@ dinner with a friend tonight. She told me she’d been seeing my old crush for over a year now. It’s not serious because he’s incapable. They just ‘enjoy each other’s company when they’re in the same city.’ But I miss enjoy his company in a non-innuendo way. And I’m sad he wouldn’t be my friend when camp was over. And it was hurtful because he didn’t value me anymore. I made plans to see her next weekend. He’ll be visiting her. I probably won’t see him. But would I want to? I am still so angry. Ugh.

sometimes i have to remember that it’s not my fault that i’m hung up on some idiot dude. sometimes i remember how fucked my perception of myself is and how disgusting i’ve been taught i am and how deeply those thoughts are imbedded. so when some idiot dude comes along and soothes some of that pain… no matter what other, different pains he may cause… of course i succumb.

and i often forget those painful roots of self-loathing exist because i’ve dug up most of the flowers and cut off the leaves…. but the roots, they lurk and they’re powerful and they make me susceptible and none of that is my fault.

and sometimes i just need to cry and cry and cry about it.

what do i write about this past weekend?

do i write about how it was not as good as last year?

that i enjoyed my company more last year but the music more this year? and then write my thoughts out as i try to figure out which is more important in a music festival…

do i admit that i cried watching santigold? i was so damn close and she looked me in the eyes a few times and i just worshiped her with my dancing and screaming.

what about lp? how much i am smitten? how i want to follow her on tour from show to show just basking in her voice every night.

the jezabels? i had no idea what to expect from their performance but hayley mary moved so strangely and magnificently and i was captivated.

what about discovering passion pit and m83 beyond the one song each i’d known?

and then there is all the stuff about seeing a.b.  about last year this being the weekend i fell in love. about how he is not the kind of person i want to be surrounding myself with. about how that doesn’t matter when i see him and he touches me and i’m gone. about how i tried to be cool. about how that means there are things unsaid. about how his friends are dicks. about how emma was hating on me and i don’t know why. how i secretly hope it’s because a.b.’s in love with me and i’m breaking her friend’s heart.

should i write my observations of shitty 21yr old white cis hetero boys who try to one up each other with constant streams of banal truisms for 14 hour car rides.? about how glad i am i have so few in my life?

why waste my time saying i’ve decided i like shitty tom? he’s fun. he’s a good time. i would just never trust him. especially not when others’ feelings should be taken into consideration. and his name is shitty tom not fun tom even though fun tom is kind of shitty so….

i want to remember the time i spent with whalesy. i want to remember us supporting each other. in general with minor heartbreaks and specifically with her being particularly amazing during my crankiest moments.

i could write how i know now to always bring my own weed to music festivals. self-reliance is key.

touch on how fucking killer my outfits were.

remember how great my dad can be.. (and my mum but i don’t often forget with her) when he shows his love with hospitality and food for me and companions (and check-ins) and how warm that love is and valuable in its own way.

don’t forget how i ran into plant! but alas no skeet. i did see (fun) tom! and he called me maggie and i felt special and it was a good remedy for a.b. i saw casey and dave. i saw graeme and ally and had thoughts about how last summer was all so different…

the last-summer-memories this weekend brought back? my youth was officially not wasted. when christina offered me the job she later denied me and we loved on each other through tears. straight gin yo in the hand sanis. balling through the hip with a different boy on my mind (bonner.) guarding sleep and falling in love (mentioned twice). breakfast and shopping with jojo. no air conditioning in our suit. seeing fraser (wishing i could this year). a.b.’s sexy plans and how i beat him to them. and a million little moments…

but this year my hair was purple and my lips were bright and my shirts were sheer.

and pizza cones.

when you are still thinking about things that could have but didn’t - and running through why and wondering what he thought and what would have happened if and what he is thinking now and why couldn’t you just and is that really what was going on and yelling at past self ‘look up! look into his eyes!’ and being grateful that past self didn’t know enough to look up, look into his eyes and being grateful that past self knew just enough to not look up and into his eyes in that one, small moment…

that one impossible moment 10 months ago.

“Regret” by Troy Jollimore

vladislava:

I’d like to take back my not saying to you
those things that, out of politeness, or caution,
I kept to myself. And, if I may —
though this might perhaps stretch the rules —I’d like
to take back your not saying some of the things
that you never said, like “I love you” and “Won’t you
come home with me,” or telling me, which
you in fact never did, perhaps in the newly
refurbished café at the Vancouver Art
Gallery as fresh drops of the downpour from which
we’d sought shelter glinted in your hair like jewels,
or windshields of cars as seen from a plane
that has just taken off or is just coming in
for a landing, when the sun is at just the right angle,
that try as you might, you could not imagine
a life without me. The passionate spark
that would have flared up in your eye as you said this —
if you had said this —I dream of it often.
I won’t take those back, those dreams, though I would,
if I could, take back your not kissing me, openly,
extravagantly, not caring who saw,
or those looks of anonymous animal longing
you’d throw everyone else in the room. I’d like
to retract my retracting, just before I grabbed you,
my grabbing you on the steps of the New York
Public Library (our failure to visit
which I would also like to recall)
and shouting for all to hear, “You, you
and only you!” Yes, I’d like to take back
my not frightening the pigeons that day with my wild
protestations of uncontrolled love, my not scaring
them off into orbit, frantic and mad,
even as I now sit alone, frantic and mad,
racing to unread the book of our love
before you can finish unwriting it.

i can’t even handle this right now. 

you know how infatuation can be so wonderful? and how it can be so not.