I Procrastinate Like I Get Paid To Do It

I actually wrote this last wednesday in a rare insecure fit of excessively emo psychobabble, and finally got around to posting it--which surely means I'm putting off real work, yet again.

No surprise there.

"He who believes in freedom of the will has never loved and never hated." -Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach


I never expected easy answers. I searched for answers, and despite myself, couldn’t help but long for one from you. I thought, why burden ourselves with having to find an answer? It’s confining, stifling, and all those things that irk my independence. And yet I’m only human (a female to boot!) and do need some kind of answer. For some freedom from this limbo...

Ultimatums are pointless—

I see them as superficial and overtly ambitious in attempting to convert all the complex dynamics between two people into “option one, option two” kind of thing. I’d rather not put you, me through something that takes up energy and effort so uselessly. Though maybe it’s actually because I’m too afraid of what you may choose—if, in the end, what you want isn’t…me.

Granted, taking chances has always been risky, riskier especially when taken alone. You wanted to be sure… It hurts even now to remember you saying that to me. I blindingly trusted my heart and thought that would be enough.

I don’t regret anything. You know damn well I don’t. But, it doesn’t mean I wasn’t…am a fool.

I keep wondering, every now and then. Why must things be so complicated? I know this is how you are (and I know who I am, at least most times and eventually), but knowing becomes nothing when I’ve absolutely no idea how to stop you from overriding my sensibility, no idea how to make my senses immune to all that is you.

It especially means nothing when I don’t want that to happen at all. You can’t mean nothing to me.

Knowing does not keep me from succumbing. That’s like ignoring a huge part of who I am. So then, how do I choose when to continue to be true to myself might wind up being…more painful?

I suppose you’re right in saying that there’s no point with so little time left. Now that’s painful, knowing you won’t even hold my hand properly, like some secret on the side. Yet for you, I’ll live in the moment. Actually, it’s what I’ve been doing all along. In a sense, sort of became a survival tactic after awhile.

Because, in a moment with you, I am secure. It's thinking ahead that makes things blurry.

Some time ago, I made the choice to swallow my own heartache in order to enjoy the times I spend with you, all due to this one night when you—whether you meant it as such or not—looked up at me with those imploring blue eyes of yours, ran frustrated fingers through your hair, and sighed, “I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do.”

Maybe we’re not supposed to do anything about it? You’d always say. But you didn’t know that because you often come first in my thoughts, it actually takes a lot of effort on my part to do nothing. You see, you suggesting that we just leave things as is…it negates my every action thus far. For me, things as is…well, has always been surrendering even more to my feelings, and to you. You’d think the walls I’ve carefully constructed were made of tarp instead!

So then, I surrender and surrendered. And wonder, how is it possible that there is heart left to give...still?

I get used to/comfortable with whatever new level of intimacy we reach without needing actual confirmation of our relationship from you. See, I could want it, but I got over it or at least, managed to ignore it? All of this push and pull bullshit…I can only manage for short-term.

I’m so tired. I get so worn out at times. Reduce expectations? You make me so deliriously happy that I can’t help but start to expect you to keep being this way.

I know it’s going to end. I think I even know when. But, I was foolish and arrogant enough to believe that knowing made it safe to let go of my heart. I throw caution into the wind, putting more and more of myself into each moment….even though, it means the shattered pieces of my heart will fall even further away.

How much hurt can a person internalize? As much as it’ll take, apparently. But, I’m happy for it. I’m happier this way because I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Question is: knowing how much I’m going to hurt when we end, knowing that no amount of preparation will ease the way—will I still walk down this path? Of course, yes. In a heartbeat.

And you were able to talk so...casually about when I have a boyfriend.

The next guy in my life.

Random Culmination of Literary Outbursts

LANGUAGE is SELF-REFERENTIAL. [kudos to kath's Buddhism class]

"Give me a wildness no civilization can endure."
-Henry David Thoreau

The mother of excess is not joy, but joylessness.
- Friedrich Nietzsche
-------------------------------------

"It is the fault of fatality."
-Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary

"But she was so pretty. He had possessed so few women of such ingenuousness. This love without debauchery was a new experience for him, and drawing him out of his lazy habits, caressed at once his pride and sensuality. Emma's enthusiasm, which his bourgeois good sense disdained, seemed to him in his heart of hearts charming, since it was lavished on him. Then, sure of being loved, he no longer kept up appearances, and insensibly his ways changed.

He had no longer, as formerly, words so gentle that they made her cry, nor passionate caresses that made her mad, so that their great love, which engrossed her life, seemed to lessen beneath her like the water of a stream absorbed into its channel, and she could see the bed of it. She would not believe it; she dedoubled in tenderness, and Rodolphe concealed his indifference less and less.

She did not know if she regretted having yielded to him, or whether she did not wish, on the contrary, to enjoy him more. The humiliation of feeling herself weak was turning to rancour, tempered by their voluptuous pleasures. It was not affection; it was like a continual seduction. He subjugated her; she almost feared him."


I am a fool, surely.