I’m at the point now where I don’t need to carry around a notebook to keep track of the subjects and ideas I want to write about later. There are so many things to say that I only end up remembering the important ones anyway. It’s like a subconscious way of filtering out the things that aren’t worth mentioning.
A good feeling. As if life never ceases to be interesting, and there’s always something to experience, to learn, and to tell.
Jeff and Darren are over for the next three days. They came five hours from Toronto to hang out with me, before they begin work for the summer. This makes me feel special.
I’ve taken the rest of the week off. I expect to be conscious for a few hours between now and Sunday. Thank god for paid vacation days.
Three more hours and it’d be an all-nighter.
I finally got Nala and Dolly to eat off the same plate. It took a few cans of Fancy Feast (the only wet cat food Nala will eat), and about two weeks of servings in progressively closer proximity. Food seems to be only thing that will get them both to brush whiskers without conflict. Even if one cat simply walks by the other, there’ll be a paw swipe or two. I doubt that they’ll ever completely get along. Neither cat seems to be compatible with other cats, even after getting accustomed to each others scents.
Even before getting in bed, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to sleep because of this. I knew that as soon as I woke up to roll over, I wouldn’t stop thinking, wondering about the situation I’m in.
Somewhere in my mind I want to run away again, simply because it would be the easiest thing to do. Fortunately, I know better, and realize that I have to face up to the decisions I make, as well as the consequences that result.
I can’t tell if the hardest part is not knowing or not assuming.
There’s a group of people I once knew well, past the barriers of formality and beyond any boundaries of unacceptance. Unfortunately, circumstances didn’t go our way, and I had to leave. It may have been considered a self-imposed exile, but exile sounds so severe. Leaving was the only thing that I could think of. I’ll be honest and say that I don’t know from what I was running.
I just know that I was running. I just know that I needed to get away, to distance myself from some of the only people who have ever treated me with respect. From some of the only people who have ever treated me like family. With no explanation, I left, and they have every right to never speak to me again.
Now, years later, I find myself missing what I had. How selfish.
Perhaps it was the commitment. Perhaps it was my intolerance. Perhaps I was trying to protect others from getting too attached. Most likely, it was a combination of everything. I won’t say that I made a mistake, because I make my decisions based on limited knowledge and current, undeveloped wisdom. I will, however, apologize and admit that I’m sorry. Sorry for ever causing any sort of pain, to the last people in the world who ever deserve it.
This is me at my most humble.