10:08 p.m. - 10/23/03
if I could sleep, then I would dream of what you promised me...
Um, the layout change. Rather impulsive decision, if you don't count the weeks I've been frantically searching for a replacement. Rather impulsive choice, I suppose, once I found it. I can't seriously consider tossing away anything with sea colors; it's something I must just accept about myself. I'm a little bothered now by the skinniness of the girl and hoping that nobody finds it triggering. I suppose I feel underwater. I even had a bit of dream last night where I was being pulled down into the sea, gasping for not a full breath every few seconds. (Oddly enough, I could get air without surfacing...just not enough). Anyway, I promise that this girl's body type is entirely due to genetics; she's actually a very healthy eater, with the viracious love of food genuinely only found in the Gilmore girls. ok?
I suppose I could stop talking about a girl in a photo and start talking about the one typing these words below it. I don't know what to say, you know? Nothing's changed since the last time I wrote. If I lie down now, I'll cry myself to sleep again. Journaling, I can't manage to articulate or resolve the helplessness, the sense of loss, the inability to surrender this and the inability to live fully with it. I don't understand. I don't understand how I'm supposed to keep moving, when I can't let it go. I don't understand how someone like the doctor can support my inability to let it go, when it keeps me so paralyzed. I guess I'd be paralyzed without it, too. I wouldn't know how to access any of my own identity. But I feel like I'm continuing to throw fuel on a fire that's been out for ages. So many of my struggles feel that way right now. Why did I send Dave a letter, knowing I'd hope for a response, when he never responds? Why did I write Rosie today, when I know how important in the scheme of Rogers-people she is, and can only imagine what it will do to me if I (when I) don't hear back? Why am I trying to save my dad, who refuses to save himself? Why am I trying to save my parents, when I know as well as anyone that they hurt at least as much together as they do apart?
Why is my love so stupid? Why does it refuse to be rational? Why does it refuse to understand that just because the name of the manager at Rogers is in my inbox does not mean there's suddenly going to be a flood of connections? Why do I string myself along this way. This is the true reason I've never dated, you know - or if it's not, it should be. I'm perfectly capable of driving myself completely crazy without actually having a relationship. I can create the dramas, the disappointments, and the desires just as easily on my own as I could accept them from someone else. And, no, I don't mean this seriously; I don't trust myself to mean anything seriously right now. Because I'm not crying, and so long as I'm not weeping, I know I'm not being totally honest. So long as I'm not weeping, I'm defensive. ...There's no possible way that I am actually feeling the unending rawness inside and sitting here, composed. Composing. Let me arrange my life for you. I'll clean it up, separate it into neat and equal measures. Let me do this for me, rather, to buy some time away from the fallout of my hope.
They're not coming back. She's not coming back. Take the pronoun and apply it accordingly; just go down the list. It's over. It was over two years ago. How long am I going to allow myself to wallow and to wish? When will I let it sink in, and how on Godd's green earth, am I supposed to keep from sinking with it?
I'm not going back. The way I look at things, the way I've focused my eyes...is there anywhere else to go?
chord
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