You Know I'm One To Hold A Grudge.

It has been quite some time since I have sat here to post on this blog. Partially because I have gotten out of the habit of regularly writing due to the motherboard in the computer having been fried. Previously I had gotten out of the habit of regular writing due to getting into the habit of regular speaking but that is all a memory now and once again I spend my days with no one to talk to about literature. But, I guess it keeps me out of bars.

I suppose it is mostly my fault. I suppose I said several things I shouldn't have said. But, they were not unforgivable things, just things said out of pain and sadness. I gave myself too much credit. I should have known that I could not take it all so easily. I should have simply stayed home until I could piece together how I felt about it. But, I thought I was fine and then I had too much wine and acted like a snide, cocky bitch. And I did it on purpose because I was mad and menstruating and drunk. But, it was hard to do and for some reason I forced myself to do it. Now, the regret runs deep because while I knew it was wrong and it would be upsetting, I did not think that it was the be all-end all to everything we had.

But, perhaps that's exactly what led me down the wrong path from the beginning. Perhaps it is so easy for him to toss me aside because he didn't really care that much to begin with. Perhaps I overestimated his sensitivity, overestimated what I had meant to him. I've done it before but not in a long time. I had genuinely expected that because he is an adult he would realize that people (especially drunk ones) react to being hurt in exaggerated ways and that I obviously didn't really mean what I said, whatever it was. I had genuinely expected that he would be mad for a few days and we would talk about it and it would be alright. If our positions were reversed I would completely understand.

Yesterday, someone wrote me this: There is a certain type of person you draw to you, Rebecca: cold and yet sensitive, cocky and yet insecure, passionate and yet easily discouraged, articulate and yet inexpressive. I could go on. You have somehow, through some complex strength, transcended those weaknesses which often warp the minds of the creative and hyper-sensitive. I can't think of another creative person (including famous people) who is not warped in this fashion. And people look to you to try and understand how you can be so blithely whole.

I don't know how much of that, if any, is true. I don't know how much of that has to do with the situation at hand. There are many people who fit that description whom I have been close to. I don't really know why. I am always trying to change people, to help them, to learn from them and to teach them. I forget sometimes that most people do not want that.

I am soaked in these stupid memories, not even whole memories, just snipets of conversation, his glowing eyes beneath the bar lights- lit up and full of words, just small fractions of feelings felt- my chest exploding with things I wanted to say, with excitement that there was someone there to listen, a brief image of his hand scribbling out the pattern of Swann's Way on my notebook. All these little images, all these little memories each jump out at me and I try to take them individually, as if with tweezers, and pluck them out of my mind. I try to push them back to some foreign corner of my thoughts, somewhere they won't be seen at all, but they all come rushing back like tiny fireflies glowing briefly, fading, then glowing again.

I am trying not to let my regret eat me. I am trying to lose the memories but perhaps he will lend me a modicum of understanding. But, then again, Virgo's hold a grudge.