowly) someone who can manage her life without a miserable cry about it first. I use too many happy faces. I have learnt too well to smile. Is that not wonderful? Yes :) Except - I don't write as much as I used to. I can't: I keep thinking of other things instead. All my best thoughts are behind me; all I think of now are suburban dreams without the southern hemisphere. I wonder if the end is what made me happy - this freedom from the five years. Victory, victory! A lesson learned and the guerdon of a self one can love. I don't want to think it; it is a solution almost insulting in its simplicity.
One likes to take credit for one's triumphs.

I have wandered back through the blue, and I am afraid I have been clueless (oh, clueless) Has it really been eight months? Eight? And still it's only now that you are ready to say it? And not even ready! For that question there should be only one answer, not a mess of shuffling guesses and fluctuating feelings. I tell myself that I wouldn't imagine something that wasn't there. I tell myself that my instincts are better than that. (Have I not always known?)
I tell myself that this time it will be different.
The odd thing is that I'm not unhappy. Is that not odd? I've been unhappy over boys. I've worried and cried and spent sleepless nights wishing I were dead. I've begged and pleaded and demanded - how do you feel about me? I've hated them for pushing me away, for running away, for suddenly realizing they cannot bear to spend time around me - needy clingy desperate woman that I am. I have done it the other way; run because I didn't want to be there in that position in that situation - and I have always drawn that line. Now there is no line.
And yet I'm not unhappy. Does that mean anything?
I want to believe I've learnt from past experiences; that I've become wiser and calmer and more mature; that I am no longer that child screaming to be loved. I want to believe it; and at times I can convince myself it's true. Is this simply an illusion I've created because I want it to be true? I don't know.

i see that i've stopped writing the blue as though it were an extension of my brain. why did i do that? why am i still wishing for a single person to be reading this? and what does it mean that i want him to read not the content, but the other things; me! me in these words! and does he know how i feel about him at all? all the old posts have lost their secrets. it feels strange to pass them by and read them as i would a stranger's and think - i know what that could feel like, i know. the first time i read non-sensei i ached to think of a love like that. if i had a wish it would be to be loved with words. is that stupid? selfish? and what if i am married not to the one i love but to someone chosen for me by parents grandparents loving relatives; a software engineer who says too when he means to and of when he means off and vice versa verce visa, oh, even if he willingly corrects himself if i tell him it's wrong, thank you dear, and what will i do?
the words must be loved.
as much as i do. as much as i do.

horoscope

Do you believe in the truth? The truth above all else and the pain a truth causes is worth it because there! there it is, it's the truth and what could be better?
Would you tell someone - "I don't love you."; "I don't know how much this is going to hurt you, but it needed to be said; in so many words. I don't love you." - would you?
You need to tell me. I need to hear you say it; in so many words. I won't believe it until you do. I will say to myself I am prepared, I can take it, I will be okay but I will not know, I will not know until you say.
Would you, please?

300

Do you know how hard I try to push you away? Here, in my head; where you take up so much time and space and energy. Only your curiosity seems human; something to tie to tie myself to tie myself up with. I wish I didn't always imagine happy endings; the things we want to believe in rarely turn out to be true, don't you think?
I am worried that I am not worried.
What have I convinced myself of?

should have lied

i blushed. i actually did. at one point my head screamed my secret mine and i was afraid they'd see, that they'd reach in and grab it, and it was mine. but when has that ever stopped well-meaning relatives? oh bad, so bad. it took the best part of a five-hour car ride to set my head on straighter than it was, and it is still far too far ahead of normal.
but you're weird, my tee.

the truth is, there is no part of me that will say no. how scary is that?
when i fall this time it will hurt worse than all the last times.
please let it be easy, oh please.

been one week

It feels wonderfully liberating to complete something on time and within requirements. It has been a long time since I felt proud of myself - and that is a great feeling. I don't want to say things like "learned a lot about myself", and "failure is a stepping stone" because, well, they are pansy clichés that I would be ashamed to use, but...
they're true nonetheless, aren't they?
In the long run it really does not matter. And I'm happy with myself, so what odds?
:)

Meanwhile, regarding some brass bottles...
One has to think of it this way:
a. It means I can return it before the owner leaves the country.
b. It means the owner only needs to meet me once.
The little voice screaming "walking distance! walking distance!!" must be resolutely ignored.
:(
sigh. Sometimes he makes it very hard.