I wrote this five days after I met my boyfriend.
September 22, 2006
I was lit on fire Sunday night, and the flames were fanned higher over the last few days. Every time I access my gmail account now, my laptop emits small wisps of black smoke.
My desire - not so hard to understand, just to run with the thought, to be carried off for the first time ever with what could be, what might be. The what-if turned into a why-not-now and a yes-this-could-happen. Logistics were worked through in my mind, even, making the fantasy all that more real.
Life is so dull, you see. It didn’t used to be, before Sunday. Life was totally doable, perfectly fine, no piece of cake but no torture session either. Relaxation when it could be had, strife handled when it arose, laughter as often as possible. I’m sure that given an afternoon, a day, a week even, I’ll settle back down, but oh the sadness that comes when these fantastic ideas die. Apparently in the real world things like that just don’t *happen*, you see.
The comment was that I was pessimistic, and no, truly I’m not. I’m extraordinarily hopeful. Heartbreakingly hopeful at times. I get impatient with the dreamy “ooh, imagine if this happened!” and think, “my God! This is my *life*, if I want this to happen I ought to be able to bring it to me.” Granted, when it involves another human being, living their own life, that needs to be taken into account. But when everyone claims to want the same thing it strikes me as complete stupidity to stand around and do nothing about it. Or worse, to be so inflexible as to make it an impossibility.
The grief, over a lost hope. Oi, it’s painful. I shouldn’t have chased after it to begin with.