I'm wondering how much of this shit I should edit out for the sake of preserving everyone's public name, as it's not really my right to spill out this sickening little teen lifetime story, but since it's MY blog, and I'm the pissed off one, and I really don't care how much you know about the fact that about 95% of my current fucked-up situation is MY fault and no one else's, I'm gonna put up part of a conversation I'm having unedited. Be warned, though, that the story you're about to hear is not completely true- it was merely Ben's interpretation of a situation that he wasn't told completely about until now. It's not true. JEff and I are still together. As for the rest....heh, figure it out for yourself.
Ben: I can only imagine how "not entirely pleased" you must be.
FieryGwenivere: what would you assume happened, from what you've heard
Ben: Well...you and Chad, over time, became closer and closer. Eventually, it got to the point where you were practically going out. Jeff got wind of it from you, and broke up with you. Then, Chad ditched you for Kara. Along the way, just for fun, your Ferret died.
I included all of that because that last sentence is sooo the quote of the day...first time I've laughed out loud since I got back from Gloucester. And I love Ben for that (and infinitely more). So I told him. Guess what? He loves me, too.
Sometimes, no matter what hand life plays you, you've got an ace up your sleeve...even if you've left it there for a long time. Or, well, with Ben, a joker anyway.
On with it.
Wednesday, July 03, 2002
The past few days have been bad, or at least have very much had the potential to be bad, but, yesterday especially, I took comfort in a barrage of social engagements and only very rarely allowed myself to indulge in the self-defeating pleasure of bitching about my issues. It's all dumb teenaged bullshit, excepting Cody's death, and there are better things to do with my time.
Still, for the record, let it be known that something has happened to hurt me, and badly, if I should stop to remember and invite defeat.
Rather than devoting myself to my own disgusting words, I have allowed my favorite poetess to speak for me- reading the following poem aloud to Emily last night, I was able to express a certain facet of my personal grief that I otherwise would have left to inarticulate dribble. I share this all with you now in hopes that her words might make my strife seem less callow and trivial.
"Pity me not because the light of day
At close of day no longer walks the sky;
Pity me not for beauties passed away
From field and thicket as the the year goes by;
Pity me not the waning of the moon,
Nor that the ebbing tide goes out to sea,
Nor that a man's desire is hushed so soon,
And you no longer look with love on me.
This have I known always: Love is no more
Than the wide blossom which the wind assails,
Than the great tide that treads the shifting shore,
Strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales:
Pity me that the heart is slow to learn
What the swift mind beholds at ever turn."
Work now. Ten hours straight. I'll spare you whining about that, as well.
On with it.
Still, for the record, let it be known that something has happened to hurt me, and badly, if I should stop to remember and invite defeat.
Rather than devoting myself to my own disgusting words, I have allowed my favorite poetess to speak for me- reading the following poem aloud to Emily last night, I was able to express a certain facet of my personal grief that I otherwise would have left to inarticulate dribble. I share this all with you now in hopes that her words might make my strife seem less callow and trivial.
"Pity me not because the light of day
At close of day no longer walks the sky;
Pity me not for beauties passed away
From field and thicket as the the year goes by;
Pity me not the waning of the moon,
Nor that the ebbing tide goes out to sea,
Nor that a man's desire is hushed so soon,
And you no longer look with love on me.
This have I known always: Love is no more
Than the wide blossom which the wind assails,
Than the great tide that treads the shifting shore,
Strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales:
Pity me that the heart is slow to learn
What the swift mind beholds at ever turn."
Work now. Ten hours straight. I'll spare you whining about that, as well.
On with it.
Tuesday, July 02, 2002
Last night I couldn't sleep so I thought of things that made me happy instead of crying and I distracted myself by looking for poetry appropriate to a situation, and I tried to memorize it. And I've been crazy stupid for so long now. I wrote some, too, beautiful. I've been crazy stupid.
Ever been humbled before the eyes of heaven?
I feel poetic now, I'm standing in bookland in brunswick and I'm out with Emily and George and my understanding of everything around me as of late has been jerked out from under me, I feel like writing poetry, and I don't feel like letting someone who I know will read this read this, don't feel like letting him in any farther. The one poem I discovered last night that wasn't for him suddenly is, suddenly hurtfully damn it.
I'm going too fast, and I only have...probably two more minutes before bookland gets angry at me for using this.
On with it.
Ever been humbled before the eyes of heaven?
I feel poetic now, I'm standing in bookland in brunswick and I'm out with Emily and George and my understanding of everything around me as of late has been jerked out from under me, I feel like writing poetry, and I don't feel like letting someone who I know will read this read this, don't feel like letting him in any farther. The one poem I discovered last night that wasn't for him suddenly is, suddenly hurtfully damn it.
I'm going too fast, and I only have...probably two more minutes before bookland gets angry at me for using this.
On with it.
Monday, July 01, 2002
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