#150

Dear you,

I feel like I need to issue disclaimers. Like for starters, I’ve spent the past couple weeks raking through boxes and boxes from my adolescence, trying to de-clutter with no end in sight, and as such I may be prone to spouting more teen angst than usual. I swear this stuff is infectious.

Also, look, I’ve been kind of moping since recent news. Not 100% oh-my-god-my-life-is-over mope, but moping anyway, and now my task is to find a way of presenting things as objectively as I can without letting the mope take over. Expect failure. Sorry.

Anyway. You kill me, you know? I don’t even know where you came from. You showed up somewhere on the internet and I don’t remember how it started. You were just another cool person I knew. I know a lot of cool people. You sent me a care package when I was recovering from surgery. When #129 fucked me over, you were so gleefully loyal in hoping that he skinned his knees, and you didn’t even know what the story was, I think, at the time. And then you came to visit, and I was kind of plotting with #141 because we both wanted to get off with you, but I didn’t know yet how important you’d become to me.

Plus you write really hot porn.

·

But that was 2005 and I didn’t know when I would see you again. At the time, I was basically boycotting the USA, in my own petty, ineffective way, so I didn’t even consider coming to visit. Another way of putting it might be that I am selfish.

Time went by.

And I thought of you a lot.

I didn’t know exactly what I was thinking. I was just watching an alternate reality play out, in which we were the Great Romance of the 21st Century. But there’d be one thing or another going on over here, and anyway it felt like it was okay, because the future stretched out endlessly. There is always time.

I was in London for Transfabulous when you were studying in Europe last summer. When you flew over for all of twelve hours, that’s only about the most amazing thing anyone’s ever done for me. I was nervous. What if things weren’t like I imagined? What if, somehow, you only had platonic intentions? What if I didn’t feel the way about you I thought I did? I drank wine and drifted around and made out with #197 occasionally and then, finally, you burst into the building and you came running and oh my god it was gleeful. By the third hug you kissed me.

And being with you didn’t just feel cool or fun or whatever. It felt right. We crashed at my friends’ place, and everyone loved you, on account of your being just so goddamn smart and hilarious. And every so often you’d pause and look at me and say hi, and I’d agree, hi, and we’d make out some more, and oh my god you were there with me in London.

And then we crashed on the floor in the living-room and as far as I can guess, I passed out at a crucial moment, which isn’t the most helpful thing to do when you’ve got limited time and you want to convince someone that the pair of you ought to be running off into the sunset together.

Because that is still what I want to do with you.

It’s weird because I have my Edinburgh life and my wherever-else-I-am life, but then there’s you. You’re in my thoughts. But it’s also probably true that I’m scared, that I’ve been holding off on doing anything concrete about it, because maybe it’s easier to have this happy fantasy of us in my head, rather than go over there and see what happens.

Except I wanted to. I really wanted to see what would happen.

I said I would come in June, and then I couldn’t come in June because I was just back from Australia and I was trying to figure out what happens in my life next, seeing as I’m in the redundancy club now and I don’t know how I’m going to make money. So I e-mailed you to say so, and the things you said in your response delighted me so goddamn much. And besides you and I are both kind of flaky people and so I can trust that if I don’t really know what I want, you don’t know what you want either, and maybe if I know that I think I probably do want you, maybe you’re somewhere in that ball-park too. Maybe.

So I was looking into flights in the autumn. Looking and looking and looking.

And then, well, now, you’re in a relationship. And I haven’t heard from you since finding out via generic updates on-line. And that’s cool. You sound happy, and I mean, I’ve been busy myself. But I don’t know where this leaves me. Part of me worries, improbable as this may sound, that you’ve forgotten about me. I’m not going to guess, and I’m not going to put myself through a visit that could be hard. So it looks like I’m going to Greece or somewhere instead.

But I also try to focus on reality, you know, not just the happy us in my head, so I guess I can always find different paths. Maybe I’ll see you at a later point. I hope so.

~ by Nine on 1 August 2009.

2 Responses to “#150”

  1. I like your blog – what a great concept. I especially like this post. It feels familiar.

  2. I never forget about you, you bastard whom I love. I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch, which is largely teenaged fearful avoidance and a little bit not knowing how to phrase what I need to say. I don’t know. I will talk to you soon, at least.

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