Original article posted by ravenpaine:

Entry 46 – April 10

I have, on occasion, thought that I understood some things. Which is not to say that I don’t know things, I know a lot of things. The understanding of things is completely different though. Understanding comes from a place that, quite frankly, I don’t understand, which leads to the thought that I shall not figure it out.

I don’t like not figuring things out.

Yesterday I got up and went out to seek Xiao. Which is to say, that I did the thing that I do every morning, noon, night, or time when I think I might find her. And sometimes when I dont’ think that I will.

She was in her kitchen, well Jill Talbot’s kitchen, but roommates can share the possesion of a house even if one of them is technically Dr. Talbot and the other one is sort of a freeloader, even if she is a heftly loved freeloader.

We have a conversation about belief structures and how important it can be to have your own set. Your own set of beliefs that you can take into a room with people who have some of the same core beliefs and then you can have these wonderful conversations about it and everyone can learn and grow.

Which is to say that we discussed some great ideals, none of which are executed particularly well by humanity in general.

Several phone calls interrupt our musings, which does not bother me and which also does not make me comfortable.

Chris Bodily shows up. He is headed to Ogden to visit his sister who is sad. Xiao hunts the house for a gift for the Bodily sister and comes up with nothing. This annoys her, she talks of the importance of giving gifts when someone is sad. I think that such talk is nonsense, visiting someone should be plenty enough without a gift. She fussess for a while and switches couches, intentionally getting closer to him. There is a feeling in the air that I find oppresive, the sort of thing I would normally flee from or fight.

My eyes are all swollen and… Well, they are slightly swollen, but they can get worse, fast. I grip the sides of my head and try not to think about the implications of the atmosphere. Chris leaves and Xiao walks him to his car. They hold each other on the walk and their voices echo strangely back into the house. My eyes hurt and now my hearing is going and I’m not sure if I’m hallucinating or having a stroke.

It turns out to be that I’m just not use to dealing with a certain kind of sorrow.

Xiao returns and we have a discusssion about the existance, purpose, and foibles of a relationship. She agrees with all the right points and introduces some of her own, which are good, well concieved, proper, and highly acurate. We talk for two more hours, three hours total for the morning. I feel at ease, like some things are making a sense that they normally do not.

I go home.

The trip home splits between three thoughts. I love Xiao more everytime I have a conversation with her, at this rate I would be a wreck by the end of May, except that I only see her twice a week despite the fact that I know where she lives and I drop by everyday. So maybe I will last until November, so that November can go as poorly this year as the several previous years.

Thought two: Chris Bodily is supposed to graduate and then, presumably, leave. This means that what burgeoning relationship that they have will not work out, or at least will end. I take no actual comfort in the possibility of Chris leaving. I consider talking him into staying, and I consider having him assassinated.

Thought three: Forget it. I don’t need an intervention of fate or a removal of Mr. Bodily. I will succeed on my own. I will prove myself better than he, the same way that I will prove myself better than a very large portion of the male population. In fact, I am better than the entirety of the male population. This is my quest, I will succeed, no one else is even given the damn thing.

I reach home.

Watch Star Trek:TNG with Kellie and Ryan. We mock bits of it, well the Warf bits anyway, and I feel ill at ease.

I retreat to my room to get something done. Kellie and I work out the possible meanings of TS Eliot’s “Little Gidding.” Mostly Kellie asks questions and I tell her, to the extent of my knowledge, what I think. I wonder how she takes that sort of thing.

That finished, I start reading the selections Xiao has provided for me. Two larger non-fiction pieces and some poetry. I start with the large stuff. Her cultural autobiography lacks focus and comes to little to no conclusion. I set it aside, decide to read everything before making notes and then read her next piece.

I’m crying by the end of the first paragraph. The essay is about the death of her father, but more importantly the emotional death she faced during his life. I’m angry that I’m crying. I’m stealing someone elses pain and trying to make it my own. I’m concieted, this I know, I’m egotistacal, I know this too, but I did not know that I would stumble into this. I shift my love for her into a bizarre telepathic link and suddenly I get to feel bad for things she has already dealt with.

The piece continues, I cry a lot, too much really, and I read, and I find out things I didn’t want to know and I see the plan which I forged when I wanted these pieces aren’t working out. I wanted to know more about her and I wanted to see her writing. I have both now and I’m miserable for reasons that probably boil down to my selfish everything.

Then it gets worse, not the piece, which is beautiful and whimsical and composes itself with perfect honesty and fleeting bits of laughter and pain. Not that it can’t tolerate another edit or two, but that is any piece of writing. What gets worse, if I can get to the point, is the things that I start to think.

I imagine taking a trip to her house, finding her recently returned from her step-father’s birthday celebration, and sitting down to talk about the impact and implications of the piece. I realize almost immediately that what I’m actually trying to do is have her comfort me for her pain because I was too big of a fucking concieted bastard to properly grasp how much she hurt. How much anyone hurt really. It just didn’t occur to me.

My pain has always been my own, and the things that I have coped with are far more important than the things that you have dealt with. Period.

Of course, as so often happens lately, I was wrong. I have never dealt with the loss of someone or even something that I care about. I just dont’ care enough about things. I can replace any object, and usually I can find another version of any person. All the anguish I harbor within me is a bunch of flotsam. Foolish, selfish bullshit. Me taking to heart all the mistakes that I have made and wearing them on my sleeve as a way of proving that I’m better than the rest of you.

What a piece of work is man, a guy of some repute once said. I think he must have meant me, cause I’m egotistical that way.

So I went across town and saw her, and decided not to bring this up, no point in having her relive this so that I can feel better. Utter stupidity.

I’m done now, learn the lesson I have learned, or not. I’m not here to tell you what’s what, just my version of it all.

Rodney TGAP
Bonne nuit, bonne nuit to you all.

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