frost over

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today
To celebrate the union of this mind and this heart
As they embark upon a glorious journey
To self-realization and happiness
Let us begin by -- oh, no
There is an objection
And I haven't reached that part yet
But there has been an infidelity
Oh, and another objection
Apparently, there were two indiscretions
Who dares to break this holy, wholly, holey matrimony
Between two conceptually beautiful parts of life?
Ah, memory comes forth first to make a confession
--"I have both cheated the mind and confused the heart
I have lied to both and they believed me."
The second approaches -- love, what have you to say for yourself?
--"I have tricked both mind and heart into believing that I am something I am not.
For I told this mind that I could be with it in a world of logic
And I turned around to tell the heart that I was all that was needed."
"How could you?" ask both mind and heart
Love looked embarrassed
--"I have more to tell, I'm afraid.
Memory and I have been together for a long time now.
We were unsure how to tell you.
We just can't seem to break out of the past."
Mind and heart remain crestfallen,
Realizing that they are present and future
But love and memory are truly past.
The congregation files out, one by one
Umbrellas in hand, for it's raining outside
Mind, heart, memory, and love face each other
Speechless, waiting to fix themselves and one another
Ready to repair, forgive, and move forward

Othello's City Italian, said the trendy sign, as I walked up to the wooden doors with my arsenal of low-cut v-neck silk shirt, chic blazer, and black heels.  I breathed deeply to prepare myself for the last time I would see you again for six months.  Well, I and 6 of your other friends.  I walked through the doors and you gave me one look without response.  And I wished it had just been us tonight.  I sat down next to you as we waited for the other four and I tried my best to leave space between us.  As we were called to be seated, I foolishly decided that I needed a chair's distance between us.  We talked over burnt bread and citrus waters while confused waiters took our orders.  I finally found the courage to slide over one chair to sit next to you, but the desire to touch your hand underneath the table was nearly overpowering.  But I closed my eyes, and anything further I tried to suppress.  I listened to you talk to the others about studying abroad, about leaving this country to find yourself in Europe, to live, to explore.  I instantly wanted to jump in the conversation, but I had no experiences upon which to draw.  So I said nothing as the discussion moved to photographs, scrapbooks, written journals, and traveler's checks.  Locks for backpacks and Pamplona and Amsterdam and Italy and drinking...and it became too much for me.  Because I wanted to stop everything right there and jump onto a plane with you, experience something with you, away from here and from everyone.  I guess we always did like our privacy.  You and I finished our meals and discussed our movies, as we tend to do.  We put our credit cards down, and I wondered how much time we had left for the evening, suppressing visions of smiles, sounds of our chuckles, smells of hair and cologne, tastes of kisses, feelings of want.  And then it was time.  I walked out those wooden doors into a chilly evening, as we all stood there, shivering, waiting for the right time to say goodbye.  You defaulted to your classic half-hug and quick look in the eyes and a stately "Goodbye, [my name]" [ellipsis] (and in a whisper) "again."  I took the hug for all it was worth, pushed against you, closed my eyes, and my memory darted back to last Sunday and my disheveled bed, clothes on the floor, kisses everywhere, running hands, and this irreplaceable, intense feeling of warm intimacy, of security.  I will miss it for the next 6 months...or until it happens again.  If it ever happens again.  And I remembered our embrace in the darkness of my room in the early morning that seemed to last forever as we said goodbye and I told you I would miss you so much.  So I struggle, and I open my eyes, and calmly reply, "Oh yeah...that's right.  Goodbye [his name] [ellipsis] again."  I walked to my car, looked back at you briefly, and drove myself home with one of the strangest feelings I've ever had.

Why does this hurt?  And why do we fall back into the same motions over and over again?

Mood: probably a little depressed.
Weather: clear early morning sky, still dark out, and fairly chilly.
Book: "Take the Cannoli" -- Sarah Vowell.
Movie: "Amores Perros." Muy bien.
Music: "Tables and Chairs" -- Andrew Bird.
Subject of post: How many consecutive nights of insomnia has this tblog user had?

I don't know what to do anymore. I've accumulated so much sleep debt that I didn't need. I need to sleep more so that when I lose sleep this semester because of college classes and whatever else, I can afford it. This is not going as planned. The hazelnut cappuccino I had about six hours ago probably isn't helpful either.

I think I've officially hit another low point in my life. Funny thing is that the last low point I had was over a different guy instead. This time, it's over the same guy from the time before last. He's leaving to study abroad and I decided to open up an old wound (at least an old wound for me). Bad move. And so here I am. My discontent or stress or whatever the hell this is has manifested itself as insomnia. It's too weird to go driving anywhere at this hour in a college town, my roommates are asleep, the headphones for my keyboard are broken, so I don't know what else to do except make a random blog entry about it.

Ugh. My apologies. Who cares about a rant about the opposite sex woes, right? =/ Apparently, my subconscience does.

Back to bed to hopefully get some rest before the first day of class starts.