For Fuck's Sake

I know not what I write. Ah yes, this will be a confessional-type blog. Perhaps I care to see "confessional" in the Sylvia Plath/Anne Sexton sense of this term. You know, instead of the this happened to me and made me think this. . . . it's almost 2 in the morning. I just went out with friends. We watched the new Hugh Jackman movie, The Fountain,which I liked--and think i might even have loved. Afterwards we went bowling and then headed to a bar to play pool. I had fun but left feeling less than satisfied. Mostly because I screwed up a good thing. I blame you, Q, only because if I hadn't been so damned heart broken, I wouldn't have screwed this thing up with this guy. But then again, if Q hadn't come and broken my heart, I would have been married by now and not had the opportunity to mess things up with this guy. Ok, I blame myself--and you. But mostly i'm willing to get past this anger and sappy "but you said all those wonderful things to me" or "you promised me the world" crap that somehow always manifests itself like a parasite when one party is left--especialy when the one party still had major feelings for the dumper.

Anyway. I don't know how to fix this thing with this guy. I'm purposefully vague, bien sur. Oui, bien sur. Je ne t'aime pas non plus. I do like him. strangely. I say strangely because this guy--the one I messed things up with--he keeps me on my toes. In short, i let him go. The most fascinating man I have ever known has settled--and is in fact intent upon--being friends with me.

Fuck. I guess this blog is confessional--and not in that cool sexton/plath way--more or less, "this happened and then i felt this. . ." bullshit I was trying to censure earlier.

Sigh.

Those "purblind doomsters" having their way again. . .