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.

Friday, November 14, 2008

No Admittance (11/14/08 Friday)

Julie has the books. I told her at the desk I had brought them back. "Oh," she said. She seemed surprised. "Did you finish them?" "Oh, no. Only five," I said, looking her in the eye. "I thought I'd had them long enough. I don't really like keeping other peoples' stuff too long." "Well, you"--and here a patron interposed. When it was quiet again I hoped that she would finish her thought, but I didn't ask her to , and she didn't offer. At the end of the night I handed her her books, still in the "pretty gift bag", which was now looking worn at the edges. She said, "Thank you," and I said, "Sure." By the time I'd gotten home I'd wished I'd told her the letter was there. Not that there was any danger of her not finding it, but because I felt I'd lied about why I was returning the books. I try to tell myself that I covered that in the letter, but I don't feel much better about it. Today being a day off, I wonder if she's taken the books in. It wasn't raining last night at closing, and today's rain has been weak and scattered. I've just created something else to torture myself over.

But perhaps there are distractions. I finished the book this morning. I can only hope an inter-library loan came in for me today, though, if not, I might be just lame enough to pick up that Reginald Hill book. (I said this letting-go wouldn't be easy. You don't think I've peeled her picture from my fender, do you?) But I have a little something going on on eharmony, too--a "guided conversation" with the only match that has, so far, interested me. We're just at the first stage, answering five multipl-choice questions chosen from twenty or so. I started by sending her mine Monday; she responded today and asked hers. We'll see. Her profile made her seem genuine and open and capable of original expression. For me, that's a good start. Now, if she were only named Julie and were three inches shorter.... I know--pathetic.

Yet there is a small sense of closure. It is not well-defined--I can't even pin a feeling on it. I still feel an attachment, but it is maybe more to my feelings than to Julie--as it probably ever was. I feel foolish, and admitting that I put way too many eggs in such a frail emotional basket will help me come to terms with the shame I feel of myself. I can't deny I expected more than I had any right to or that for all the "signs" I might accuse Julie of missing I saw just as many that didn't exist. I suppose getting over this, like many another thing, is a matter of making peace with one's pride. Not easy, with a pride like this one's. What else keeps me clinging is the uncertainty of the road ahead. I have to admit my desperation, but maybe that begs another admittance: that I'm just not emotionally ready for a relationship. But, if that's so, I'll never be ready. How much closer to letting go of Julie will I be once I've embraced that admittance? Looks to me as if that admittance lets go of hope altogether, for anything. If only I could just not care, I could cope.

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