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Saturday, December 13, 2014

ma ei saa aru

i want to know so many things. what you did to "work on" things, and which things, and what was wrong with them.. i want to know what makes you happy now, and what you're reading, and if it's any good. i want to know if work is much different in the holiday season, and what you were busy with the past few days.

but more than that, i want you to want to tell me. and it's hard to just accept that that desire is gone somewhere, somehow. it was so strong, and the smallest things gave me so much happiness, little conversations, sunset pictures, "come here"s, angry faces, recordings, even broken phone calls.

i want to know where the old you went, and why she left, and how it's possible that you can think of me daily, but not want to talk to me. i want to know whether any of the closeness we had was of any real substance; and, if it was, then how did it just evaporate like it was only a dream? i want to understand why our friendship is no longer important to you.

but more than that, i want you to actually be my friend. thinking of someone, even positively, doesn't make a friendship. despite finally having a 'good' conversation again, i still don't really know what you want. or why you want it.

you spoke to me first (i mean in the very beginning). and whenever i stopped talking, you re-kindled our conversation, even if years had passed. when you messaged me in 2012, you had to do so twice to get a real response from me, but you kept talking. i lacked anything good; my whole inner world was dark, and you still wanted a peek inside.

you broke through my apathy and exhaustion, and tangled your thoughts and feelings with mine, and the tangle grew dense and bright and started giving off its own heat, and i was enlivened, and i don't understand how that can all vanish so suddenly.

i don't understand how you can be okay with this happening to me, as if we never exchanged more than a few comments on each other's blogs. as if we never changed each other's lives.

and i don't know how to accept the way things are, without you

Wednesday, December 10, 2014


i've been thinking about the whole story, start to finish. seems like unexplained disappearances are part of a pattern, and i'm starting to put other pieces together, also... and i'm realizing what a horrible combination this is: my lust for understanding, and your lack of interest in explanations (even for your own sake).

"why?" - "because that's how things are."

it isn't actually an answer... or, if it is, then it's an obfuscation of "i don't know and i'm not willing to do what it would take to figure it out, if it's even possible to figure it out."

i don't see this changing any time soon, so (and now i'm taking the derivative, which is great because it means my own advice isn't completely useless) even if i were to find a few answers in the here and now, there would be more mysteries to come. there would be more inexplicable, painful situations. i suspect there always will be. (and, perhaps he is the only one who doesn't have to deal with those from you... if so, then he is even more fortunate than i'd thought, which is saying something.)

anyway: my point is that i have a decision to make. if you deign to come back around eventually, my response (as per default) will be to cry like a little girl and rejoice, and take whatever i can get in the way of friendship. but, if that does happen, i want it to be different this time: i want to go into it with my eyes open.

strong friendships need commitment like any other kind of relationship does. without it, yeah, it can still be fun or whatever... but it'll buckle under pressure. so, this is the choice i have to make: am i willing to tie myself to someone who skedaddles when things get too difficult? am i ready to deal with that pattern, possibly ad infinitum? or, in the wise words of her eminenceypoo the Lady Frost,
"will damaging yourself be worth it to her, you, or your values, even if shitty circumstances worsen or continue? ... I'm sure you know well enough the difference between sacrifice and allowance for damage or abuse."

and maybe others wouldn't consider this mistreatment. but i have been over and over it, big picture and minute details as well, and i can't find any other way to label it. it's true that i'm especially sensitive to it (because of recent events), but it's also true of me personality-wise: when i do decide to let someone in, especially as close as i let you, it's a really REALLY big deal. i'm basically making you my kryptonite.

in fact i should probably be thankful i'm so far away, because being near you would make these decisions and this distance fifty times as difficult.

~     ~     ~

so yeah, i thought it over, and i have re-realized there are ways to accept the distance without letting the coals cool completely. and that i can be left out in the cold without freezing to death (see "torpid"). there are ways for me to manage the pain and maybe even overcome the arational resentment. there are ways for me to wait for your possible return without bleeding out pointlessly.

and, more to the point of this post: there are ways for me to accept you the way you are. though, i am a little disappointed that loving someone and accepting all of their behaviours are, it turns out, two distinct things, both of which are needed in order for me to be the kind of friend i want to be. it means i have more responsibility than i thought (by my chosen standards i mean). it means i have to move on from what the less compassionate might call a pity party and actually do some hard work. i'm pretty lazy by nature... not sure if i've ever told you that about me, but it's true.

but i'm willing to work hard for the things that matter hard.

if you take in nothing else, hear me clearly here: i cannot claim to love someone (the way i think of that word) whilst in my heart holding them accountable for something they aren't sorry for doing, and don't plan to stop doing. i kind of dislike that; it makes me feel a little sick to realize that i've been somewhat hypocritical. it almost makes me want to believe [again] some of the better things you've said about me, and at the same time, reject them as ludicrous. i don't know. i can't decide.

i will do this dance as many times as i can take it. and apparently i can take it at least once more. so: when you decide what it is you want from me, please make that known to me. you can still have whatever you wish; just ask. it won't matter how hurt i am, i will still want to give you anything you request. that's how kryptonite works, i guess.

oh and in case you feel the need for a fresh start, or in case you don't feel free to approach me by the time you reach this point in the post...

hi, my name is loll välismaalane, and despite recent shit, i really want to be friends. sooo let's do that? no strings attached, no pressure to be or do anything except who and what you already are. no pressure to explain yourself, even. just be you, and let me experience that. that's what i want, and that's what i'll always want, more than understanding, more than lack of pain, more than anything.

(but, a hug would also be nice. longer is better. koos on parem.)

Monday, December 08, 2014

i wish ghosts and monsters weren't real

~     ~     ~

the last few days, it seems like all the progress i've made was ruined. i don't know what started that process, but the birthday video definitely brought it all to the fore, and i've been a complete wreck (internally) since then. that ripping-apart feeling, and at the same time a vacuum suddenly forming in my center. it's a good thing i'm good at hiding what i'm feeling, otherwise someone would've tried to intervene. as in, an intervention.

one good thing came of all the renewed pain: i had an important realization about why you haven't spoken to me in weeks, and one of the reasons you aren't really interested in making any effort. it's because you're waiting. you're waiting to see if maybe i'll just fade into the past and never cross your path again. you're hoping that i won't, because then you won't have to deal with anything.

i'm also realizing what a huge difference there's always been between you and me, and the way we've approached our friendship. you were always in it for the way i made you feel. i was too, but i was in it for selfless reasons as well. case in point: i'm still willing to bend over backwards for you, if it would somehow benefit you, but you don't even want a conversation. here, allow me:

"that's because i don't enjoy talking with you anymore."

right. which means there's no point in you talking with me... and that's the difference between us. i would do anything for you. i think this is one of the best kinds of love there is.

the kind where someone is fond of my memory, but doesn't want to interact with me? that kinds probly needs a new term, like maybe 'pointless torture' or 'lack of closure due to fear' or perhaps 'bullshit.'

anyway, i'm not really here to write to you. i just needed to vent my pain. it hurts... it hurts to be abandoned by someone i love.


i think i would rather go through my divorce again.

on the other side of this coin is the 100% certainty that spending time with you again would be heavenly. in the past... i dunno, maybe 6 years, i was by far the happiest in Tallinn. and in Tallinn, i was by far the happiest in your company. memory like that is not cerebral; it's bone-deep, irrational, irrespective of realizations and blog entries and anger. assuming you don't freeze or feign apathy or go into lockdown, i don't know that i will be able to keep it together when our paths do cross again. and sometimes, when i'm alone, i still wish to be with nobody else but you.

long story short: i'm still fucked. no way to burn the bones, no holy oil, and no reason to expect anything except day after day this exquisite burning / pulling / collapsing / paralyzing whatever. even when i buy those next few plane tickets, and finally see my dreams at the end of the tunnel, i'll still be missing a limb, yet attempting to use it anyway. ghost kidney.

one last note on this topic... i can empathize, to a significant degree, with your side of things. but is there even a point to that anymore? does that even matter to you?

i remember when i used to like hard questions. good times.

hey look what i found while browsing instagram. that text is actually on the wall. don't know how i missed it in person... oh wait yes i do.

Tuesday, December 02, 2014

edges (iii of iii)

partial credit for this post goes to the rain. autumn lasted all through november; we're finally into the 60s F now, somewhat consistently, and the changing weather is wakening the blogger deep w'thin. also i'm grateful for light days at work, even though it costs me $$. maybe it's worth the cost. maybe i should just leave this job for a better one. 

maybe i should finish writing my own story.

~     ~     ~

it was dawn: pink, beryl, and misty. the moon was waxing crescent, one of its favourite forms. it felt like staying up late this day. so, rather than sinking into the sea, it cast a fragment of its presence down to earth, to the shore where the beautiful one-eyed jewelry-crafter lived, in her humble yet cozy cottage. as it drew close, the moon noticed something extra in the sound of the waves. where the waters met the sand, a hollow log rolled fitfully to and fro, bumping musically against an outcropping of rock. scattered nearby were several brightly coloured seashells, any of which would have sold quickly, and for a high price, in the markets where the old woman cried her wares every weekend.

this troubled the moon. the old jewelry-crafter was never away from home long enough to let prizes like these wash in and out with the tide. normally the beach was picked bare, and the lady would need to dive for such treasures. how long had it been? weeks? more? the moon was not the hasty type, but it decided immediately to investigate. of course, she can care for herself, no matter where she is, the moon thought, but it won't hurt to make certain she is well. but, in case she is angry with me for worrying, i will bring her a gift. the moon scooped up two of the finer shells and, as it leaned down close to the sand, was delighted to spot one of the rare coins used by denizens of the world beneath the waves. unbroken, and clean... this is even more rare! it snatched this up as well, and set out along the path through the old growth forest to find its friend.

the moon knew that she had set out seeking the lake which revealed truth. this seemed wise; the moon knew well the value of reflection. but the moon knew also that the lady had been injured by the ring's sharp edges, and that even if she found some way to resolve this, the fox still lurked, in the forest and in dreams. the moon kept watch over her cottage every night, but it could not always help with nightmares. perhaps there will be an opportunity to 'resolve' the fox situation, also. the moon's pale glow briefly pulsed with anger as it considered what scheme the fox might be hatching. what if the lady had already fallen into one of its traps?

the moon glided onward, faster, until the evergreens thinned and the dirt path became cobblestones. the sun was near its zenith when the moon halted, having caught a glimmer of light through the trees, off to the side of the road. it veered away and flew as fast as it could, emerging a few minutes later into a clearing.

the lake was many kilometers across, ringed by hills. though a gentle breeze had accompanied the moon all the way from the cottage, here the air stilled and seemed to be on the verge of speaking. the moon had thought to ask the wind whether it had seen any visitors here at the lake, but now it despaired, for the wind here was frozen, as was the lake.

a web of fog crawled in slow motion over the blue-white surface, heedless of the midday sun. nothing marred the ice, no twigs poked through, no cracks showed. even in this frozen state, it still showed the moon its own face, pockmarked and grinning (despite the moon's current mood). 

and in the center of the lake, frozen just below the surface, was the ring. tiny droplets of blood 'floated' around it, caught as if the lake had gone from liquid to solid in a single moment.

the moon did not see the bandage it had given the lady, so perhaps she was still wearing it. in any case, there seemed nothing more to investigate here, so the moon set back out for the road, its concern growing into fear.

for days the moon searched. when its eyes began to ache from the strain of examining the trail close-up, it ascended to its home in the firmament and beseeched the stars for wisdom, or for some word of the jewelry-crafter. when the sun was sleeping, the moon peeked through the windows of houses in the city. it rifled through the belongings of the merchants in the square and stopped random passers-by to ask where they had purchased the gems they wore. it overturned carts and haystacks, climbed to the tops of church steeples, walked back and forth through cafes and novelty shops, and followed every golden-haired girl it noticed until it could get a good look at her face... even those who walked without a cane or a limp.

it left the city and searched the woods. it flew through every stand of trees, forded every stream and dove into every pond, as the moon knew the woman was fond of swimming. it spoke with every squirrel and hedgehog it encountered, and even attempted a conversation with a swarm of mosquitoes. (they said they would certainly have remembered a girl whose hand was bleeding.)

after a month, the moon returned, desultory and nearly new, to its place above the cottage by the sea, and slept. it was a fitful rest, with dreams of deep wounds and a vulpinal visage that grinned and snapped at the moon as it fled. 

i will wait, thought the moon as it tried to drift away from the nightmares without fully waking. i will keep the light on. a single ray of moonshine streamed in through the window, keeping it fully opened against the occasional gust of wind, and illuminating the tiny bedroom. neither of the woman's pets had been here when the moon returned, and the moon liked to think they had succeeded where it had not.

the moon liked to think many things, and it strove against its worst fears to imagine the best possible outcome. it knew that how it felt mattered, even if its feelings resembled reality not at all. i will hope and wait

~     ~     ~

leagues away, perhaps even worlds away, the fox watched the beautiful old jewelry-crafter sleep. she wore a faint smile, and her arms were tucked underneath her. one hand peeked out a little from under the edge of the blanket, showing faint scars where she had wounded herself what seemed so long ago. 

not all her wounds had healed, but neither were they visible. the fox never marred anyone's skin when it attacked. it knew that the wounds which never showed were always the most damaging.

in the entryway of her new home, the woman's crutch hung on a hook. thick dust had gathered on it... which was good. the fox universally disapproved of crutches.

abruptly the woman woke, grin fading along with her pleasant dream. she tensed when she noticed the fox watching her, but as always, she proceeded to ignore it as she rose to begin her day. this brought the fox the most pleasure of all, for he knew that he would never be forced out of her home.

inhaling deeply through his nostrils, the fox held his breath for a long moment, consuming the tension that radiated from the old woman... then exhaled pure contentment. he had given her the secret of how to remove the ring, and even how to stop the bleeding... but the bite wounds on her soul would remain, partly because the woman could not afford to pay for that secret, but mostly just because the fox enjoyed that pain so much. letting those truly heal would render all his efforts thus far totally useless.

the fox leapt up onto the woman's bed, folded his paws one atop the other, and considered. the woman's story so far was a dramatic one, and many things had been left unresolved. the ring still bled (technically, though it lay in stasis), the woman's pets were nowhere to be found, even with the fox's excellent tracking skills, and the moon still illumined the woman's old home with patience and care. 

but tensions and hidden knowledge and blood flowing forever were sweet to the fox, and even kindness could be appreciated, as long as it was being wasted. therefore the fox adored loose ends, and as long as none challenged him, he would remain happy with the story exactly as it was.

"the end," he said to himself aloud, tongue lolling.