the old-school guestbook archives
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not making sense ~ March 25, 2002 - 12:52 a.m. this, of course, makes no sense. why it should hurt my feelings that he doesn't want to talk to me. doesn't want to know me. why I should care that he didn't come home all weekend, didn't say anything about where he was, although I could guess. why it should hurt that he's no longer talking to me at all. is, in fact, doing his best to pretend that I don't exist. why I should have been happy to see him when he came through the door tonight, why I should have tried to start conversations, attempts that landed with a dull thud on the living room floor. why I had any hope that he was actually going to be friendly when I asked him how he was doing, and he actually said "pretty good". said it, of course, into the basket of laundry he was rummaging through for some clean socks, but I was absurdly hopeful since it's one of the first times I can remember that that question hasn't been answered with a grunt and a shrug. why I'd been wanting to tell him about my adventure of fixing the brake lights all by myself. I propped the brake pedal with one of your toolboxes, I would have told him, when he asked how I'd tested them without anyone else there. how we'd laugh at the idiosyncrasies of the bus when I told him how it started right up when I went out there to call triple A and have it towed. why I'd been thinking about how I'd tell him about the harrowing motorcycle ride out to vajrapani today, down a road which I'd expected to be gravel, but hadn't expected to be covered in mud. I just dropped it down into second and stayed off the brakes, I'd tell him, kept it real smooth and easy, didn't panic when the wheels would start to slide. would tell him about how I feel really confident now, about my ability to ride on gravel, something I've never really done before today. how I'd thought, on the ride home, about how I'd tell him it really felt like the reflexes of riding were starting to fall into place for me, that I was feeling the bike under me, feeling it connected to my body and responding to my every move. because he is, after all, the main person I have to talk to about bike stuff. it, of course, makes no sense that I should expect him to want to be my friend, to want to talk to me, to care how my weekend was or what I did while he was gone. especially when I remind myself that he's never shown much interest in me or my activities, never responded positively to conversational openings. I remind myself that I spent most of our relationship trying desperately to get him to talk to me, and I certainly shouldn't expect him to suddenly start now that I've broken his heart. it does, though. it does hurt that he doesn't want to talk to me, doesn't want to be my friend, doesn't want to come home or tell me where he is or what he's doing. that he doesn't care where I am or what I'm doing, or whether I feel better than I did the day he left. that when we're in the same room he acts like he wishes I'd disappear, acts like I'm not there at all. it hurts in a hurt-little-girl kinda way. a why doesn't he like me? kinda way. a feeling abandoned kinda way, even though I am, of course, the one who left him. I just wasn't expecting him to shut me out completely. to wish me away, to stop looking at me or talking to me at all. I wasn't expecting to become invisible. which, of course, I'm not really, because it's obvious he can't wait to leave any room I'm in. because when he walked back out the door with his clean socks, he tossed a flat 'bye over his shoulder, knowing, I guess, how much I hate it when he leaves without saying goodbye. I don't know where he is, what he's doing, or when he'll be back. I am not, of course, supposed to care. I'm not supposed to feel hurt by any of this. I told you it didn't make any sense.
(((rings))) |