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I have to stop. It has to end. This has to be over.

November 29, 2014

Eventually I’m going to have to admit that the reason I keep ending up in shitty situations is because I let it happen.

If I had an ounce of sense, I’d move to Alaska and start over; I once heard that they PAID people to move to Alaska, and I wonder if that’s still true.

Today is clearly not the day that I will stop letting myself wander into shitty situations. No story really ever ends. We just choose, as authors, where to end them.

Against my better judgement, I met TLTL for coffee today before work, and mostly, it was fun… right up until we started talking about our relationship, which I suspect I accidentally brought up somehow. Somewhere along the way, it turned into this.

“You’re the one, TLTL, who didn’t want a relationship.”
“But, Twig, I DID.”
“You have a damned odd way of showing it then, you know. ‘Will you be my boyfriend?’ ‘No.’ I’m not sure how I was supposed to interpret that differently.”
“Twig, I told you that your ex still having his things at your place made me uncomfortable. I told you that. I thought that if I said no, it would motivate you to get your ex’s stuff out of the house.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a year later, and his stuff is still at my house, so how’d that work out for you, TLTL?”

We sat, each with a coffee in hand, scowling at one another for a while.

“Look,” I said, “I’m sorry I misunderstood. But you weren’t exactly clear with what you wanted, and after that conversation where you basically dumped me at lunch, you all but ignored me at your next show.” I didn’t say, “And MTIA was there to pick up the pieces.”

“I know. It never meant I loved you any less, though, and I should have told you that even offstage, I’m still performing. I’m still ‘on.’ I should have told you.”
“Yeah, you should have.”

More silence followed for a minute before he said the worst possible thing he possibly could have. “Oh, so since you’ve missed the last several rehearsal’s for the comedy group, you maybe haven’t heard: I’m in next week’s performance.”

In my head, I flipped the table. “Oh, nice!” I said in reality, trying to make my shitting-eating grin as authentic as possible. “I didn’t know!”

Can I please, please, please disappear into a black hole now? Or Alaska. Whatever. They’ re about the same in my estimation.

After coffee, we went our separate ways, and while I drove home, I thought of all the things I didn’t say because I didn’t want to start a fight:
I’m not over you.
I’m not over MTIA.
You’re a drunk.
I know you were sitting outside my house at 2am a couple weeks back.
I love FastCar.

And because I’m just about the biggest dipshit of all time, I proceeded to APOLOGIZE to him via text for not communicating with him better. He apologized in return, but added: I won’t make the same mistakes again.

Here’s the thing, TLTL: You absolutely will make the same mistakes again if given the opportunity. You’ll still be a drunk. I’ll still not ever step into your shoes and see things from your perspective until long after the fact. And I’ll still feel like I’ve been torn away from MTIA, the only person on the planet who’s ever understood how my head works (or doesn’t work, as the case may be).

In thinking all this over in what felt like the longest 15-minute drive ever from coffee date to work, I felt the need to apologize to MTIA again, to tell him, once and for all, everything I never said. I can’t really apologize again. So I’m working on a letter to him, and I don’t know if I’ll send it. It’s long, and reads suspiciously like a suicide note.

I don’t know that I can make it through being in the same room as both of them and also CAB for so many hours. I just don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t think it’s a good idea to have anything to do with either of them, especially when I’m trying to make it work with FastCar, who, amazingly, still doesn’t think I’m incredibly awful person.

It’s time to move on. It’s time to let this good, time to walk away for good.

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