And I hope this isn't the beginning of another end

I don't know. I just don't. He said it wasn't intended to be grave and heavy, but still--the disappointment is there for me. I'm tired of all the waiting I have to do for people. I'm back to my old mantra about wanting to, just once, fully coincide with someone. You know, find someone who's already worked through some of their shit, like I have, finally, after two years of running uphill. Someone who can be here, just because I would like them to be, here. Someone to help me justify all of -- this -- whatever this is.

I want a boyfriend. Can I just say that and have it be okay? Something really simple. Or just simpler. Someone ready to be counted on. And I don't like this position--it makes me worry that nothing I do is based on actual affinity ever, that it's all just because I want it to work. The J. problem. And the fear that the only thing that ever worked was The Poet precisely because there was no way for it to work, because I still to this day don't really know what working would mean in that context, except that he managed to make me happy and save me from a couple pretty bad mental spots.

I don't want this to be so hard. Browning and MLA abstracts and faking interest in fellowships and planning classes--this I'm willing to allow to be hard. The rest of it--come on, universe, really? I would like someone I can trust myself to count on, if that makes sense. In some ways (and they may not, of course, be fully evident on the blog), I'm too good at self-sufficiency and dependability and non-clinging.

It's possible that this is all premature. There's a dialogue to be had, but I'm not sure it will end well for me. As much as I'd be willing to...I don't even know. I thought I was getting better at this, but what a fucking learning curve.

I have too much work to do to be thinking about any of this. I need to finish my MLA abstract, at the very least, before I write back, and this is going to require an enormous overhaul so I better get started, pretending it's still last week, or two weeks ago, slipping back into the generally possible and reclaiming the composure that I had that wasn't externally constructed.

The thought of going back to Nerve again--or, for that matter, of being more than friends with The Poet--these thoughts do not alleviate the descending bleakness.

Maybe it's all nothing, maybe there's a dialogue to be had. But I can't have it before I send in this abstract.