2001-07-30

There are still a lot of things I could say to you. Right here, right now. But thinking it through hurts my head. Alcohol usually helps. But I am painfully sober.

Last week I made a relatively obscure sci-fi reference in an email. I wasn't completely sure you'd get it. But you did. Shit like that, while definitely not the kinds of things upon which you build relationships, does make me feel a wee bit better. One small step in the direction of certainty. A check mark in the "not crazy" column.

Generally speaking I still feel good about all this. But I still think this is silly. I still think I shouldn't think about you as much. I still question myself. Which is what all this has been about. Trying to justify all this as something other than a side effect of emotional instability. I guess I might never figure it out. Maybe ultimately you'll have to answer that question for me.

I will admit to being less than effervescent lately. But I tried to cover it up whenever I wrote to you. Thus leading to lots of stupid messages. and also to that feeling of dishonesty. like I was hiding something. On Saturday I told you I'd run into an ex and admitted that it fucked me up. But then I made a joke. So, I tried. Half-assedly. Email is weird. We've had that conversation.

I read some more of your work. Into which you obviously put a lot of effort.

I haven't got a chance. I don't mean that I don't have one with you (not an issue to even contemplate). I mean that there's no chance that these feelings are going to go away.

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