2002-10-11 - 4:06 p.m.

something salome

And I'm tired of makin' friends.
And I'm tired of makin' time.
And I'm sick to death of love
And I'm sick to death of tryin'

this is funny. i have been meaning to write almost every day this week, and as usual (or so it seems) i've been bitter, angry, or depressed when i thought to do it. and all the things i thought to say were colored and inspired, alternately, by those feelings. but for whatever reason, i never found the time to spew my melodramatic and ridiculously disfunctional emotions into cyberspace like i had planned.

so tonight i came home to an empty house (a very rare occasion) and upon seeing that none of my friends were online (yes, i am selling out to this weird electronic culture - lock, stock, and, to borrow a phrase, two smoking barrels), i decided to recount some of the weeks events. (not that it matters much, because it is not as if i have some sort of audience awaiting the next episode in this silly saga. nevertheless... perhaps it would change things if anyone knew that i actually had a journal. but that is another weird entry just waiting for another day)

the strangest part of this week was the call that i've been half expecting for months. i'm not sure why, but i knew that it wouldn't be finished. it couldn't be, considering the fellow involved. a. would make a terrible murderer; he has this intractable need to go back to the scene of the crime. not, mind you, to apologize, just to see what's going on. (which i suppose means that he should not, after all, become an assassin.)

the conversation was strange; on one level, it was nice to engage someone who speaks my language, loves the things i love, takes some of the same things for granted... but on another level, it was very distant, detatched: i no longer have any emotional involvement in our friendship. of course neither of us talked about his public dissection of my person, which i suppose was just as well. though the whole thing reminded me of the embarrassed avoidance that one might experience in a conversation between two friends who had gotten drunk the night before, fought, bloodied one another pretty nicely, one ending up in the hospital and the other with a broken nose. i didn't feel hurt, but i did feel conspicuously bitter and jaded.

the other strange conversations that i've had this week were with the Boy, the Queen of Hearts, and the Biting Monkey. i've had mixed feelings about the reunion... of course i love them all, more than i like to admit even to myself. however, i have the feeling that we've all become shallow, or at least our interactions have become shallow. and that makes me sad. it has been nice to "talk" to someone (three someones) about all that has been weighing on me, though. and really we're not involved in each other's lives in any immediate way, so it's silly to expect anything but rather superficial banter and sappy nostalgia (both of which, i must admit, i love), but i miss the "other", whatever that was. the community, i guess. yeah, that's what i miss. people who knew me, who forced me outside of myself, who called my bluff when i said i was fine, and whom i knew because i had first-hand experience of them, not the filtered version you get when you live across the country. and i'm very tired of monkey boy's don juan trick, at this point it feels like a consolation prize. i'd like to be a person for a while...

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