posted by dave on Saturday, May 15, 2010 at 1:24 AM in category ramblings

People ask me. All the damn time, they ask me.

I tell them that I don't know. Then, in a somewhat firmer voice, I state that I don't want to talk about it.

That second part is kind of a lie. The insistence in my voice is as much for my own benefit as it is for my interrogators.

Because, I do want to talk about it. I want another pair of ears to hear the story. I want another brain to process the information. I want another pair of lips to, I suppose, explain to me that which I haven't been able to explain to myself. I want, maybe even need, a different perspective.

I desperately want to talk about it.

But, I don't. I'm trying to be a nice guy, after all. Deserved or not, I'm trying.

So, I don't talk about. I pretend that my silence is my choice, but it's not. I don't talk about it because she doesn't like it when I talk about it. And I don't blame her for that. I'd be the same way, in her situation. Whatever that might be.

That first part, however, from way back at the beginning of this stupid entry, is the truth; I really don't know what's going on.

I have my suspicions and opinions, though. And I don't like them very much.

And I really really really wish that I didn't care. My life would be so much easier, if I could just stop caring.

But, I do care. I suspect that I will always care.

That suspicion scares the shit out of me.

comments (4)

I thought HatGirl provided as a sounding board for all of "this"?

No, HatGirl gets mad when I talk about that.

. . . gets mad when you talk about that. . . ?

B-e-c-a-u-s-e . . . she's heard it all before?
. . . . has detailed out her opinion of it all?

To which your subsequent thoughts, words and deeds fly in the face of everything she advised?

================ Fast forward 20 years from now =========

Dave & his beloved have gotten over "This", they have a couple of "gifts" they've brought into the world for each other, one is in jail . . .wait no, I'm getting ahead of myself.

The point is, "it" happens. . . . and a year or three into it she ain't all she was cracked up to be. Not because of "her" or anything she's done, but because there is NO WAY reality, day in and day out tending to life, can live up to the "life" you've breathed into this obsession.

She can't let you in now, she doesn't posess "the place" where you wish to be, it doesn't exist, you've built it up to something beyond human.

Just a thought~

For the first part, she just gets tired of hearing about it.

For everything else, you've managed to piss me off. You have no idea what's going on in my head, and so you have no idea what expectations I may or may not have.

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