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And I mean flushed in the non-bathroom sort of way Weighing my pockets with stones of longing |
Last night was pretty awful. In the midst of scurrying to get history work done and put files up on Collab for my TA session, I ran into an old conversation with Theo that I had saved. Reading it just reminded me of everything that I lost because I was only thinking about myself and in-the-moment urges, because I was convinced that if the same temptation reared its head twice, maybe there was something to it more than temptation that I just had to go with, because I was too afraid to talk to him about what I feared was happening. I gave up eventually trying to understand my reading, and attempted to will myself to sleep. But the same phrase kept repeating in my head, "I threw it away; I threw it away." I'm sure this all sounds sickeningly melodramatic, but it hurts, you know, heartache does. No two ways about it. I contemplated calling someone last night, but it was late, and I didn't know who to talk to. Theo tentatively brought up my depressing away messages this morning, but I couldn't just throw that at him. I don't know if I am allowed to talk to him about this, even though he's one of the people I've gotten used to relying on. It's just awful, really. What makes me feel so sick about it is that the two major conflicts in our relationship centered on me and Joe. And the first one was all rumor made worse by my own feelings of guilt, and the second was based on misunderstanding and fed by my own fear and loneliness. I wish I could have just done things right the first time. Anything must feel better than blaming yourself. I wrote an e-mail to Joe a while back, telling him what was going on, how I totally screwed up with everybody involved, and how I feel--hurt, ashamed, and in need of retreat. Not necessarily in those words. He hasn't written back. Even though nothing could come of it now, it certainly doesn't make me feel any better to think that even my illusions of what was right were based on empty words. That what "revealed" to me how empty I felt was just a skeleton of poetry. And yet it was enough. I don't want to end up thinking of him that way, either. Ugh. I suppose mulling over this isn't going to help anything. Last night I had another tornado dream. They've gotten so common now that each time I step outside I half-expect to be picked up and carried away by one of them. Everytime the wind blows, I'm looking over my shoulder. This one was even more vivid than the last, showing the cloud developments of the storm. I looked up pictures of tornadoes online after I woke up, and all of them coincided with what I saw. I remember in my dream, a frantic phone call to my dad telling him what was happening, how I was ready to go. Then the phone getting ripped away by the gusts, and Mom and I were desperately trying to cling to the ground while we got tossed around... I was amazed when we weren't hurled off somewhere like the last time. Instead we were left behind, and my dad showed up to prove that he was right, and I was wrong to think it was the end, and he started making calls to the insurance company. So much work to do these next few days...
Grief with a new spin at 3:31 p.m.
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