Beginning Tomorrow Yesterday Past People Me

Saturday, September 12th, 1998... 3:29 am. listening to: the whirr of the hard drive, my own thoughts There are some nights that are simply anticipation, and no consummation. Everything leads up to nothing. A flat, deadened feeling pervades the night, afterward, and you feel the need to talk to someone, anyone who will drag you out of that state. The people who you hope to be about aren't, and you are left with thoughts to keep you company. In the end, it's all anyone has, I suppose. Besides, putting it into words, discussing it, never helps. It only brings it to the fore. I went to Savage after I got home (at 7 pm, no less) and showered, etc. I should never expect anything. The place was dead, but I sat with Jen, and gossiped about boys. I figured, after a time, that he wouldn't show. Ah, but he did, trench coated, and he'd been drinking for some time. He spoke to me and Ryan briefly, before a friend showed up, and they began to talk. He left soon after, on his way to Sanctuary. I said I'd catch up later. I did, and felt odd, standing there in blue velvet among a sea of black and attitude. He talked to some other people for a bit, as I stood against the pool table, trying to figure out exactly what I was doing there. I mean, waiting for him is one thing, waiting for him in Skank is quite another. We left, and walked to the streetcar stop, and as I tried to get the reason he was so wasted out of him, the mood dropped. His already dark eyes became darker, and I was reminded of that first night, when we spoke, and he began telling me the same sorts of things he did at that time. That I just didn't know him, and that was the only reason I didn't hate him. That is was all the things he'd done that made him a terrible person. That one day, I would understand. I say that it's bullshit, but that's just me. Is it just men that feel the need to explain that they believe they are not good enough for anything, and only women explain it through their actions? Anyway; He needed to walk home, and think. He didn't want to be alone, but needed to be. Such a difference from early Friday morning; his smile, and the "I'm happy" from his lips. I was too, at that point. I suppose most people would be. I do not like this. I say this in the present tense because I still don't. Only a few blocks away, I think. Only a few hours away til you can call as well, my dear. Leave it alone. As I did at the stop. With a kiss, and a "Call me tomorrow", I was on the car, and he was down the street. He says I don't know him. I suppose that's true, as hours spent wrapped around a body does not give one a knowledge of someone's mind and soul, but one out of three ain't bad. I know him better than he thinks. I've seen this before; the need, due to past mistakes and problems, to hang oneself repeatedly. To put oneself through some sort of existential torture to prove that one is indeed as bad as was thought or proven. I wrote, waiting for the bus: I have this need to make it all better, to make him believe that he is not the monster that he believes himself to be. All that's past is prologue, and some such nonsense. I wait to see his black clad figure as there is a good chance I will before the bus comes, and want to go to him and ask him to reconsider. I find myself in this situation alot, and have to wonder why. "Get off the cross, honey, 'cause someone needs the wood." - One of Mike's favorite sayings. I wish I hadn't started on that tack til he was here. I keep thinking that if he had been here, being next to me might have made it a bit better. I might have been able to draw it out of him. I know it's for the best, though, I suppose. When someone's messed up, the only way to work it out is by spending time in your own head. But I do know talking helps. I have this feeling I am setting out on another hopeless crusade. I just hate when people waste what they have and who they are because of a past that can't be changed or a lack of confidence. But if I ever, ever hear "I'm not good enough for you" or some version of such again, I'm breaking limbs.