hannah called me up for a lunch break. i was so happy to hear from her, so happy. we've been friends for so long, how could it end over a stupid moment of weakness and extreme vomitting of insults that's completely my fault.
after that i figured i'd head home, but there was traffic, and i didn't quite feel like driving in traffic, so i called up the hitch hiker who said 'if you're ever free go ahead and give me a call'. and that's what i did.
he answered right away with a capitalized hey. 'i thought i'd wait a day to call you again, afterall, i didn't want to seem like a stalker. but you know what? life's too short. do you want to have lunch with me? come over to my pad.'
of course i'd like to have lunch with you.
reflecting on it now, maybe that was a little strange, maybe i should have felt a tinge of fright. well, no, not possible. i mean, you look at this kid and he's almost frail looking. young, maybe a little older than i am. chocolate brown hair and good, clean skin underneath it. hardly something to be afraid of. but he is cute.
we ate spaghetti and drank red wine at the breakfast nook of his father's house. and i ended up staying for hours thereafter. couple of awkward silences, but mostly medium comfort that enabled ease concerning actually listening to his stories, and being able to talk about myself, something that lately has been so goddamend fucking rare. i felt like i could be honest. 'so yeah, there's this guy i'm well.. in love with, and he's a great guy and everything, but sometimes you turn the people you love into people you hate, and that's kind of where we are right now, which is kind of a terrible place because you look up and realize you lost all your own friends, and don't know a thing more about relationships than you did to begin with',   'i'm seventeen years old',   'i work at a christian coffee shop', i told him what my parents do for a living. and sometimes i feel like i should be, i don't know, embaressed about it. like, 'i'm 17, don't look at my pants, i shat them'. i meet somebody and freak the fuck out because they expect something of me immediately, like sex or wit, two things that are extremely inconsistent. or they interrupt me constantly, giving me little hidden signs that scream 'GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE'. i've always believed in fate, but i think it's a bit premature to bring it up publicly when it obviously pertains to something so.. seed-staged.

hello, new days.

ehh, today was for moments.
picked up the phone without thinking. it was oliver. wanted to see how i was doing. it was different this time.
went to the cinema and cried so hard i got the hiccups.
talked about this to an indian man who worked the gas station. he lectured me on not taking media too seriously. and asked me what i write about. i tried to explain to him 'people'. ah, i'm so predictable in that way... trying to explain what gets my clock ticking and sounding like a buffoon. too emotional, or too naive. and i probably am, but that's beside the point. we had a communication barrier in expressions. at first i thought maybe he didn't know american expressions, but really, i think it was just that he didn't know <i>my</i> improvisational metaphoric ambiguous expressions. what makes this significant is that there was a man who was just trying to give me advice. why is this random gas station attendant who sells me a bottle of water and some ginger altoids giving me free advice, when i go to psychics frequently enough and pay them to give me horrible advice that is, of course, applicable to every.single.human.on.this.earth? i'm not sure, maybe it's obvious that i'm on the fringes of the misguided youth, ready to give up, wasting too much time wishing to be older when, i'm only tragically missing the joys of naivete. and the people who matter, the people like random christian fat women and beautiful lesbians in coffee houses, as well as indian gas station attendants feel the need to relieve me a little. 'don't worry so much', they say. and my friends tell me i'm too hard on myself.

i saw someone i wanted to see, and i wasn't the person that i know i could have been. another place, another time.

i realized tonight that at least a slight variation of isolation will be inevitable. i am going. to be. alone. and it isn't because i want to. and it isn't because my friends are so shitty, either. i had an enlightening mini-conversation with liz rosenberg.. incidentally i made her feel guilty sometime along the way. which makes complete sense. oliver would suggest guilt tripping as my weapon of choice. my mother is catholic, so i grew up learning that one method of living is making the people feel at fault for something that isn't, when disappointed.
this was more important to me earlier, but it seems to have lost its force. i make people feel guilty. and sometimes, i think i scare them, and i can't quite tell how yet. and i don't know if i'm going to make any effort to figure it out. because maybe it isn't a bad thing. maybe it's just a repellent against full of shit sheep. then again, maybe i'm just hopeful. and i scare people off so quickly, i don't even have a chance to get my needs met. think maslow's heirchy of needs, not esb's selfish person.
again, i'm not really sorry if i scared anyone. maybe i should be.. maybe i will be later. right now, i'm getting used to the idea of being alone for a while. at least i can actually do it.

i've been reflecting on 'oliver and i' for the past five minutes, which is more than i have done in the past few months, despite the fact that 70% of that time we were on speaking/seeing terms, and with interaction, you'd think i might think about it a little then. 
   i was reading savethepirate 's latest publication which has to do in part about sexual abuse/assault from a first hand experience and it was incredibly moving. i found myself thinking about things that i hadn't in a long time, at least not with a clear head. i could identify, and most often i think i've really hit it up with a load of denial, false acceptance, and insignificance.
  this, really, is what got me thinking about the 'little things' that were very much hazard signs that, during the course of the relationship i never gave enough credit to. these flaws, inconsistencies, and bad omens are in all actuality in every relationship. though i really see the intensity of situations and emotions weighing more than the generalities that would so eagerly demean my point.
i could never talk to oliver about my sexual assault as a kid, well through my present day.  when i told him the story about my real father, he forgot. when he speaks concerning him, he nonchalantly seems to accept him as a man who was just fucked up regarding sex. if ever he brings it up, i'm quickly uncomfortable and intent on a change of topic. and out of everyone that i've ever known in my entire life outside my mother, and in a lot of ways even moreso than the limited experience of homelife, i feel most comfortable with him. i don't know if you've ever been truly comfortable with another person, and it isn't that it's great or anything (though actually, it's completely wonderful), it's just an experience i hope on everyone on this earth.
what i'm getting at, is that i guess i was never as comfortable as i thought i was.  an <i>i should have known all along.. </i>situation.
there are other straws in the hand, like the fact that he never gave my word any worth (very fucking obvious, i tell myself now), his only consistency was his skepticism in me, and that he was a liar. and i wonder if my blinded love for him that i had felt to be so true was just a chemistry fuck-up in nature causing one to feel for another without reciprocation. or maybe there was supreme reasoning for all of this trauma, and that is that i was supposed to love a man who didn't love me. just to see what that was like.
i will have to remind myself.. even if later on in life i do not love oliver, which is entirely possible, i mustn't degrade the love at the time. i worry, because in thinking about all the things that were wrong with us, and being able to recognize it, i love him less already. and if i love another person in the future and i am telling him or her about my first love, will i think back   and be lazy?    will i say, 'that love? hmm. well, you know.. know that i think about it.. maybe i never <i>really</i> loved him at all.'
i hope i don't fall into a trap of denial, where it's easier to discard the truth, than to take it. because i <i>did</i> love oliver. but i will love again.