Made it through Thanksgiving okay, no
lows. Mostly on autopilot. Not doing so well today, slow crash. Others are
suffering fresh losses this holiday season. Trying to make myself
work but heart isn't in it. Just a sketch or two, anything. Force
myself. Won't be my bess, nothing inspires, but anything.
(a week ago, Thursday)
It's not difficult to do the work once
it's flowing, but it's getting harder to make myself sit and begin.
Tonight would be a prime example. It's half past midnight, it's
raining...I ought to go for a walk. Nowhere to go, nothing is open.
Honestly, mood I'm in I'd like to not come back. But since I'm not
going to walk...b'oof. I'd rather just sit here and type out what
I'm feeling. Well, hell, I'll hold that at bay. Dana used to
call my letters books, and to me they were still short. She guessed
that I was holding something back, which I was and thought it
uncannily observant pf her...but I had no idea at the time that she
had guessed wrong about just what it was I wasn't saying. What I'd
just been through, mostly. And that I was in love with her. In
hindsight, I realize she was expecting it was something very
different but I had no way of knowing that when I was writing her.
I did that, though – copiously
spilled my heart onto the net, I mean. I've had two prior blogs,
both long gone now, into which I tried to work out my lows. One was
anonymous, using no real names (not even my own) so that I was free
to be open. A few people read it, no one who had ever met me
personally. One person expressed astonishment...I'm not sure if he
thought I was brave to be so candid or just reckless. The other blog
I put my name to as I hoped someone would someday plug my name into a
search engine and find me there...but that meant I had to rein in
what I could say. It would help to relieve my heart in the short
run, one post at a time, but it never helped me any in the long term.
I wonder, when abstract artists express
intangibles like love and pain in a work, does that help them
through it? I wonder. Maybe it doesn't matter that I don't do
expressive work, maybe I wouldn't find respite there anyway. What
about photographers, does their work serve to soothe their broken
hearts?Sorry, I've got nothing right now per art or blocks other than
“hard to overcome”. Not exactly news. I'm trying to make myself
get to some work tonight. I should have stuck with acting.
I'm proud of Dana. I'm pretty sure
she'd be baffled as to why, were she to ever learn that. And ya know
what? She never will know, ever, because she hasn't the courage to
ask. In many ways she's a strong woman, and I look up to her for
it...but she's not strong in all ways. Facing the people who care
about her is not among her strengths. Telling them that their
concern for her, their love and hopes for her, their determination to
stand by her side means anything to her...if any of this is anything
she values, she keeps it to herself. I wish she would tell me, one
way or the other. The not knowing is the thing that does all the
damage. I'm afraid she's okay with that.
I have heard that she has a rep for
being protective toward those around her. She is admired for it by
those she allows into her life, and by me on the outside of it. It's
one of the things I'm proud of her for. It's something I hold onto
when depression sinks in and I wonder whether she has any feelings
left at all for anyone. That's where I am right now. Anyone who
acts on a protective instinct can't be completely unfeeling. Can
they?
There was a lesson I learned once, with
the second girl I ever fell in love with. The first, Kristina, I
always knew I would never hook up with, but Diane...she was the first
person who ever spoke to me as if it mattered to her that I was the
one listening. She disappeared from my life without ever knowing
that she mattered to me. That jaw-dropping moment when I suddenly
realized I was in love with her, and determined to tell her...I
wasn't aware that I had already seen her for the last time hours
earlier. If someone means something to you, don't let the chance to
tell them slip through your fingers.
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