Sticks and Bones

The first part of a chronicle of a crush-turned-obsession. I'm sorry, Julie.


To experience this in natural reading order go to A Bright, Ironic Hell: The Straight Read .


Also, try Satellite Dance and Crystal Delusions--Parts 2 and 3, respectively--complete.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

I'll Have to Take My Socks Off for This One (11/03/08 Monday)

So, here's the deal now: This letter is entirely self-serving, right? I'm writing to someone who doesn't care about stuff she doesn't care about, so who else could this be for but me? Then, how is this even serving me? What purpose does it have? Not to recriminate or whine or defend myself or plead my case or beg her change her mind. What good do I expect it to do me? Am I getting something off my chest? How do I go about that without also doing any of the above? Remember "no pussyfooting"? I have to tell it straight and raw and with plenty of self-deprecation, to show I'm not that hang-dog, pathetic guy who can't let go of a lost cause. In other words, lie, right? Because I'm nowhere near being able to pull that off. But I can't last long in my current state of sleep-deprived tension. Julie has never lost a wink over me; that's an easy bet. So why am I killing myself over someone who feels nothing for me? (And how many times have I asked that?)

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