Writing again

The last thing I ever did was need —> or want —> to start writing again.  I stop & think now before I write… I feel the resonance of hundreds of memories, ideas, thoughts, plans… irrational & rational.  Mostly the latter, of course.  But the crazy ones really stand out more… or it seems to me.

I write on behalf of the crazed, loved confused, & sick conscience perching  on my brow.  All this grandiose vernacular for a woman!  Ah, but…. I do find it less than noble, perhaps a bit more than dramatic… but every bit necessary…if not for Ashley, certainly for me.  I do wonder… where I might write off to tonight.  You can start with twisted emotion & then find it turn to a horrid, tired apathy.  I don’t know — is it the thoughts within my noggin’, or the knot in my stomach.  Whatever — it sidetracks me… it saves me. Sometimes, you can turn down the hurt by sticking your fingers in the right spot of your brain.  The problem always seems to be finding them — while facing life thoughtfully & not ignoring the reality.  It is hard to live honestly…. to yourself – always accepting the trials & lessons that make life – without hiding from the trials & forgetting the lessons. But I get beyond that myself… ß =)

è I don’t know about LDR (long dist. Rel.) à not being there. Not communicating correctly (the phone hardly makes sense — I have rather intense adversity to them anyway), not being able to understand—

I stopped for a second. An overload already? … a drunken state? Maybe both. This makes me think – about what is at hand – situations…events…The volumes one could write on misunderstanding. In her case, I feel – it is under-explaining. Where that might comes from, I will speak about later. It is yours truly who does the over-explaining – the freak out projections about what could happen – how I feel at my extremes – my worries & desperation. Am I in love? Yes…. Am I too attached… What does this mean? Why do I feel so strongly now that she is closer to being lost? Is it that obvious? Is she close to being lost – to me… or more importantly to herself. Is it something to long for, or something to put behind me should I do anything?

…She is honest — about her frightening (to me) liaisons.  So far… the condom issue is undoubtedly big to me…& important for her.  For safety, & also to see if, or how well, this “fling” (or more? or less?) was thought out.  No condom… bad sign.

She is honest out of sadness — but I might feel, mostly, guilt.  Does she love me, not know what is happening so quick, and feel guilt filled confusion?  Is she forgetting our love –> insultingly quickly — & feel guilty about the inevitable — about what pain & sadness she might have to envelop me in? Does she know?  Is she thinking — remembering the things we shared, the thoughts we expressed, the extensive trials we overcame?  Has she forgotten?  Does she care?  She speaks softly — sadly.  Oh – to simply know that sadness.  To be let in again to that soft woe — to help — to leave.  To find out what lies in her brain.  One cannot see where another is standing where they don’t know themselves.  To juggle the questions — with short handed answers.  When is fun destructive?  Is it my business – a lovelorn, biased boyfriend, who has been through more with her than anyone ever cared to know — cared to explore?  I don’t even know what it is at all – anymore.  I feel when she left — she was lost — & I knew.  Now, humbled again, I find myself crazed with uncertainty & misunderstanding — with her running wild — & not knowing if it’s good or bad, if it’s my business, or, if she is being honest to me — not that she has earned communicative distrust so much as I need to understand my paranoid being.

Remarkably self loathing passages here.  I haven’t forgotten getting the hang of this self analyzing, again, yet.  Did I ever have a hang on it?… will I ever?  Well — they sound self – serving & biased.  I sound that way — it sickens me sometimes.  Grotesque w/ the irrational emotions – I wield them expertly foolish-like.

I don’t want to lose her – but she needs what I don’t have – proximity.  And that was her choice –> the town wasn’t good — everywhere.  One wonders if it is location… or something more?  She needs me… & not like I need her.  I don’t know who will give her what she needs — & I self-consciously wonder if it will be as good as what I have given — & can give — her.  She can screw this up – I never need to be a tattered, ragged doll (ed: I assume this is an Elvis Costello nod).  When do I plan — when do I know?!  How long will I be paranoid or led on in a meek & timid fashion.  Is it my despondency, does it lead to her guilt?  Is she lost — like I am in thought, dream & piercing nightmare?  Does she want my help — does she need it?  I want hers….

I feel she doesn’t have the time, doesn’t want to make it — or just doesn’t care.  Is it the eternal guilt that makes her voice so lost — so unwilling to hurt…

… or is it my unanchored mind — running from ambiguities & fright?  Oh please… help me…..

About Uncle Fishbits

I'm.. just this guy, you know?

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