No cheese with this whine.
My second cousin has some interesting playlists in his itunes library. This particular one, titled "All That You Have", is probably a break-up one. Or maybe just a quiet, mellow, slightly depressing one, but to me, those emotions spell "break-up". Not that I'm objecting or anything. If I bothered to make playlists anymore, those adjectives would probably at least partially describe over half of them.
Of course, I'm far too lazy to make playlists anymore, but y'know. In theory, it could be that way.
I figured, being twelve hours away from Edmonton and all the emotional turmoil that's happened there, I'd be able to calm down and get away from it all for a while.
Funny thing about running away: if you go to the same place more than once, or bring anything with you, including a memory, you can't actually get away.
It's always little things, like Sean having a copy of a G. Love song in his break-up playlist, or accidentally reading back in the travel journal. ("He still gets ninja hugs. I'm determined!" Jesus, the masochistic naivete.) These things just lead to whole hours of remembering. The remembering doesn't cause wracking sobs anymore, and it hasn't for a few months. I'm going to call that progress, but it's cold comfort.
It's hard to say whether reading the travel journal entries from two years ago, when Michael dumped me the day before I left, or from last year, when we were happy and freely saying the word "love" on occasion, are the most painful to read. I do find it amusing in that cynical way that I don't really agree with the sentiment of either of them. The first largely had a sentiment of, "Okay, that really hurts, but it'll be okay, and we'll be best friends, and everything will be okay soon." The second is mostly, "I can't wait to get back so I can be with him again because we make each other happy and I miss him."
The only thing I've written about him in this year's entries is, shortly, "He's dumb for not being out riding on his bike in the perfect riding weather that Edmonton had on Sunday." Because of course my dad took 99th down to take the Whitemud West after we'd picked up my Radiohead ticket, so of course we passed right by his house, and of course I had to look up, on the off chance that I might see him and have everything be magically fixed. Ahah. Yeah. I don't understand my own motivations sometimes, really I don't.
Unfortunately, thinking about the past also makes me think about the future. I've got a choir mate who wants to go on another coffee date, but who has no idea how confused I get when it comes to contemplating anything new, and a coworker who wants to date me but is willing to wait until I've sorted out what I want. And, of course, Michael dating a girl I was friends with and will have to be teaching choir parts to for the next eight-ish months. Not to mention that I have a hard time figuring out exactly where I stand with some of my oldest friends, while one of the few friends I've felt able to talk to about these things freely is already gone back to the states for school, and another one has threatened not to talk to me if I try to offer Michael an olive branch. He's working on the theory that an olive branch will lead where it's lead every other time I've offered it: my heart being ripped up a little bit more. Again. I suppose it's a pretty valid theory, considering the history.
On the other hand, it annoys me that he's trying to force me into cutting myself off. I appreciate the sentiment, and I appreciate that because of said friend, as of yet, I haven't so much as messaged Michael, never mind making him hold me while I cry or anything so self-indulgent as that. But... I don't know, it seems excessively immature. Then again, maybe I'm just at the same level of desperation, which is why it's working, and possibly necessary.
I'm hoping that in writing this all out, I won't have to dwell on it for the next four days. Monday on the plane? Fine, whatever. Monday afternoon, either shopping for boots or out for coffee, depending on who gets back to me when, yeah okay, sure. But I'd love for the running away to work this time, just for four days. As silly and immature as it is, running away sounds perfect right about now.
Also, I'd really rather nobody yelled at me for indulging in so much whining. I know that my life is actually insanely sweet, and that I should be spending my time being grateful to whatever or whoever it is that is allowing me to have this existence. Let's just call it PMS, okay? For all I know, it probably is PMS.
Of course, I'm far too lazy to make playlists anymore, but y'know. In theory, it could be that way.
I figured, being twelve hours away from Edmonton and all the emotional turmoil that's happened there, I'd be able to calm down and get away from it all for a while.
Funny thing about running away: if you go to the same place more than once, or bring anything with you, including a memory, you can't actually get away.
It's always little things, like Sean having a copy of a G. Love song in his break-up playlist, or accidentally reading back in the travel journal. ("He still gets ninja hugs. I'm determined!" Jesus, the masochistic naivete.) These things just lead to whole hours of remembering. The remembering doesn't cause wracking sobs anymore, and it hasn't for a few months. I'm going to call that progress, but it's cold comfort.
It's hard to say whether reading the travel journal entries from two years ago, when Michael dumped me the day before I left, or from last year, when we were happy and freely saying the word "love" on occasion, are the most painful to read. I do find it amusing in that cynical way that I don't really agree with the sentiment of either of them. The first largely had a sentiment of, "Okay, that really hurts, but it'll be okay, and we'll be best friends, and everything will be okay soon." The second is mostly, "I can't wait to get back so I can be with him again because we make each other happy and I miss him."
The only thing I've written about him in this year's entries is, shortly, "He's dumb for not being out riding on his bike in the perfect riding weather that Edmonton had on Sunday." Because of course my dad took 99th down to take the Whitemud West after we'd picked up my Radiohead ticket, so of course we passed right by his house, and of course I had to look up, on the off chance that I might see him and have everything be magically fixed. Ahah. Yeah. I don't understand my own motivations sometimes, really I don't.
Unfortunately, thinking about the past also makes me think about the future. I've got a choir mate who wants to go on another coffee date, but who has no idea how confused I get when it comes to contemplating anything new, and a coworker who wants to date me but is willing to wait until I've sorted out what I want. And, of course, Michael dating a girl I was friends with and will have to be teaching choir parts to for the next eight-ish months. Not to mention that I have a hard time figuring out exactly where I stand with some of my oldest friends, while one of the few friends I've felt able to talk to about these things freely is already gone back to the states for school, and another one has threatened not to talk to me if I try to offer Michael an olive branch. He's working on the theory that an olive branch will lead where it's lead every other time I've offered it: my heart being ripped up a little bit more. Again. I suppose it's a pretty valid theory, considering the history.
On the other hand, it annoys me that he's trying to force me into cutting myself off. I appreciate the sentiment, and I appreciate that because of said friend, as of yet, I haven't so much as messaged Michael, never mind making him hold me while I cry or anything so self-indulgent as that. But... I don't know, it seems excessively immature. Then again, maybe I'm just at the same level of desperation, which is why it's working, and possibly necessary.
I'm hoping that in writing this all out, I won't have to dwell on it for the next four days. Monday on the plane? Fine, whatever. Monday afternoon, either shopping for boots or out for coffee, depending on who gets back to me when, yeah okay, sure. But I'd love for the running away to work this time, just for four days. As silly and immature as it is, running away sounds perfect right about now.
Also, I'd really rather nobody yelled at me for indulging in so much whining. I know that my life is actually insanely sweet, and that I should be spending my time being grateful to whatever or whoever it is that is allowing me to have this existence. Let's just call it PMS, okay? For all I know, it probably is PMS.