A flash. A body in a plastic bag flapping. Too much light. The torrents of heat prevent me from returning to the long-gone jumbled up images making up an unaccountable plot line. Only a flavor is as much as I retain. Maybe years have gone by and I haven’t been able to detect the passing of time. The only thing real was in a corrosive plastic bag, and I couldn’t recognize it’s NAME, whether it was male or female, whether it had a life, a job, a child. Figures shouldn’t have access to these things, but they already access my subconscious! I know my nightlife has turned into a wave of LOUD, APPRAISING, images I leave.
Goose-bumps pile up against the skin, defense or attack? then they go, no trace behind, no knowing they were ever there.
I scroll anxiously through yesterday’s texts, looking for a place of reference. See the lame attempts to have a conversation with E, Is he another hole in my life I can’t fix? (People think he has a bad temper. The ex-Ms. E believes he’ll project all his unhappiness onto another before he’ll take responsibility. Responsibility, such a tough, rotten word. “I have more common sense in my pinky finger than all your friends combined;” Damn if he was right- is it his CHARM~) Now his deafening SILENCE, it’s saying how much he cares– and his caring is TOO MUCH PRESSURE!! If he didn’t care, wouldn’t he be okay with being friends, not feel obliged to SUMMON up the past by REPRESSING so much? I guess I’m new at things of this kind- See; Yesterday I didn’t care what I wrote, today I am kinda curious what I wrote. I see a wink- from ME?- no no, I don’t like that- it’s not BROODING! I must have been feeling carefree to add a fucking EMOTICON. He won that round, he responded the least. DING! It’s 41-5. Not that anybody keeps tally. And I think I deserve points for noticing he plays, for seeing how important it is to him that he wins. It’s not as important to me that I win.. As always, I enjoy the artfulness of a game. (Not. The. Diplomacy. There is none.. Winners like dat! they play dirty, are willing to count any win as a gain, no matter how DISTASTEFUL! I remember when I used to LET him win… I’d forgo countless times… it became a pattern of sorts.. What woulda happened had I played HARDBALL?!)
I CAN HOLD ANYBODY ACCOUNTABLE! He let me blame him.. he had me as victim.. But never felt I such a VICTIM as when he didn’t fight for me to stay! He wants it to be the victims fault.. it would resolve his issues. It would, it so would! wouldsoo, but he feels he needs take responsibility too. Dodging or Taking the RAP his OWN WAY! You see why I wanted to throw away ALL wins..? Forget it-
Then- chubby chinned, baby faced, full of PREP SCHOOL LIES that posed as KNOWLEDGE, the one who tried to help was DENIED, whom/ I’ve been avoiding/so hard it’s not like/ a game- he can’t get to me, I’ve locked myself away… poisoned by his tawdry, adolescent words! even my other GUY friends cringe at his usage/his attempts. It’s been this way for a while.. I just didn’t want to TELL him. I’m not being very cool. If, if he free-falls.. maybe he’ll understand who I am, what I was, see it all in backwards motion later on. I see a text from the friend that loves the guy I am trying to FLEE- he says “hasn’t this guy always treated you as well as he knew HOW?” Another lame attempt at trying to change my mind, shift the blame back to me AGAIN, I DONT LIKE BLAME!!! to sway me back again into giving second-rate something a chance. I just don’t FEEL it. If I FELT it. Don’t you understand it’s FRAUDULENT to keep going if you don’t feel it? Maybe it’s very normal for all of you, and maybe it’s something you do. Clearly this has to do with you and not me, at the same time you can’t leave it alone, and it’s lethal.
When I try to keep us at arms length, I feel guilt. When I let you in, you won’t stop! What is this senseless thing? Like a dance, you really step on my toes, I am so sorry I want another dance partner, is it such a horrible thing to want? to want at all- I hate my own avoidance behavior.(do I really…?)
I didn’t want to be ICE. I didn’t want to be COLD. didn’t want to be like so many have been.. But is that being horrible just the same, there’s no difference for it, I should have just torn it off in one shriek, let him think of me as terrible, but I wanted that BACK DOOR open…and I thought I was always open!
I thought maybe the two of us, we could TALK it out… I left/ “it”/ there/ambiguous. But- POKED and NUDGED into OFFENSE, I couldn’t stand the distaste, their presence/ too nearby- the sour stench of bad breath. the way poor sweetness got PROLONGED and TRICKED into following a bitter wretchedness! WHY the ASPIRATION for me to TASTE resentment? I saw it, that mighta PREVENTED the need for open windows- the way a window can long to be JUMPED out of- what’s with that? Isn’t that the end right there? Or is that something I did?
(More like all I didn’t do-a set of ANTI-behaviors invisibly tattooed on me-)
I don’t care anymore, this isn’t a confession hall. You were nice, it ends there…
(Except for maybe not?) Maybe I should let you know I see an ending where you don’t. I don’t like it very much. I could just say I think we should be FRIENDS for a while but adding HOPE to the mix can be pure conjecture… or is it spite! No
These emotions make up cocktails, and I can analyze them SO RIGHT, but when it comes to MAKING these potions, I just don’t show the thoughtful amount of SPICE… I don’t have the homemade touch. I’m told it makes all the difference. It’s very NON-FEMININE of me… It’s very MYSTERIOUSLY unlikeable… Like my beautiful complicated Mercury, the feline, too loving for her own good, like her acting like a porcupine. She does that someTIMES…
Now! I try to remember the flavor.. of THAT DREAM.. the one with only one retained image? There might be a street… but now the SENSE of it, (or the SENSELESSNESS of it-) that’s gone too.. I will never know what it meant… I will not know what I was trying to tell myself… I object. On the other hand, if my subconscious tried any harder, I’d be having seizures..
not that those are easy to remember, either.
“Part of me hates him.. part of me just wants to be with him and make everything better… BUT I CANT EVEN START the conversation if I keep getting his answering machine!”
“I know, Cathy.. Unrequited love.”
“Even WORSE. Unrequited ambivalence.” -C. G.