More reading than writing this long weekend, and more thinking than reading. The thinking and the writing have been about how I treated Julie Thursday. I wrote a letter--an email, to be more accurate. I haven't sent it yet. I'm afraid to. It isn't harsh, but does state my disappointment in both her and Chris not coming to me before seeking a more public audience. I don't let myself off the hook, either, citing my own actions Thursday as childish and immature. But I don't play the victim, and I ask for nothing. I wrote it simply to say my piece. I hope I did that much. I will send it. I have to. It's probably my pride that needs this more than anything. This isn't an apology to Julie, just an explanation--I hesitate to say defense, because I'm always loathe to defend myself. But this missive feels like just that, so that's likely the origin of my reluctance to send it.
I'll likely give Julie the same treatment tomorrow as Thursday. I'll send the email; that and the short concurrent day will temper my behavior somewhat. When or how that will change I can't predict.
It's nearly ten p.m., and I haven't spoken a word since four-thirty yesterday. It's not something I mind in the least. I went back to bed after breakfast, possibly an unprecendented act for me, and slept a few more hours. I'll be late getting to bed, but at least I won't have to talk to anyone while I'm up.
Monday, January 19, 2009
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