MODERNSHAME

i can’t keep pretending that ½ a relationship with you is better than none

Mon, 19 May 2008 17:26:23 -0400

The problem with this email is that almost none of it is true. Not only was I through with him because I was angry about his cheating and disenchanted with him as a lover, but the thought of being his girlfriend actually made my stomach hurt. My friends were begging me to leave him because they thought his emotional abuse would turn physical, and I already had started an affair with someone else. But I thought I wanted to remain friends, so after the big relationship-ending argument (when I told him I didn’t want to be sexually involved anymore), I tried to stroke his ego by sending him this, which was a lame idea. And then – this is the other really stupid part – I tried to ‘recall’ the email in Outlook, but of course that didn’t prevent him from reading it. Later, he told people that what happened was that God helped him to end his friendship with me, the insanity of which has kept me from responding to his subsequent attempts to contact me.

seattle, washington

—-

This is not what I want. I don’t want to act like this and I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to make you feel the way I am making you feel.

And I hate all the discussions that happen because I am trying to explain and justify how I feel, with the myriad details and reasons and logic. How I feel is just how I feel and I am not going to judge it or censor it anymore. Things can’t be any worse than they are right now so I have nothing to lose by telling you exactly how I feel.

I love you and I want to have a life with you and that is not possible and it just makes me crazy. I can’t keep pretending that ½ a relationship with you is better than none.

I was letting it flow by telling myself that sleeping with you once in a while didn’t mean anything, and by not thinking about your other relationship, but when we talked about XXXX- I realized I can’t stand to not be committed and I wanted to talk about that but I was too afraid. So I just want it to be over so I can stop secretly wishing for love and commitment and happily ever after, and trying to make half a truth feel whole. Since I can’t sleep with you anymore and not be exclusive without feeling terrible, I just want our sexual relationship to be over.

Please know that my craziness is my heart completely out of control and I am sorry for that.

I hope you will forgive me my problems and be my friend after we take some time apart and heal the hurts we’ve brought on each other.

i feel a lot of possibility when i'm around you

Sun, 11 May 2008 04:06:15 -0400

it took him two days to write back. i wanted to die during those hours, sure that i’d scared him off and blown it. it did eventually end in a firey mess (of course), but this wasn’t the email that set it off. or maybe it was. maybe it was the beginning of the end.

san diego, california

—-

hi, XXXX

i’m at rebecca’s again, supposed to be working, but it’s come to that point in the day when my mind is wandering and working is no longer seeming such a viable option. some things i would say you in person if you were around right now, i think:

the other day i was talking to brother, and he was telling me that one of the most important aspects of any relationship is the element of possibility. i feel a lot of possibility when i’m around you. i feel like you’re so complex and multi-faceted, and so interesting. and i don’t mean that in some cliche or condescending way. i anticipate the next words to come out of your mouth, each one is like a little key to who you are and what you’re about. like even when you’re talking about scienceand i have no idea what you’re saying, i still want to know what you’re saying, and i’m so appreciative that you’re even trying to explain it to me, and i feel like slowly little parts of my brain that i had given up on are opening up.

i know i’m debbie downer right now, but i have really lighthearted and funny and frivolous aspects to me, and i don’t know that i’ve shared those yet. i feel like we could have some adventures together maybe, figuring out ourselves and each other and other people and life and things. also i don’t know if we’re trying each other on as friends or testing each other out to be more maybe, i really have no idea, and that’s sort of exciting in itself, really. like that awkwardness we have with each other, is that a product of neither of us knowing what’s going on at all, or of us thinking that we know what’s going on and the other doesn’t? or the other does and we don’t? or something totally different? i guess these aren’t things i would say to your face, really. maybe after a bottle of wine. and they probably aren’t things i should be saying at all because they’re sort weird, but at some point i decided i was wanting to be super honest with you, so there you go.

XXXX

i don't know what you want, but it's not me

Sun, 11 May 2008 03:40:00 -0400

i didn’t want to break up over email, but it was like a force that came over me, and i had to do it right then. it felt so final at the time, but really it’s so ambiguous. i called him later and i said i was drunk when i sent it, and having a bad day. he didn’t question it. we are still together. i am still miserable.

seattle, washington

—-

XXXX

i dont think we should see each other for awhile. we obviously want different things. i want to be with someone who wants to be with me and around me, like, actively, and not just open to the idea if i’m willing to come over or something. and i don’t know what you want, but it’s not me. if this is wrong and i totally misunderstood our conversations yesterday, than by all means set me straight. but i don’t think i did.

sweet face

Sun, 11 May 2008 03:33:00 -0400

i know that being overly affectionate can be stifling in a relationship, but i want to be with him all the time. i set a goal that i wouldn’t call him today. and then i had a beer. and texting isn’t calling, right?

no city, no state

—-

when am i going to see your sweet face again

i have a bad habit of falling madly in love

Fri, 09 May 2008 16:48:19 -0400

tallahassee, florida
—-
Dear You,

I purposely took the long way home tonight, just to avoid driving by
your house, even though it would have saved me a good three miles. I
accidentally drove by it earlier tonight, but I pretended I had never
been to the house and didn’t know who lived there. I didn’t even look
at it.

I drove around blasting Dr. Dre, hoping intensely that I was
irritating the people in their homes that were having their romantic
Valentine’s Day dinners. The anger and cavalier attitude about all
things morose in the music fit my mood. I was feeling very numb. Numb
to the biting cold, I wasn’t wearing a coat. Numb to the traffic, I
pretty much just followed the person ahead of me and hoped I was
making the correct maneuvers to get me where I needed to go. Numb to
my crumbling emotions, that were by the minute shutting down more and
more my exhausted core.

It isn’t your fault you don’t feel the way I feel about you. I have a
bad habit of falling madly in love with the very people who would not
have me in a million years. Maybe I do it on purpose. I think you do
it too. Therefore I cannot be angry with you. But right now anger is
the only emotion I’m having that’s actually having an effect on me.

I had to stop at CVS to buy cat food, because there was none at home
and I did not want the cats to in fact eat ME. I pulled into the
parking lot and there was a black Impala with the darkest tinted
windows I had ever seen, and it hesitated for a moment as I got out of
my car, like they were watching me. I literally rolled my eyes at the
car and thought “I’d really like you to try and accost me for any
reason. I have some anger I need to take out on someone.” But they
drove away.

I walked inside and headed directly for the cat food. A couple was
browsing the Valentine’s candy (at 11:30pm, yet one more slap in the
face on this wretch-inducing holiday) and a weird man was browsing the
isle next to mine. He immediately looked up as I walked past, his eyes
got large, and he fumbled with whatever he was holding. He walked over
to my isle and looked at me, eager to say something. I shot him the
dirtiest look I could muster and I thought, “Buddy, if you talk to me
right now you’re going to get an earful. I don’t care what kind of
insightful sagacity you have to impart on me, I will slice you from
your throat to your groin with a letter opener from the stationary
isle.”

I paid for the food and got into the car. My mind had a brief flash of
the black Impala, and I turned to the back seat to make sure one of
its occupants wasn’t waiting for me with a Valentine’s Day gift. I
imagined what I would say had there been such a person behind me, and
after another eye-roll and a long sigh it would have been “Oh just
fucking great. A wonderful end to this day. And what the FUCK do you
want? You do realize that the victim you’ve chosen for robbery or rape
and possibly murder is an overweight hairdresser with $400 in the bank
and a waning fear of death and whatever you have in store for me
tonight would probably be great entertainment compared to how my life
has been going thus-far…”

My imagination is one of the things that keeps me going. Instead of
having to face this drab reality at a constant measure, I am able to
imagine the wonderful things I’ve written about tonight. I’m so glad
that to keep me from growing tired of a lonely, love-lorn life of
solitude, I am able to visit my friends like the rapists who wait in
my back seat for me to belittle their choice of victims, and the weird
men in CVS who probably wouldn’t talk to me if I were their mother. I
just love my mind, it really helps when times are bad.

I don’t blame you for not giving me a chance. I wouldn’t give me a
chance. I wouldn’t let me cut my hair, even. But if you think I’m
going to want to hang out with you all the time and be nice to you
constantly and jeopardize all my fucking time, you can forget it.
Would you want to spend all your free time with the object of your
adoration, if that object only thought of you as much as he thought of
an ACTUAL object, say, a tea kettle. Or a pencil. Maybe even a wire
hanger?

I’m going to get over this. It won’t be easy. Not because of you, but
because I’ve repeated this pattern a hundred times and every time I
think I’m out of it… Every time I think I actually like someone who
might have the slightest chance of feeling the same way about me…
Every time I think I might be on the right track to feeling better
about my life and having someone there to care for me and having
someone to CARE for… It goes nowhere. Straight into the crapper.

Besides, you’re just a poor imitation of your brother, who isn’t
interested in me romantically either, but at least I already knew that.

Sincerely, XXXX

(p.s That’s how I actually spell my name. You couldn’t even get
it right in my REJECTION LETTER.)

eep, you're adorable!

Mon, 05 May 2008 02:48:00 -0400

this was to a guy i had seen around over the course of a year at various shows and around campus. after discovering we had a mutual friend, i took the opportunity to try and get to know him. we had a lot of awkward conversations, mostly over email (my doing), but eventually my social anxiety kept us from ever successfully going on a date. i stood him up at least four times, but the little trooper kept on trucking. i guess it’s for the best.
fredericksburg, virginia
—-
XXXX,
ew, I’m TOTALLY drunk. so this is really embarrassing. i think i’d be spilling embarassing secrets if i could type straight…long story short…eep, you’re adorable! i’m glad i saw you tonight! are you seeing caribou? sorry i ditched you at whole foods! i’d like to hang out but i’m so awkward. does it help if i tell you i’ve had a rough year?

i rescind this statement

Mon, 05 May 2008 02:48:00 -0400

this is one of my great shameful emails, mostly because it is an emotional outpouring to someone that i didn’t know, and wouldn’t know. XXXX is a writer that a friend and i both became kind of enamored with when we saw him give a reading. portland being the town that it is, i later saw him around and we got coffee.

this writer had a mfa in creative writing and name-dropped russian authors and obscure beat poets and art films and lit movements during our conversation. intellectual snobbery isn’t my bag, but both despite this and because of this, i walked home home feeling like a philistine. i stewed a bit and wrote a long, defensive, expository email to this stranger.

the note is overwritten, which is annoying, and too personal, which is also bothersome, but what shames me most about this email is that i even felt a need to write it. i’m not interested in russian lit and poetry. what of it?
portland, oregon
—-
Hi. Hello. Hey.

I have been eating lavender-laced chocolate and doing spurts of work and thinking about books and writers and writing. You mentioned works by a lot of writers I have never heard of. This had me feeling very un-literary and poorly read, and I have been thinking about why that is.

I have always been wary of the literary scene, personified for me by all those people I knew at university who majored in lit and sucked hard. I read because I seek words that speak to me, move me, break my heart and make it sing, and I always felt that lit classes and discussions of great works muddied that experience. I was never really interested in historical context or the movement to which it belonged; to me reading is very personal. I resented having to listen to pretentious lit students who domineered discussions with speeches peppered with GRE vocab words and literary theories, who spoke lots but said very little. And so I became an anth major (encountering a vanity of a whole different sort), turning my back on the lit department but also on authors and writers that might qualify as “literature” because I associated their works with the masturbatory speeches of obnoxious coeds. Acknowledging this makes me feel very young.

I am slowing realizing what should have been obvious: scoffing at the big names has left me shunning some very good writers. I won’t say important, because I’m not sure that I care about important. But there is even some hypocrisy in that.

Have you seen The Devil Wears Prada? It is a movie, not a film, one outfitted with pretty people and pretty clothes, a Cinderella story with a flash of the self-made woman thrown in. At one point the main character – a very unfashionable girl who gets a gig as the assistant to an Anna Wintour-esque fashion mag editor – says she doesn’t care about high fashion, it’s all so ridiculous and pointless. And the editor looks at her and says that even the sweater that she is wearing, the one she plucked from the sales rack or a thrift store for its color or texture or practicality or whatever, the sweater she chose for totally personal reasons, that sweater– and probably even her subconscious draw to it – exists because however many years ago, the people in that room, the eds of this fashion magazine, plucked a similar style from the samples from an up and coming designer, and the rest is history. I think about this often. Not necessarily with regard to clothes, but with regard to philosophy, to literature, to music. I can feign disinterest in literary history and great writers, but that history percolates throughout my subconscious and the subconscious of writers I love, so that disinterest is pretty juvenile.

I took your list and picked a few poets and short story writers to start with – plus Peeling the Onion and To The Wedding - and put some books on hold at the library. The resulting stack may last me into the winter, but I’m hoping to find at least a few that move me immediately, so I can buy my own copies and mark them up with a number two pencil.

I said that I am unfamiliar with poetry. I rescind this statement. Bob Dylan, Joanna Newsom, Joni Mitchell - these people are my great loves and yet I disregard their words as poetry because they are set to music. Perhaps in the writing community there is something impure about songwriters as poets - I don’t know. Are you familiar with Joanna? If not I’ll burn her for you. The first time I listened to YS, her latest album, it was in San Diego. My brother had seen her in concert and sent me the CD. I listened the first song – it’s like, eight minutes long – in the car while driving to meet a man I was just starting to date, and then I listened to it again. I think I had been nervous about this date; maybe we were still in that nebulous phase. I don’t remember. But I do know that I got to the bar where we were meeting and didn’t want to get out of the car. I had been looking forward to this moment all day, anticipating his face and his smile. Now all I wanted was to stay and listen to Joanna, over and over. I reluctantly got out of the car and tried to snap out of this trance I was in from her music and words and couldn’t, really, so I said, hi, I just listened to this album, and I think it’s going to change my life, and I need a drink and a few minutes of not talking to you. He said he understood, it was cool; I think in reality it was probably the beginning of the end with him, a flash of my crazy flag. I didn’t care and still don’t. Because who is he? Some guy a few thousand miles away with whom I shared several weeks of seemingly deep conversations with. We no longer speak. And she? Well, she’s forever, and she’s tops.

this company wouldn't survive without us

Mon, 05 May 2008 02:47:00 -0400

a week after i sent this email to a coworker, we found out that all communications, personal or otherwise, were being monitored by our bosses. we were both let go.
los angeles, california
—-
Dear XXXX,

I’m starting to think our bosses are the most incapable people I’ve ever seen. If they aren’t gorging in the kitchen, they are drinking in the bar. Don’t worry though, at least we’re here to pick up the slack that they can’t deal with. In fact, I bet this company wouldn’t survive without us. I mean, a high functioning alcoholic is still an alcoholic. Am I right or am I right? Regardless of their terrible judgment in business and personal lives, I’m glad I have you as a co-worker. See you on Monday!

XXXX

it only gets worse every time i see you

Mon, 05 May 2008 02:47:00 -0400

sent to an old boss from when i was an intern. he’s 12 years older and was certainly just taking advantage of a younger more naive me. we “dated” for 2 years. god. what a mess.
los angeles, california
—-
I wanted to thank you again for last night, I had a really good time. And also just give you an update on the trials and tribulations of my quarter-life-crisis-filled girl heart.

I know you told me very early on that you are not interested in any kind of anything relationship-wise and I respect that and appreciate that you were honest with me, but after about 2 years I ought to be honest with you too. I got attached. Pretty early on, and pretty quickly and it only gets worse every time I see you. I really like who you are and I like being around you and I guess that’s about all it takes for me. I’ve done a pretty good job of ignoring it for a while but I don’t know how much longer that will last - just to give you fair warning.

I hope your pitch goes well today. Let me know if you want to celebrate or commiserate the outcome sometime.

has our relationship progressed to xs and os

Mon, 05 May 2008 02:46:00 -0400

having odd flirtations over email at work with famous, married writers whose work you’re editing … great idea, right?
no city, no state
—-
him:
why is YYYY listed as the author before me on my last column?
xox
XXXX

me:
not sure. i didn’t post. we can change. i’m sure it was just a mistake.
has our relationship progressed to xs and os?

him:
you don’t think?

me:
My mother always warned me not to be too affectionate with men I’ve only met on the Internet. But your columns have been particularly good lately, so i suppose I can make an exception.

him:
Got a photo?

thought i'd take a much needed break and google you

Mon, 05 May 2008 02:46:00 -0400

a tragic moment in my career as an almost groupie. luckily i came to my senses about randomly crushing on guys i dont know just because they’ve been in rolling stone and stopped the email exchange before i lost too much self respect.
washington, dc
—-
So I’ve been attempting to edit a paper all day and thought I’d take a much needed break and google you since, although you gave off the impression of being a very dorky and non-sociopathic person last night, I know nothing about you except you like computers, play in a band, and went to school with xxxxx. so far this is what i’ve discovered: 1. some random guy says that your voice makes him want to break eggs (this was meant as a compliment) 2. you like fun dip (according to wikipedia) and well, actually that’s all i know so far. i got distracted looking at pictures of britney spears in hot pants.

ok. i’m going to stop pondering why i’m writing you an email and get back to work.

the end. now leave.

Mon, 05 May 2008 02:45:00 -0400

los angeles, california
—-
i chose to end this relationship in january. i have trust issues, i can’t stop imagining you with another girl, etc. aside from many other reasons that we just don’t get along when we’re not in the same place - i’m jealous of your lifestyle, job, social life, etc. I have my own infidelity/self esteem problems. I enjoy the attention of other men and have very little will power to keep myself from falling for any guy who seems even partially interested. For all these reasons, I chose that this was not what I wanted in my life at that point.

In February you came back, very loving, very romantic, very persistant and amazing and I fell into that. I thought it was exactly what I wanted and I knew how completely and passionately I could fall back in love with you and I asked you to promise me no more pain. Maybe it’s the passion, or the low self esteem, or whatever, but a week ago I made a mistake (a mistake I’ve made MANY times - maybe it’s not a mistake, maybe it’s a perminant flaw) and I got jealous and stupid and you realized that you didnt’ want to be apart of it and you left. for a full week. you didn’t talk to me. there was no, “let’s work on this” no, “i’m upset, give me time to think this out”. You just left. And I was hurt. And I don’t want that. Sure, I take FULL blame - it was my fault to begin with - everything is. I don’t care. I accept all of it. But no matter what it is, this relationship is NOT healthy. For either of us. I don’t ever want to cry because of you ever again.
No matter whose fault it is.

The end.

Now leave.

a versatile and talented writer

Mon, 05 May 2008 02:44:00 -0400

i applied for a copywriting job that involved writing commercials and radio spots. the ad said to be creative and stand out, and at 3a, i chose to do so in the most mediocre way possible. i imagine that this is posted in hr at XXXX communications as the worst cover letter ever received. in the morning, when i realized what i’d done, i decided that i would ignore any request for an interview; obviously it would just be to mock me. there wasn’t one.
portland, oregon

—-
INT: XXXX’S BEDROOM
XXXX sits cross-legged on her bed, typing on a laptop.

XXXX (v.o.)
I’m XXXX, and I’m a versatile and talented writer with experience in factual copy, journalism, and creative writing.

INT: XXXX OFFICE
XXXX is sitting in a cubicle, typing away on the same laptop.

XXXX (v.o)
In my current position with XXXX Websites, I infuse all of the company’s marketing materials with XXXX’s distinct voice.

EXT: AMUSMENT PARK
XXXX is sitting on a bench, typing on her laptop, surrounded by smiling happy FAMILIES.

XXXX (v.o.)
When working on our client websites, I adjust my writing style for each client’s need and intended audience. I will create website copy for a vacation house near Disney World that will evoke the magical memories to be made on a family vacation …

INT: SKI LODGE
XXXX is typing on her laptop next to a crackling fire, she is surrounded by SKIERS and REVELERS. Large windows reveal snow-covered slopes. She is oblivious to the skiers, and they are oblivious to her.

XXXX (v.o)
Or craft more sophisticated copy to describe a luxurious Aspen condo that caters to affluent sports enthusiasts …

INT: CONFERENCE ROOM
A BUSINESS WOMAN is giving a presentation to a table full of PEOPLE. XXXX sits at the table near the woman, typing on her laptop.

XXXX (v.o.)
As a research assistant at XXXX, a consumer branding and research company, I distilled our research findings and conclusions into reports that were utilized by client company executives and ad agencies …

INT: XXXX’S APARTMENT
XXXX is sitting at a desk, typing on her computer and referencing a stack of papers.

XXXX (v.o.)
And as a freelance writer, I have written articles and essays for a variety of audiences …

INT: CITY COUNCIL MEETING
XXXX is sitting in the audience at the meeting on her laptop, surrounded by smart-looking COMMUNITY ACTIVISTS

XXXX (v.o.)
Educated liberal thinkers for XXXX …

INT: WHOLE FOODS
XXXX is sitting in the café area of this posh grocery store surrounded by affluent Santa Monica SOCIALITES and BUSINESS TYPES

XXXX (v.o.)
Affluent environmentalists for XXXX Magazine …

INT: UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
XXXX is sharing a table with bunches of HIP COLLEGE STUDENTS. They are all typing on laptops

XXXX (v.o.)
And irreverent college students for the XXXX Weekly.

INT: XXXX’S ROOM
XXXX is sitting cross-legged on her bed, typing on her laptop. She looks up.

XXXX (to camera)
With my variety of writing experiences and my ability to adapt to new situations and challenges, I will make a valuable addition to the XXXX Communications team.

FADE TO BLACK

THE END

we do what we have to do

Mon, 05 May 2008 02:44:00 -0400

los angeles, california
—-
i fucked up tonight. again. i know.

i wish i could explain my jealousy. my self doubt. my insecurity. I take advantage of the idea that you understand and can sympathize with me, but i fear i’m reaching the end of your rope on that compassion. beside my self-assurance that you spend your days thinking of ways to cheat on me, i waste time and energy thinking of ways i can be even with this “you” i envision.

i expect you to leave me.

i still love you.

we do what we have to do.

an email was obvi coming

Mon, 05 May 2008 02:43:00 -0400

i made out with an almost-friend. it was awkward. but not one to give up, i wrote this email, hoping to accomplish … what? this was during the days when i thought saying i was crazy was a free pass for doing crazy things, like sending bad emo emails. false.
san diego, california
—-
word. so an email was obvi coming. i was going to try to play it cool and not write you one for some time but that would have been disingenuous and really what would have been the point. the only reason to try to manipulate one’s own instincts and natural behaviors is to try to create some false version of yourself to market to another, and i think we’ve established there’s no point in that, esp since my shoddily crafted version of me that i’ve presented thus far is apparently maybe even more unappealing than the real deal?

so: email for you. i would have said “crazy email” except i’m going to experiment with not calling myself crazy for awhile and see how things go. i think i’ve been using it as a scapegoat of sorts, an excuse for acting in a manner i deem socially unacceptable ( i.e., being genuine, not manipulating instincts and natural behaviors, etc.). this logic (illogic?) is all very circular. i think new approach is: no approach. or, maybe to stop trying to editorialize myself. or something.

how was your appt? i have an appt on thursday with an md. he’s young and blond and i don’t think will take any bullshit, which is good. i think therapy is cool and i like to talk about it. it’s such a bizarre dynamic, and super interesting. but if that’s like your special secret time and you want me to buttt the eff out, i understand. i mean not really, but i respect it.

i bought a hat this wkend and i’m wearing it now and it’s awesome. i feel like i’m hiding behind it a little bit, but less in the way that ray lamontagne was trying to hide behind his hair and more like, i’m shielding myself from other people for their own protection, bc i’m feeling sort of feisty and don’t want to belittle bitches with my words, step away and all will be fine. or something. i went to the grocery store a bit ago to get food for the office and felt sort of badass. i’m not sure why i said you were acting like you were scared of me this a.m.; mostly i think i was scared of you. life is funny, and so are people. i have no more insights at this time.

ps i feel like i was sort of critical of you for not reading xxx’s letter? didn’t intend to be. just in a small state of not understanding. i devour things people write and say trying to get insights into who they are—couldn’t imagine sitting on a potentially bombastic letter. share. hm i just looked up bombastic and it doesn’t work in this context, really, but for some reason i just really feel like it should, so i’m going to leave it.

i don't know if we're really friends

Mon, 05 May 2008 02:43:00 -0400

a boy and i stopped seeing each other due to mostly mutual non-attraction. i wanted to be friends, badly i’d say, by the earnestness of this email. shudder, shudder. part of me wants to write him an email saying, uh, remember me, sorry i was sort of a nut, but …. no.
san diego, california
—-
mornin xxxx,
kajsdkfljskdljjsladkjflaskjdfkl blahhhhhhhhhhhh.
i was going to craft and compose an email teeming with articulate and well-thought out thoughts, but, i’ve changed my mind. i will say this. last night xxxx had her baby and i was there with her and watched her baby get born and it was at once very cool and very gross and i wanted to talk to you about it but i had a feeling that that was somehow not within the parameters of our relationship, me calling you in the middle of the night to talk about life, and basically i don’t know if we’re really friends. part of me wants to talk to you and figure this out and part of me wants to do anything but that, and just let what happens happen, even if that means we speak with ever decreasing frequency until contact teeters out altogether, as seems depressingly inevitable.

i’m not sure how you’re supposed to respond to that.

might be contingent on that small detail

Mon, 05 May 2008 02:42:00 -0400

retrospectively, two weeks of ambiguous friend-dates might have been a little early for this onslaught of affection …
san diego, california
—-
xxxx,
hi. im wearing your tshirt and your deodorant. i smell like you. it’s nice. are you planning to be back in town for new years? i want to buy my tkt today and return date might be contingent on that small detail. telll meeee.
xxxx