The Return of the Lyric (And Other Stuff)

I caught one of those frogs this morning. Oh, yes I did. I came home from the beach and was dusting off the front porch, picked up my lawn chair and *hop* *hop*, there he was. All 6 inches of him. So, I caught him. Put him in a container. Took a picture. Let him go. And now I can prove I am overrun by peeping masses of millions of frogs. Because, like rats, where there's ONE, there's a MILLION.

Except I can't prove it until I get around to getting the pictures developed so, in October, I'll remind you all of this day. The day I caught the frog.

---

Before I tell you the happier story, there's a couple of things I want to say. You should all know by now that nothing really pisses me off for very long except thoughtlessness and narrowmindedness so as long as what you say to me isn't either of those things, I am going to take it for what it's worth. Coming from those of you here, it's worth it's weight in gold.

The reason I say that is, for example, I was talking to B last night. Now, I know she loves me beyond reason and I know she only wants me to be happy but the view is very simplistic. She tells me that she is utterly convinced that Matt just can't commit but doesn't want to let me go so I can move on etc etc. You know, that may very well be true but her take on this is based on only a few conversations between her and I - in other words, on a fraction of the information that all of you hold. Your information includes Matt's words as well, from the beginning (although, I admit, not the ones from January, during the time I watched him shut down).

I have to say, David, that was a beautiful metaphor. I know that Matt loved me as much as he could, he was, in fact, the only person so far to dig deep for me and he succeeded admirably - which is one of the things that I miss so very much and something that I've spent my whole life trying to find.

He made an agreement with himself a very long time ago, during a time when he was very badly hurt, that he would never allow anyone the power to hurt him again. From what I know, I was rapidly becoming that person and so, his choice was to go. My friend below is right in saying that he compartmentalizes it - he made the decision to go back to putting the protection of his self first, tried to find a balance for a little while and then, shut it all down.

The thing I realized on the beach this morning is that I've been angry and hurt because I'm just low on his priority list these days. Well, of bloody course I am. We're not together. He wanted to go back to making himself the priority. I told him that I loved him enough to allow him to do that.
I can't now be so selfish and upset because he got what he wanted and I let him have it.

Or, maybe I can be selfish and upset but I can't turn around and blame HIM for it. I've been wanting to. I've been wanting to hurt him. Wanting to hurt him goes against everything our relationship was, everything that it was supposed to stand for, even after it was over, against everything we agreed to. I deal with it how I have to and I need to allow him to deal with it the way that he has to. I think that he needs to make some sort of admission or choice or decision and I think that I can ask him to do that but, beyond that? It's my problem. Not his. I've been feeling like he's doing these things TO me. He's not. He's just living his life and I'm not the reason he does anything at all. I'm just arrogant enough to think, sometimes, that I still am. I've been wanting him to make me feel better, I've been wanting him to go back to being my strength but he's not anymore.

And you guys know that. And I thank you for telling me that, each in your own way, because every once in a while - I need someone to hit the 'reset' button.

Here, as well, I want to also put this....

-Don't let the actions of the now diminish the impact of the then. For all the WTF he's displayed since he got on that plane, to let it strip everything good that came from your meeting him and opening yourself up to him - not the least of which to the eyes of your friends (or at least this friend) is the fact that you didn't have to go through the most enormous upheavals I can fathom alone. He *was* there. With you. Willingly. And even lovingly.
I hope you will always keep that, forever in your heart and mind, no matter what.

---

Some of you may remember the days when Cabot would spend his mornings staring at me and poking me (or 'vulturing' as Chris says) and trying to get me up from 4:30 am onwards and you'll have noticed too that I don't bitch about it anymore. Mainly because he's stopped doing it. He mostly now is just content to sleep beside my head until I'm ready to get up. I have a sneaking suspicion he's found it much more entertaining to want to go outside and come back in every five minutes from 6 pm to 11 pm but, whatever, that's another story.

This week with me having the plague, he's been even more considerate than usual and this morning, I figured I must be totally on the mend because at 5 am - he decided to start poking me in the ear with his thumb. When that solicited no response he put his entire hand on my right eyelid and then stood on it. He jumped quite high when I screamed but sadly, he did not jump far and commenced with the Cabot staring. When it became apparant (maybe he's beginning to understand the difference between 'work' and 'weekend') that I wasn't about to be getting up, he decided that he would just loudly use my glass of water as a handy new bowl.

I don't normally have water beside the bed but with being sick, I needed it this week. I mean, it's not like it's a long walk to the bathroom or even his water dish - the house is only 18 feet long. But, that was not his concern, judging by the lapping loudness / pause / stare / water flinging / stare tactics he was employing. While all the while seeming to be thanking me profusely for this handy new entertainment I has so thoughtfully provided RIGHT beside my head for him.

He succeeded. I got up. As I walked by the calendar on the fridge, I noticed that today is his 'birthday'. One year ago today I paid a $100 for a pathetic, sick street cat with no teeth and creepy thumbs. Do you think he knew?

I'll be he's expecting a cake. Maybe I should have kept the frog.

but I'm open, you're closed
where I follow, you'll go
I worry I won't see your face
light up again

Does Anyone Know Where David Hid The Baseball Bat?

(tomorrow, I promise!!!! A happier post. It's the new blog purge phase.)

HE: Photos to follow....although I have been saying that for a while now about a few things eh? I'm not trying to be rude ya know, it's just one of a hundred things that I have on my plate at the moment.

ME: I didn't think you were being rude, but I was having a hard time adjusting to shallow Matt who only wrote to tell me how hungover he was.

HE: Dunno what it has been with the shallow emails, they have actually been bugging me.....

The last few weeks have been a bit slow at work, which sucks a bit, but yesterday was balls to the wall, flat out, and today has the potential to be the same. Nice. I also realised yesterday that I can touch type, and it is quicker than when I look at the keys. That is so cool.Wow. That was very enlightening, don't you think? Thank you.

I don't know this person. I don't know what he's going to say when he comes back from his weekend. I'm presuming he's going to put some thought into it because even if he doesn't - it's time for him to face this. Whatever IT is. I have no idea if it's heartache or indifference.

I don't even know how to articulate it but he went from, "I can't feel this and it frightens me." to "I experience feelings differently from everyone else and there's absolutely nothing wrong with it." in the space of three weeks in January and ever since... these emails.

Someone wiser than I and a little gentler said this to me today...

I believe with all of my heart that what the two of you had, while you had it, was real, honest, true and meaningful. I only mean that it seems once he made the choice he made, he's pulled back so far he has grown to be too shallow to care. He's making zero effort to redeem himself, even after being called out. Even after admitting it himself. I don't know how people can segment themselves that way.

And you know, I think she's right. I want her to be right but, in the end, all it means to me is that he didn't love me enough to keep me.

I can believe he loved me. I can know it.

But that doesn't change the *now*.

For me, the *now* can and will change the *then*.

And maybe, I'm beginning to think, that once I stop believing in the *then*, then I've lost something forever I fought so hard to gain and that, right now, it feels like I'll never have the heart to fight for again.

Slightly Less Verbose

So, today was my three month probationary period what-cha-ma-callit. I've been there since 22 November but until the end of January I was a contractor. I don't pay much attention to the three month things and never does anyone else from what I've seen but I am part of the union again and so.....

Anyways, I roll my sorry sadsack plague infected ass into work on Tuesday morning and there's an email.... "Check my calendar and book an appointment for your evaluation. I have concerns."

The next available time? Thursday. Two and a half days later. Two almost guaranteed virtually sleepless nights. Because, even if I weren't in complete and utter paranoia 'take-everything-personally-mode' you KNOW I'll be freaking out. It's that cryptic I.HAVE.CONCERNS. thing.

As YJ so succintly put it in an email I'm too deathly ill to formulate an intelligent and thoughtful answer to... "Here's a grenade. So just relax for now and I'll bring you the pin later. T'ra, darling!"

Anyways, turns out I'm fantastic, they're thrilled to still have me, I'm proactive at handling issues (see, in real life I really do freak out a lot less than I do in here) etc etc. Do I feel excluded from the group? No? Then I'll not worry about you. Have you and ** worked it out? Yes? That's fantastic.

You know, I like my boss. She's pretty flat out straightforward and I like that in a person. It's mutual, which is nice. But still, this has been a bitch of an adjustment and there's too much info and too much estrogen and too much sensitivity and just *too much* in there. I didn't want to learn project management, I wanted to be a tech and this job is so much lighter on the tech than it was made out to be.... I like to do things myself. I don't want to manage other people. I don't like other people and managing them implies that you need to be nice, that you need to be patient, that you need to care.

Okay, it's not that bad but whatever, I still have some pretty horrifying days when I really shouldn't be dealing with others and project management just doesn't allow the breathing space I've been requiring.

It's been a bitch of a million adjustments over the last few months for me.

Whatever. We move ahead. Sometimes only by inches.

But I'd like to go on record that as prudent as 'being prepared' is, I could have done without the two days of anticipation, defenses, tactics and strategies that played out in my head.

In other news, I sent a parcel by boat and car to the Brookton Shire about February 5th and received a text today....

Finally received your package today. LOVE the t-shirt, & the pens, & the stickers, & the card... everything really! Will have to return the gesture. T3 xox

Sad - a 35 year old and a 30 year acting just so much like a bunch of pre-teens. I send stickers and pens. He loves them. (oh, the tshirt was hilarious though - I should post a pic, once I figure out how this website works). But, that's what parcels from far away are for. Smiling faces. But since T3 is absolutely terrible at even emailing, I think the mere *thought* of a return package will have to be enough for me. But, even better, the shire (I love that) is right beside the 'Shire of Wandering' and I don't care who's farm it is - I'm camping in it for a night while I'm there. It just seems so perfect for me, don't you think?

Ew ew ew ew, getitoff, get.it.off!

I've always been 5.6", well except for those years where I pretended so much that I actually believed I was 5.7" AND A HALF because I didn't like being short, I've always been 5.6"

Which made me tall in high school. But thin, oh I was thin. 90 lbs. I was. No, really. I'd have to run around in the shower to avoid slipping down the drain.

Anyways, it never really bothered me that much until the doctor du famille (or whatever, my french sucks) decided that there was something wrong with me being thin.

I had to buy children's pants when I was 16. I remember that Lester and I used to wear trackpants UNDER our jeans so we didn't look so thin. The problem was, well, there wasn't any problem - we were just thin. We weren't hitting the vomitorium three times a day, we weren't shooting up the heroin, smoking da crack during recess with Satan or gorging on ex-lax like some of the other girls. We.were.just.thin. It's not like we wanted to be. Otherwise, we wouldn't have been wearing trackpants under our clothes, yanno? It's not like it's cold here on the island. And seriously, her and I both could pack away the Mickey D's, whoaaaaa.

Anyways, I had to go through all these gory tests to set the doctor's minds at ease and at some point some endocrinologist decided that my pituitary gland didn't work right. Or, as he explained it to my obviously strength and intelligence deprived 15 year old brain, "The pituitary gland is like a conductor of an orchestra. You know what they do, right? And so your conductor, he just doesn't feel like working all the time and so all of the pieces of the band don't know what to do and sometimes, they just don't do anything at all."

So, basically, the hormones, they aren't kicking in and when they do, they're doing a half assed job and whatever, nothing they can do, I'll be fine, blah blah blah. What my doctor did do, in part because I hadn't had my period yet, was to put me on the pill. He figured that'd be a good idea because it's so obviously subversive and wrong to not have your period at a certain age. So, he succeeded cause that kicked that pituitary right in - four months later I had huge boobs, no ass and I weighed 134 lbs (that would be 43 pounds I gained, thankyouverymuch). Two months before my sixteenth birthday, they took out my gallbladder. If you actually read the little pamphlets that come with birth control, you'll notice they say, increase the risk of gallbladder disease and you might even be aware that normally the rule of thumb for gallstones (I had 15) is fat, fair and forty. Over the years, I've had a lot of weird shit wrong with me and in all of the research I've done - every single thing has one common denominator / trigger. Estrogen. I feel justified in that almost every single physical ailment I have had in my life is directly the fault of the doctor who put me on birth control. Plus, I've always thought that when I was thin that there was something wrong with me. I ended up with this whole complex about it, when all it really has been is a good metabolism.

I have a point to this. I do.

Over the last fifteen or so beer drinking years, my weight evened out around 144. I just kind of stuck there, no matter what. I don't think that living alone and having absolutely terrible eating habits did any good either and it wasn't a bad weight (which you might remember from the pictures at the website that is no longer).

Since I quit with the beers all the time, eat properly, get a little exercise and I think the radiation had something to do with this as well - I've lost about 9 pounds of body fat and I now balance out around 132.

I still have no ass.

I've had a collarbone the last couple years, which kind of grosses me out. You know, you go to scratch your neck and your hand gets caught in it. ick.

I should say here that I'm in no way complaining about being thin, nor am I bragging. It's just there. I've realized lately that there was never anything wrong with me and there still isn't and I'm kind of tired of apologizing to people who tell me I'm too thin. I just am. I eat. TRUST ME, I EAT A LOT. So, I'm not doing it on purpose to point my skinny finger at anyone else, I'm not trying to look like someone on Friends, in fact, I'd TRADE a leg for a nice plump ass and frankly, most of the time, I don't notice anyone else's physical mass relative to my own. Probably because I'm too busy feeling like there's something wrong with me because I'm thin. And now I'm all paranoid because I sound all 'boohoo, I'm thin'. Sheesh. It's that whole foot in mouth thing, innit? I"m just going to assume that you understand what I'm saying and say that I had to tell that part of the story so that you will understand the NEXT part of the story.

ANYWAYS, that said, last night I'm getting out of the shower - where basically you're stepping into the hallway and facing that horrifying mirrored closet thing - and I go to pull on my bathrobe.

I noticed, for the very first time ever, my ribs.

Now, not my ribs on my side or near my belly or anything but the ones that actually come around and into your breastbone. Those ones high up on your chest that most of us only see on skeletons. EWWWW!

I'm sorry,but I can't even look at the veins in my own wrist and suddenly there's this thing on my chest that looks exactly like ALIEN.

And I don't know how my body does this because I weigh just the same as I have for the last year and have all kind of extra fatty tissue jiggling around but for some reason all the skinny bits rearrange themselves every so often with the express purpose of grossing me out.

And now I can't look at myself in a mirror.

Can someone check with Warner Bros and see if that rubber thing they used on that guy's head is missing because it's totally taken up residence inside my chest.



I know, I have to get off the medical topics this week but I've got my three month review tomorrow and, well, let's just say, I'm trying to keep my mind off of it. Really FAR OFF OF IT.

Damn, I Just Can't Come Up With a Good Nickname

So, yeah, I mentioned I was going to see the doctor today, right? The doctor I still can't come up with a cute name for. *sheesh* When he asked me what I wanted to talk about I almost said, "I am SO losing my touch, pal. We need to find it RIGHT NOW."

Although, in a way, I guess I did.

Does anyone else try to come up with the perfect combination of the smallest amount of words with the most amount of information on the way to the doctor? You know, you want to get as much info in their hands, so to speak, before they get all impatient and cut you off. My doctor's not so much like that but I do it anyways so I don't end up rambling on and on and on. He's actually one of those guys that really does monitor his patient's progress so, you may have noticed this, I see him A LOT. I try to keep it short and sweet.

What I came up with today was trying to explain to him that the things I've felt over the last few years - the irritability and the crying at the drop of a hat, interspersed with the little excited Jenny bits - I've been figuring they'd get better, see? It's the depression and so all I had to do was take the damn pills and do good things for myself - the exercise and being aware that getting irrationally angry at that person walking up the parking ramp under the sign that says do not walk on ramp was a bit counter productive since I'd be walking up the bloody ramp myself if I were out there. To eat right and sleep right and not really drink etc etc etc. Then those other things would get better, right? Cause it's just my personality that's so used to reacting in those ways, right? All those years, it would make sense that I'd get more irritable and shit eventually - we just become MORE of who we are as we get older, after all.

Wrong.

I'm always wrong about the important shit, you know? Lesley remarked last weekend that she was utterly floored that, being one of the most intelligent people she knew, I never thought there was anything wrong with me for all those years. She just looked at me, shaking her head. I'd catch her when she thought I wasn't looking. Just sitting and shaking her head at me.

If any of you are paying real close attention, you'll remember that a few weeks ago the doctor asked if we should maybe adjust my meds and I got all pissed off cause I figure "NO, this will work out, the Wellbutrin is doing exactly what it's supposed to, the rest is my fault and I'll deal with it." Wrong again. And yes, Rob, I agree with you that I want to fix things myself but eventually I will admit that I can't. I just have to try first, that's all.

So, my lovely doctor has split the meds - he says if I'm sleeping well and have a good appetite then it seems likes it's brain chemical Moe that I have the problem with (if we call the three that I can't be arsed to spell right now, saaaaaay, Larry, Curly and Moe fr'instance). Then I'll take Larry's buddy in the morning and Moe's buddy at night and (I quote)

"You are doing everything right. Everything. So, it's obvious that this is completely a chemical imbalance and with a little tweaking, we'll have you right as rain."
What? I swear, I don't think I've ever been told I'm doing everything right in my entire life. There's always a ...but.... It felt kind of cool. Of course, Moe is the drug that made me lose my appetite and a shitload of weight last year when I took it alone so I'll not be keeping my fingers crossed that it's a keeper, but only the first in a series of tests. Which is fine with me, because I'm doing everything right.

Then he high-fived me for being a non-smoker for 6 months and smacked me in the back of the head with my chart on my way out the door, saying, "I'll see you in two weeks."

I'll tell you this, again... . good doctors are a blessing. MY doctors are a blessing. I wish I could share them with some of you.

Bleurgh.

It's 3 am. I've dozed about 15 minutes since midnight. My bones ache. My muscles are sore. Standing up makes me sway and clutch. I can't breathe, moving my head in any direction only prompts a weird drip from my nose, arm reaching out to grab another roll of toilet paper. My throat is dry, breathing only makes it drier, water doesn't help.

The cat stares.

And my face hurts. Oh, it hurts. My entire head. My jaw.

I'm staying home again today, like I did Friday. Every day I stay home increases the proportion of the coldness and radiating waves of disapproval I'll receive when returning to work with the people who drag themselves in no matter what. Who, because they do so, gave this to me in the first place.

It's funny, a little, because I used to drag myself in. I never expected anyone else to, though. But, I don't care, because I'm smarter. Because I've learned that loyalty is nothing - not these days. Mine or theirs. I learned that whether it's a cold, a sinus infection, the death of a pet, or cancer - there's no reward for torturing yourself in the name of the 'job'.

I refuse to spend two weeks being sick and dragging myself around when I could just spend four days in a pool of my own sweat and be done with it. I don't watch daytime TV, I've built this site 10 minutes at a time in the last few days, there's no food I can eat, there's no sleep I can get and mostly, it hurts too much to read. It's not like I'm having any fun.

On the upside though, at 6 pm last night, I emailed the support people here with a question. I got an answer at 8:30 am. An answer that actually answered my question.

Imagine. I thought I was hallucinating.

I like this place. I think I'm going to be very happy here.

So, Did I Mention That I'm Enlisting?

(aka: Could I Come Back Without Something Right Bloody Gripping? I Wouldn't Do That To You.)

(my apologies in advance for the length of this post, I meant it to be shorter but in the course of it a bunch of things that are all interconnected came up and I feel it's important for me to look at these points "out loud", so to speak. There may be a part 2 as well)

One of the reasons, since it seems like every day this week there were more and more reasons making the case for starting over, was that the other person I was talking to in those posts was an ex-boyfriend. He lives very near me for the first time in 13 or 14 years and has spent many years trying to get me to come back in his direction. Who in fact had a plane ticket booked to fly out to see me - four days after 9-11 - and so ended up staying home due to his work and thereby, possibly changing the course of both our lives. He was the one that said "I don't come to your site" while then proceeding to do exactly that every day from work. While, after not seeing each other face to face in 14 years, he kept 'forgetting' we'd made plans to get together. And then stopped any and all contact.

It has become a big issue for me in the last couple of weeks that he was lying to me and had stopped being in contact with me. I had thought he was afraid to see me because he was fat or some equally weird thing, but I think - in the end - it was because he was taking the parts of me from the blog while completely discounting that in real life (which he knows for a fact) I'm not running around screaming all the time and that, in fact, although a little unique, I am fairly normal.

At least from a few metres / yards away.

He was one of the people who I'd speak to at the end of the day, who I knew had read some of the rants lately as I try to work things out so I can leave this all behind next year, and was one of the tentative ones... you know, the ones who are all 'careful' around you like you're about to snap and try to stab them to death with a rusted spoon or a toothpick or a cheez-it.

I've been realizing that some of my behaviors weren't just bad habits that I've fallen into over the last fifteen years but actually symptoms and ways of dealing (or not) related to the depression. It's all very well and good that after so much torture to my doctor that I finally agreed to take the drugs and it would be marvellous if that's all I had to do to conquer this, but it just doesn't work that way.

There's things that I need to be doing as well. And I have been. And I've been making progress. But in some ways, I've gotten a lot worse.

I don't know why, really. Unless it's the trying to work it out that's triggering this stuff but I spent 15 years maintaining a level I seem to have completely lost now that I'm 'cured'. I'm still angry a lot of the time. I cry constantly.

There's a little component of OCD or something in there that makes me worry for HOURS about the ant that I just put outside - everyone knows they follow scents back to the nest and I've basically just doomed it to dying slowly and never making it's way home. I feel terrible. Those things bother me more and more. While at the same time I could care less if a nuclear bomb destroyed every human being on the planet. Obviously, my new doctor was right when he said we may have to make some adjustments and after a couple months where I've been feeling worse and worse - I am getting better at giving in so I'll be seeing him on Tuesday.

I've spent a large part of my life trying to explain myself to people. I don't know what this is about but whether it's some gene I've inherited or a rare virus there is no cure for it has been true all of my life. To be honest about who I am, what I feel and what I see as I try to figure this strange life out. I can't stop it, I've tried - oh, how I've tried - be enigmatic, you stupid cow, just SHUT UP. It's caused me a lot of heartache and, truthfully, it's cost me a lot of relationships. People don't really want to know. This world we live in is all about correctedness and 'normal' and the sad thing is - none of us really are normal. All I've ever wanted was for someone to understand me. I guess that the blog gives me that in a way but even that is just one small part of who I am.

Tony:Calgary said the other day that he just didn't 'get it' - all this stuff about me leaving RG behind. That the internet was public domain and I deserved everything I got. That he loved me regardless but he just wasn't one of those 'internet people'. I tried to find an analogy to describe it in a way that he would understand because Tony:Calgary is someone who usually is pretty good at knowing and accepting this bag of bones that is me. The best I could do, which wasn't very good at all, was this....

If the street is public domain (and I think we can all agree on that) it still doesn't make it okay if you come by every day, maybe even more than once, stand out on the sidewalk and stare at my house. Especially if you're a friend or someone I've been intimate with and I come out of my house to say hello and offer you tea and you just refuse to speak to me but continue to show up every day and stare at my house.

Eventually, I'll try and do something about it. Wouldn't you?

Basic respect and etiquette (which is one of the rare things I will defend to the death as being basic human rights) aside, I think that people who do business over the internet wouldn't agree that ALL of it is public domain. I know that if my phone service operated over the 'net there's no way in hell I'd ever even consider the possibility of it being 'accepted' as public domain. If you consider it though, innovation and ability and mentality of 'public domain' is leading to a crisis in interpretation and I think that more and more we will run into problems around this very issue.

I also think I just got right-the-fuck off my topic. Again. Repeatedly.

Getting back to the issues of motivation that I was talking about in RG before I left - one of my fears was becoming this - my ex-boyfriend is military. I am contemplating signing on as a reservist (there's something I want them to teach me). If his motivation for all of this was not in my best interest (which, really, I used to think everyone was good and kind and this may be the first time I've ever assumed - before the fact - that peope maybe weren't) then by me mentioning what I was doing on my blog - could have given him the opportunity to hurt me quite a bit. If he wanted to. Which he was giving, lately, no indication otherwise.

It's one thing for those of us like Dooce and SassyLittlePunkin to lose their jobs because of a blog that they didn't realize would come back to hurt them but it's quite another for me to have witnessed what happened to them and then knowingly put myself in the firing line five feet in front of someone who's motivation is unknown and who's actions have proven only less than honest/ clear thus far.

Ex-lovers are a complex territory and I am the last person who will ever tell you that I can count on the actions of someone I've been involved with. Nor them with me.

Except for Scott - he can always count on me, in every circumstance, to choose love for him over everything else except my own life. I love Matt, more than anything and I always want to but, still, it's just as often as not that I hate him so much I truly believe I could beat him to death with a baseball bat. That may change but, for me, as an example, I never ever felt that way about Scott. That may be because I was a teenager, or because I loved him less or differently or any of a hundred other reasons but it only goes to further reinforce that matters of the heart are maybe the most unreasoning and unpredicatable force on the planet. Love and hate are seperated by a very fine line and that line is different from day to day, minute to minute, from person to person and even more so in people who aren't together anymore. Especially between people who didn't end in any bad way but for other reasons entirely. The true opposite of love is indifference and honestly, how many of us ever truly get to that point?

I've learned in the last few years that I'm not so good with aimlessness but where my true strength lies, apart from my ability to learn, is in my ability to reach a goal. I don't often have them and so most of my life has been aimless and random. But, when I decide to do something - I do it. I've never ever faltered or failed once I've decided.

This last year I've set myself some pretty high goals. I have no doubt whatsoever that I will achieve them.

You best get out of my way.