re_me_again Anna_Began It was almost funny, last night, in that inappropriate "I'm laughing but I'm not supposed to right now" way. You patted my leg and said "whoa, back up." I did. I backed all the way up to last April, to halfway through me_again, to everything that happened right after I felt chili peppers and the start of my most unusual spring. I reminded you, you KNEW all of this stuff. You agreed. You said you just thought it was once. I thought "The restraint you showed in not reading what I'd written, it's admirable." I squinched my eyes shut tight, which you couldn't see in the dark. I thought "God, I hope I didn't just fuck something up." But then I turned my head so you couldn't see me laugh. You hated him a little, if not a lot, more. I realized how absurd my actions were all of this last year. A quick flash went through my mind. I doubt you'll ever read so I can state, it was of his hand, shooting down my shirt while I sat numb to everything except the intense Chicago-related ache just below my second right rib. My mind reel fast-forwarded to a golf course and my short-lived visit there. His hand going up my shirt and my thinking "This isn't what I want. It isn't who I want. I said it before I left the house with him and now I realize I mean it." Then, my voice saying "We need to stop" and it being a specific result of both my statement to and feelings for you. Last night while sitting criss-cross on my bed, bemoaning first my inability to function as a laid-back individual and than my abscence of employment leading to my ever-growing abscence of self-respect, I saw how cartoonish my relationship with him was. How all of my winter and much of my spring was like a comic strip. Blocked out, captioned, colored in. I'm proud of the work but it's not as if I'd put it on my resume. Last night you felt that snaking hatred, seething dark mangling jealousy that I feel over the following things: Menard's, ang01, a long ago conversation rebooted, about spanking, what may or may not still lie behind that brown door just across the room, tetris. Sometimes it comforts me that I have a past too. When I feel self-destructive, when I find a particularly hopeless day landing me in a hardware store reading name tags, I take comfort in the idea that it can eat you up a little too. I don't mind loving you more. And sometimes, I'm even strong enough to realize it isn't true. 031208 what's it to you? who go blather from