November 22nd, 2002

wailing wall

But meanwhile the days go drifting away...

"Well, needless to say, that was quite a bit of a shock."

So what the hell does that mean?

So, I guess, more waiting. And more... ?

I have so much I want to write here, but no idea how to condense it properly (and how to obfuscate it sufficiently to appease my deepest fear of revealing my innermost thoughts to the world at large).

I have so much more I want to say. Like... 17 fucking pages wasn't enough?

Like that. Like... you should have seen the first draft. So much to say, and after three days of revision, I was still terribly unhappy with the way it fit together. A fundamental conflict, I guess, between what I wanted to say and what I needed to say. And I'm really not sure which side won.

But that's all water under the bridge, I guess.

So yeah. I delivered the letter on Tuesday. Then on Wednesday (was it really the next day? the intervening time span seems sooooo looooong...) evening. Yesterday evening. I got an email in reply.

"Well, needless to say, that was quite a bit of a shock."

And that has to be the most ambiguous reply she could have given. I have no idea what that means.

Oh well... I'm patient. I can wait. I can wait forever.

(where forever is the six months until I go back to Canada.)

I guess.

Hell. Who am I fooling?

But I'll take this churning gut now over the churning gut of a week ago any day. Now it's out of my hands. Now all I have to do is wait.

Yeah, now it's out of my hands. Now I've done it.

I can't really believe it, on some level. On most levels, even. These last few days have been painted with a heavy shade of unreality. Did I really write that? Did I really say that? Did I actually have the guts to say those things to her? Did I actually go through with it?

And in a letter, of all God-forsaken things? In a 17 page letter?

I'm such a fucking dweeb.

Why did I do it? That's what I've been asking myself. I keep coming back to that and back to that. Why did I actually do it? It's all very good and well to tell yourself that, "Yeah, that's a good idea. You should do that."

It's totally another thing to go out and do it.

But I don't think I could have asked myself this question before having done it. Not honestly. And now... I don't know. Do I have the ability to honestly answer myself?

Am I just getting old? Am I scared? Of getting old and not taking these chances? And if that's the case, does it really matter? I'll admit that despite everything, I feel more alive now than I have in a long time. Dammit, I am alive.

So if the trigger was just my dread of my impending antiquation, well, then, so what? It worked. And it bears little reflection on the underlying sentiment, which is still genuine.

But is that really the reason? Or just a cop-out? Or...?

Regardless... as much as I question the wisdom of what I've done (not that I regret it; not in the least... I'd do it again in a heartbeat), there is still that. I now know that I have the nerve to do it (even be it by way of a letter). Which is something.

Come New Years' Day in another month and my annual ritual of analyzing the past year and whether my life progressed at all or just stayed in a holding pattern... then no matter what else happens; no matter what the final response, I will be able to look back on this and say, "I did that."

And this year will not have been wasted.

Pleasure from small victories.

Ramadhan Kareem, everyone.

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