10/24/06 I loved her. Yes, perhaps “more” than she loved me. But I also emotionally abused her. Not intentionally, of course, oh no, never intentionally. But nevertheless. There it was--I simpered and bled every time she talked to another guy (perhaps because I couldn’t face the fact that I secretly loved it?), and then poured on the sugar as soon as I twisted her arm into being alone with me again. Well, lesson learned. At what cost? Nothing that killed me. Something that both I and everyone in my life since then can benefit from.... There. That’s good. You suck. I miss. Thinking about whatever I want, or nothing, without feeling guilty or rushed. Smoking. Smoking. Smoking. Walking along, by weeds and graffiti, ambling along, walking the dog down in the weeds by the river in the old ghetto nature preserve down below the rusty old neighborhood falling apart up above me, tumbling down towards the river. Feeling the textures, taking the time, having the time to feel the textures of the crumbling of society. Concrete amalgam asphalt rebar and toxic mud, just trudging along, no cause for alarm, it’s all falling apart and who cares? Get tired, go home, sit at the old bent broken yellow crippled table top, and smoke. Smoke. Smoke. What else do I miss? Anonymity? The feeling that I slipped into and out of existence, no fees, no accountability. That was sometimes a horrible feeling, when it surfaced, when I suddenly wanted something specificity, or legitimacy, could buy. But other times, most times, it was snug as a blanket on a laughingly fall day. I guess I have to go do some work now. I know: Waaah, fuckin waah. I feel as if I’m riding on a spiral arm: I’m inches away, hyperdimensionally, from my old life. I’m literally sitting in a cafe on the Riverwest/East Side nexus, typing away. I could go outside and be down in the river in next to nothing flat. But I still wouldn’t BE there, would I? It still wouldn’t be the same ME down there, making footprints in the sludge, even if I could bring myself to fuck-it-all and pretend it was. Travelling along the spiral, I’m light-years away from that stinkin’ river. And that’s okay. I don’t really want to step across the gap and go BACK. But.... But.... But. (Well, maybe I’d step back across just long enough to get seduced by the spitty image of a honey-dripping self-made succubus named Si, despite all my enlightenment and wry remorse, now wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t I?)