Sunday, August 26, 2007

"I get that sinking feeling..."

It occurred to me that the wrapping up of our relationship might have gone too easily. After declarations of love and an awkward attempt at moving beyond friendship, it seemed like it should have been more difficult and heart-wrenching to deem our efforts failed. We scraped the remnants of us off our plates and agreed to start again. I should have known that feelings and desires would cling like a stubborn gravy, time having fused them to his heart.

She's nice.

It is not meant as malicious or even disapproving commentary. But as soon as the words leave my mouth I know they will not do, and I get that sinking feeling. His eyes plead with me. Please make me feel like she can replace you they seem to say. I struggle between my conflicting duties as his friend and former love. I could say she's great and perfect for him, but the intensity of our friendship makes my already pale lies virtually transparent.

I would never speak for him, but I think he's suffering silently.

These are the words I should have known I would hear. I turn my plate over and over again in my hands, searching for lingering bits of hope to match his. But I can find none.

Saturday, August 18, 2007

Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

I have a lot of fears.

It was easier when I thought I knew what I wanted to do "when I grew up." It seemed so simple and perfect to move to New York and pursue a career in editing. I had my plans boxed up in this neat little package with perfect edges and a secure latch.

But then it all blew to hell.

Those crisp edges started disintegrating; the latch kept flopping open and my neat little future leaked onto the floor in a muddled mess of confusion.

A friend of mine once said he was impressed with how pulled together I was. He'd be so disappointed if he could see the way I'm falling apart now.

The biggest challenge, I think, is figuring out what I'm most afraid of.
Is it being away from everyone and everything that I know and love?
Is it having a job that bores me and that I only tolerate in hopes of rising in the ranks over the years to finally arrive at interesting job 5 years from now?
Is it a cubicle? A 9-5? White walls and file folders? Business casual? Casual Friday? The word "office"?
Is it that I'll make the wrong decision? About the job? About my location? About my relationships?
Is it that I'll be a disappointment?
Is it failure?
Is it...success?

Here's the secret, dearest diary. Here's the scandalous tidbit that would get me laughed at and mocked.

I just want to be happy.

And nothing else really matters.