Square Zero (1/29/09 Thursday)

Came a time when, bitter and frustrated, I wondered if I'd ever actually been fascinated with Julie, and I'd all but convinced myself I had not but had, instead, fabricated the infatuation from the whole cloth of hope. I am less convinced now--that is, I believe that much of the fascination was wishful thinking, but that it eventually took on a life of its own. If I was not initially fascinated, I was nonetheless curious. My curiosity asked questions, paid attention. Answers begged more questions. Now, I likely know Julie better than anyone else at the library save Stacey, a yet she's still an utter mystery. Many people there I don't know at all and am indifferent to knowing; others make sure you know more about them than you'd ever care to. But I can't know Julie enough, even now, when there is absolutely no hope of being anything more to her than a co-worker; when I can't stand to hear her voice; when her presence in the same room forces me to peel off a layer or roll up my sleeves to counter the super-heating manic blood flow. I still want to know--about the brother who died, the boyfriend who influenced her to take up horticulture at Tech, the "mess" that she ran from, how she got into music and why she left. And then there's me: Why did she agree (and so readily) to meet me at Stir Crazy and yet was shocked to hear I had feelings for her? What made her afraid of me after that? Why did she not come to me about the picture and the blog? What does she think now that I've told her how I felt about having to continue to work with her, was still writing the blog, and had been offended by her pre-rejection flattery? If I had these answers would I feel any better? She'd still not be attracted to me or care for my attention. Should I have let this go long ago? I don't let things go; that's ignore-ance. I want things resolved. Thank god I don't have an addiction, huh? I don't know how to stop hurting over Chris' betrayal and Julie's reaction. And it's over for them; they can let go. Well, I'm in between those ends they were holding up, and the load isn't any lighter sitting on my back. Ah, but there I go, bearing the cross, playing at martyrdom. Chin up, stiff upper lip, what what! Doesn't work, any more than does time away from Julie. Or ignoring her. Or thinking about her. Or writing about her. I hate being back at this square, still wondering, wishing, hoping, seething.