So Friday, after work, I went to Rich O's. First time in a couple of weeks, I think. I don't really know why I went. It's not like there's anything there for me anymore. My friends have all finished what I started - abandoned the place for the most part. I think we still go there, every now and then, full of some misguided hope that things will be back to normal for a while.
Yeah, that's never happened. Sometimes the past is really the past. Sometimes change is not only for the worse, it's permanent.
I go in there these days and I'm usually the only customer there is in the Rich O's proper area. Oh well, I guess. This is what they wanted, for some stupid reason.
Anyway.
What I wanted to write about was that, when I went there Friday, I started shaking. Like from a bizarre mixture of excitement and fear. I mean, I fell in love in that place. I found hope in that place. I found patience in that place. Then, later, I found other things. Disappointment. Despair. Heartache.
I finally stopped shaking about an hour after I got back home.
It's really amazing to me, how emotions can hide in places, behind memories. You walk into a place and, for a while, you think you're safe. But you're not. The emotions are waiting. They ambush you. They jump into you, and they take over. They run the show that is you.
My friend OddlyFamiliarGirl remembers every word of every conversation she's ever had. She's all smart and shit, that girl. My own memory isn't quite as strong, nor is it made of the same stuff. Nope, I remember emotions. Not to the point where I can easily relive them, just enough to remember that they're there. Waiting, lurking.
Then, as soon as I realize they're there, they strike, and I shake.
OddlyFamiliarGirl's way would be better, I think. It would certainly be easier to deal with. Plus, it would make for a good party trick.
Behind places, and faces, beneath sights and sounds, the memories wait for me to show up. They even welcome me, sometimes. But hiding behind the memories are the emotions, and they always surprise me with their ruthless intensity, and they tear away at me, and I could do certainly without them.
What good have they ever done me?
