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.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Through Shit-Smeared Glasses (12/17/08 Wednesday)

What will I see now when I see Julie? I'll see the embodiment of my embarrassment and the object of my delusion. The shame of my immaturity and the disappointment in what Julie turned out to be. A beautiful woman and a long road on which to get away from her. The vestige of attraction will dangle like an obsolete digit. I can cut it off by pretending to dislike her and shunning her, but that's petty and unfair. Atrophy is slow and ugly, though. I want it off. Nothing is going to happen--nothing for the scandalmongers to sink their fangs into, anyway. I have to take the pretense in the other direction. You already know how much I hate that prospect. But there will be no "fun" with pictures--they've all been thrown away and the disc erased, all without ceremony, hesitation or regret. There will be no fun with anything, though if I were allowed to joke with Julie about it, I would. That would certainly minimize the hurt and help me not take it so seriously, because it's not the rejection that's serious. But that's not all that's between us now, and I can't make up for the rest of it. In every practical sense, I'm over Julie. I'm just not over the attraction, and there was never anything practical about that.

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