When I think of you I feel guilty. I treat you poorly. There is a bitter part of myself which wants to be mean to you, and is often and persistently.
When I think of you I feel lonely. I miss you. I miss the river, the walks, the French, the food, the house, the cats, the reading, the talking, the being friends. I miss you like I miss food. I miss you like I miss the things from my childhood. I miss you like a home, though I’ve never had one. I miss you and I miss you often and persistently.
When I think of you I feel bad for being a jerk. I ignore you calls. I don’t call you back. At times I think you should just give up on being my friend. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day you did. Or maybe you already have. I am a jerk because I feel so many things, and the relationship you seem to want isn’t deep enough to express them. But I am a jerk, because I choose to be. And I don’t know why but I choose to be a jerk often and persistently.
When I think of you I feel like your better off without my Melrose Place drama in your life. I wonder if it isn’t better for both of us to not engage in the emotional turmoil we seem to get sucked into when we connect. And when we don’t connect, but only talk I feel like I am bleeding in the street and everyone is driving by, without stopping. I feel like I hurt you more though contact, than through my absence. I doubt you need a friend like me, I doubt that often and persistently.
When I think of you, I think I still love you. You’re like a part of me, you feel so close. Even when we haven’t spoken for so long, I feel like I could call you and it wouldn’t matter. But it does. I love you because you make me want to be a better person. I just love you for who you are, and who I want to be with you. It isn’t just the Ayn Rand books, it isn’t just a shared love of learning. It is more and more than all the words I could write. It is your sap I love. I really love you often and persistently.
When I think of you I feel like a failure. No, not in terms of our relationship – for which I have to much hope for still to feel like a failure. No, my life. I feel like I want to have a career, to be a person you could be proud to know. The person you thought I was when we were in college together. The person you thought I was when we were together. A person who doesn’t live in a cheap rented room, alone with a cat. A person who doesn’t have a low-pay job, he could have done without the college degree for which he isn’t paying his loans. A person who can and does pay his loans. I want to be John Galt, so you could be my love. I feel like a failure when I don’t think of you too though. I feel like a failure often and persistently.
When I think of you I worry about you. I guess I worry about your career, but you are smarter than I – even though I once said different. I worry about your health. I feel like Forest Gump who would drop everything to run to you and care for Jenny in her illness. I want you to be well. I don’t want to worry about your health. I feel like a bad friend because I don’t know if you are well. Even if you wanted me to, I wouldn’t even know to come to you. In a silly way, I worry about your relationships – just because I there is still a part of me confident enough to believe no one loves you as much as I. When I think of you I worry about you, I worry about you often and persistently.
There are so many things which make me think of you. The cat. Bunny. Some days just the news itself makes me think of you. So many things I see on Facebook. Politics. Donald Trump. Listening to the CDs you gave me (of which I have cloned). I think of you at night, I think of you at work. I think of you in this world which is haunted by you. When I feel alone I think of you the most. When I think of you I feel alone the most. I think of you often and persistently.
Can you see why I don’t try to connect with you more? Where are my sleeping pills? Where is bunny? I need some ice cream and sleep right now.
I am watching a cat for a friend. Well, if things work out I will continue to watch the cat. Right now she is growling and hissing at my cat, and myself, quite a bit. I am trying to be sedulous and just give her space to relax and feel comfortable. I am sure she just feels scared. My cat is being mellow, except when she is being hissed at, which no one likes and then she starts to get upset and hiss back. Cats.
I once again only had one day off. I have to work today, and I feel tired. I don’t want to work. This also appears to be my last week in the deli on a regular basis, and it appears I will be moving back to produce. I’d rather stay in the deli and work with Tammy, but I doubt I will be given the option since it now appears the deli is close to fully staffed.
I just feel like I need a day to sleep, and read, and write. Not this kind of writing, but real writing. I was reading from Sylvia Plath’s journals yesterday. It always makes me want to journal more myself, write more myself, express more myself. I fail too often in all those regards.
I need to be more sedulous about writing.
After all she has been through, my cat threw up on her face today. Well on the picture of her face on her book which I am reading. It is a good book, a lot about life in Pakistan. It goes without saying life in Pakistan is not like life in America. But it is more than the material differences. The life of her homeland, not Pakistan but the Swat Valley (It isn’t Brooklyn, it is Park Slope), makes clear the western view of the war on terror is misguided. If there is any solution for the region, I don’t think it is a solution we can lead.
On other matters. I have been pretty down lately. Not writing, not reading much, not eating much, not doing much of anything except working and sleeping. Yay for life…. not so much.
Work, so I found out who the new department manager is going to be for the deli. One of the areas I work. I saw one of my co-workers clearly upset, and asked her what was the problem. She was upset about the choice for the new manager, but I am rather pleased by the choice. I might have liked it, and my upset co-worker wanted the job. But truth is nether one of us would have gotten it, if it hadn’t been the person chosen it would be someone else. I hope to learn a lot from the new manager, and then someday be ready for my own promotion.
I think I want to give up on my novel and start a secret project. All I want to discuss is progress or lack of progress. Nothing of the plot or subject matter will be discussed. I feel like it makes it easier for my creative process to work in a little darkness.