Zorba the Hutt (zorbathut) wrote,
Zorba the Hutt

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if my life was a movie, it would be named instant replay

because it has the wonderful attribute of replaying scenarios that nearly destroyed me the first time, in technicolor with quadriphonic sound.

see, here, which showed up after my last entry . . . is that referring to me? did she read it and think I shouldn't have said it?

She was a bit distant before going to bed also, after posting that. was she distant because she was sleepy, or stressed, or was she distant because she was angry at me?

if (when) I ask her, what will she tell me?

and will it be accurate?

because I trust her, I do, and she told me that trust was important and I believe her and trust her.

Only I don't trust my trust, because I know my trust is wrong sometimes . . . and she said, assuming she's talking about me, that I probably won't know, but if she knows me at all (and she does) she will know that I will ask and be worried.

and here's the nice little bit that makes it all totally impossible and painful. what if it isn't me. what if she's referring to something else. then she's not angry at me after all, but after reading this, maybe she will be? Maybe she'll dislike me for distrusting her, and maybe the finally-get-to-spend-time-with-her-tomorrow won't happen because of that, and I'll have shot myself in the foot because I was paranoid.

or what if it is me, and she reads this and realizes that I wasn't meaning to be mean? then perhaps it'll all work out and we can be happy together and do things. Or maybe she'll read this and be angry with me for exposing it to the world, and she'll never talk to me again.

Or maybe, in either case, she'll decide I'm asking too much of her . . .

too much of her during a time when she's stressed . . .

and I've been in that situation before. twice.

And here I am, trapped in a neat little paradox, and the first time I was honest and tried to consider her feelings and when she asked I told her what I was feeling and she went to hawaii and broke up with me a week later.

and the second time I held it in and didn't say anything and dealt on my own and spent two weeks unable to trust one of my best friends and found out that I just should have told her and it all would have been great.

So what do I do this time?

(I listen to my heart, and I do what seems right, and I try to make it so that even if it flames out and explodes at least I'll be able to nod sadly and say, once again, I did my best . . . even if I don't know what happened, even if I don't know why, I did my best and tried my hardest, and I just wish I knew what went wrong.)

(and my heart reminds me of the one constant in my life, the god and diety who watches over all, Murphy. and tells me that what I do is wrong. only it doesn't matter what I choose . . . because whatever I choose will be wrong.)

i wish i had an escape.

luna . . . if I hurt you . . . if I insulted you, or said something I shouldn't have . . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Please believe me.
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