somebody stop me

I have this terrible itch.  This itch to contact non-date dude again.  To try and talk myself out of seeming crazy.  Is that a bad idea?  I can't tell anymore. I wonder what the general success rate of that argument is.

I can't help but think, if I'd just shut up - if I'd just not made a big deal of what was essentially, two adults meeting at the same table for a hot beverage - then perhaps I wouldn't have spent the bulk of the weekend feeling like a stupid shit.  Seriously, it wasn't a marriage proposal?! Perspective StangeBird!!

I can't help but think.
That's it - I think way too much. And then, when I act on the thinking - it's catastrophic.

I've written up a mock of what I might message him with.  But, I'm being a good girl - I'm letting it settle and seeing if it's a good idea in the morning. I'm convinced it's a good idea.

I'm also already convinced I'll send it.

Sometimes the thinking only works one-way.

things you probably shouldn't write in a cover letter

Dear Sir/Madam,

I'm excited at the opportunity to apply for this position, because I really hate the assholes I work with now.  Plus, the pay is really good here...

I feel that my extensive customer service experience lends me the capabilities to adequately deal with just about any crackpot you can throw my way - aside from exceptionally stupid people.

I'm confident I would be a great addition to your team, but if people piss me off I will want to stab them in the face with my pen - MY pen.  I don't share pens.

When I look ahead five years into the future, I'd like to see myself sipping cocktails poolside with a good book in hand, and a gorgeous man by my side - failing that coming to fruition, I'm probably not going to want to be doing this job, but I sincerely promise I will give you a solid 18 months.

I look forward to hearing from you, mostly because I'd really like to get the fuck out of where I work right now. Thank you for considering me for this position.

Yours faithfully,

StrangeBird xx

heaven is a place on earth where you, tell me all the things you wanna do

Today has been the kind of day that makes me want to wash myself down the drain, along with the bath water. Either that, or disappear my consciousness into the movie "My Girl", or something as equally disturbing and corny.

It was a slow progressing day; quiet and lonely at work - feeling on the outer, I voluntarily left my lunch break 15 minutes early to go sit at my desk - that's how desperate I was.

I felt bad about the way I had responded to John's email yesterday.  He had finally emailed me back after a little over a week, and I'm so damn impatient that I got angry. I told him that as a pen pal - he sucked.  We always joke to one another - but it was my tone.  I felt bad as soon as I had sent it. Today I wrote him a brief message to tell him something I'd neglected to mention yesterday.  He wrote back, ending with a dig about how offensive my "you suck" was.

I have this warped, secret hope in my head that one day he'll wake up and realise he's liked me all along...or that after a while the idea of me will 'grow' on him. Or, that when he wrote back to knock me down those weeks ago, he wasn't being entirely honest for some noble reason.  Which is why, when I spoke to my Mum earlier in the day, and she said there was a hand addressed letter that had arrived for me - my mind immediately went to John. No, I told myself - it can't be.. or could it? It wasn't. God, did I want it to be though.

I know it's a useless race I run - like wishing Santa was a real person, even after your parents tell you he's not.  That silly, magic hope - you never want it to die, but sometimes you wish it would crawl into a dark corner on it's own and leave you to reality.

I can't shake the feeling he's hiding something from me, but then my feelings aren't all that reliable are they?

SB xx

a history in letters

Letter writing has been a subject at the fore of my mind recently.  Last night I started Marieke Hardy's new book "You'll be sorry when I'm dead" (she had me at the title... and with that darling cover illustration of her with a flower in her hair - she is a woman after my own heart!).  She writes about her love of letter writing, and even has samples of some of her work.  It made me realise my affinity with it too.

When I was around eight, my favourite cousins in all the world (actually, probably my favourite little people of all time) moved away - their parents had separated and it was all very dramatic and sudden.  I recall writing many letters, drawing pictures and using more stickers than appropriate.  I missed my cousins terribly, and even though they would have been too young to appreciate the letters, I felt this was a way to stay connected.  Back then, it disappointed me that it would take so long to get to them - even before the age of SMS and email, I had been an impatient young Aries.  I wanted them to know I missed them, I wanted them to feel the love on the page, I wanted them to remember me. Consequently, now we have facebook - I barely hear from the young women.  That's modern technology for you.  No doubting that someone who writes you a letter thinks very highly of you. Where have these days gone?

When I was twelve, I was staying at my good friend Tilly's place, for the weekend.  She had a mega crush on the class hottie (I had worked through my crush for that fella long beforehand, so it was ok) and we decided it would be a great idea to write him a secret love letter.  From recollection, we composed our letter, typing it up on pretty paper, sealing it inside a pretty envelope and planted lipstick kisses on the outside.  We walked the many blocks to the young mans house and daringly dropped it in his letter box!  Oh, the scandal it caused at school on Monday!  People had their suspicions, but I held true to my friend - we denied all involvement - I may have even provided her with an alibi!  Eventually Tilly cracked and owned up, I don't think she ever got the guy - but she did earn some cred for being ballsy enough for the letter act.

I would've been about fifteen when "The Body" - that is, Elle Macpherson came to my home town as part of a huge tourism campaign.  There was a lot of hype about the whole thing, she was paid an ungodly amount of money - everyone went to see, just to catch a glimpse.  At the time, I was semi-disgusted with the fuss, so I wrote a letter/witty account of the day and sent it into the then cult-ish magazine 'Recovery'. It must've been published, because I received an Alanis Morissette album in the post shortly after. WOW!

As a teenager, writing letters in class was a given. Even in the presumed silence of a classroom, you could share a joke, plans, sadness and pain. Think about how thrilling it was - will I get caught... will the recipient giggle uncontrollably? If someone was having a rough day, a simple "are you ok?" on a scrap of paper could change it all.  I wish people would do that in the adult world - leave a subtle sticky note here and there from time to time - imagine finding an handwritten joke under your keyboard, an "I'm sorry", "hang in there", a simple smiley face, or God willing, an "are you ok?" If I get married, and have kids someday - I'll be sure to be the kind of wife and mum to sneak in a secret note from time to time. I don't think there is anything more exciting than receiving a handwritten note that you aren't expecting.

During my final years of high school, I stupidly took geography as a TEE subject.  The teacher we had was appalling on so many levels.  Creepy, sleazy, dim-witted and completely useless when it came to equipping us with any knowledge.  One day, something happened in class that drove me to absolute fury.  During the free period that followed I penned a multi page letter to this horrid teacher - laying out the realities I felt he needed to hear.  I didn't write it with the intention of giving it to him - it was an exercise to preserve sanity on my part - but when I showed it to my good friend to read, somehow this letter got passed around and around; people were applauding me, telling me I should be a lawyer (eeek!) one even took a photocopy to keep for herself because she was so impressed with its contents.  My friends convinced me to give the letter to the teacher - I did.  Nothing ever came of it. No reprimand for me, or the teacher.  It died a quiet death - I suspect because I was a top student and they could hardly punish me for pointing out facts they already knew, but declined to act upon. Phew - that pen sure was mighty - but it didn't shed the blood that I expected it would.

Shortly after finishing high school was around the time I proper dropped my bundle.  There wasn't a name for it - I kind of denied the problems, but it was pretty clear I was going through something.  Home life was really tense and emotional.  I would bite my parents heads off before dissolving into heavy tears; sometimes I could sink into myself for an entire weekend and barely utter a word that wasn't dragged out of me. My Mum isn't the most perceptive lady, she's not really geared to understand emotions or the complexities about how thoughts affect feelings.  It's not a dig on my Mother, she was just never told to think about herself or her internal environment, when I talk about issues like these with her, she goes blank because she simply doesn't get the connection.  Anyway - one day she'd gotten to her wits end with me, and said something like "I don't know what's wrong with you... I don't understand why you are this way".  It cut me deeply that I was affecting confusion on others, let alone myself.  In the clarity of bed time, I wrote my parents a letter - apologising, and tried to explain as best I could, that I just didn't know why I was this way.  I hid the letter in a place I knew my Mum would find it.  When she did, she came to me, she told me I wrote a very good letter. It saved me in that moment.

I would've been about 20 when a bombshell hit.  One of my best friends from high school, someone like me in so many ways - tried to commit suicide.  We had lost our closeness, she moved to the city for university, I stayed behind to sort my shit out - but it hit me like a tonne of bricks.  This news came about from a series of strange emails - a distressing one from her and one from a friend of hers I had never met, who had written to explain what had happened.  Evidently, it wasn't the first time she'd tried it - her life had fallen apart and I hadn't seen it and I couldn't stop it from happening.  I felt so helpless.  I remembered a time I was staying over her house when we were younger, we had made gingerbread men and had a crazy afternoon baking and decorating.  The only way I could think of reaching my friend who had seemingly departed to a place where I couldn't reach her, was to bake her a box of gingerbread men and post it off to her, with a very long letter. I didn't know what to say - but I tried to say 'stick around'. The letter and accompanying cookies were my metaphorical hands reaching out to hold hers. So many hopes went with that letter.

Obviously the most recent earth-shattering letter was 'The John Bomb'.  My express posted little envelope of heart and truth; the ramifications of which have been well documented here.

In my time, I have written letters to loved ones, friends, enemies, myself and even God. Each time they have been a release - a wish to affect change - change in attitude, change in heart, change in understanding - in both myself and others.

God how I wish more people would write what they feel. And I really wish they would write to me...

SB xx

quietly devastated

I sent a very brief email to John today - not expecting much. I just wanted to say goodbye really. Deep down, I wanted him to answer, but I didn't know he would. He did, and I got the heartbreak I expected. He tried to be lovely about it, but he wanted to be honest. He said I am "a good friend" and that's how he "wants it to stay". I guess I knew this would be the response I'd get - but I'd be lying if I said I didn't have some small attachment of hope that it would go the other way. Because he addressed all this via email - I had to read this in public, at work...and somehow keep myself together enough to continue functioning - or at least pretending. It was one of the hardest moments I can recall.

So, electronic heartbreak - its speed is deceptive - you forget that such a mighty blow can be delivered from such an unassuming act of clicking 'send'. Wow. It was so hard to read; but it was never going to be easy was it? I am torn, and saddened beyond imagination. When I think about it too much, a feeling of nausea washes over me - a heavy stone lodges itself in the pit of my stomach as I recall the dream sequences, that will forever more be confined to my imagination. Ouch. That's a lot of images to re-write.

As the day wore on, thoughts of his email cropped up less and less; until home time, when I knew I'd be free of distraction, free to feel it. Except I stifle it still. If I were alone, or in the company of someone who knew what I had done, I would been a mess. But there is no one to share this pain with. Besides, I created it, I should be the one to carry it to it's grave, on my own.

I don't want to give up - on life and love and possibility. I really, really thought he was 'it' and it's just really hard right now to think about finding someone real to fill that void. If I thought he was real, but he wasn't - how hard is it going to be to find the actual real thing?

I'm so scared my destiny is to become a weird cat lady. Do you suppose this is how cat ladies are made? With stories such as these? I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be second, third best - I want to be somebodys first. Where am I going to find them?

I've been warned a couple of times about the amorous nature of the Italian and Greek men - it's not something I would normally seek, and I have my doubts about my ability to be on the receiving end of such affections, however, at this moment I think I could really use the ego boost. Just a little one.

On the inside I am a little girl crying in a heap on the floor, and all I want is for somebody to collect me into their arms, wipe my tears, dust me off, set me on my feet and tell me someday this will be ok, and this feeling will go away.

I wish I had the ability to split myself in two, scoop my sadder half into my arms and tell her it's all going to be ok, eventually. That this will pass. Except I can't do this, and I don't know if I can see 'ok' right now. It all hurts so much.

We've all got stories haven't we, of the ones that got away? I guess it's whether we let the story define and shape us. Right now, the wave of the emotion is sweeping me away.

I look forward to a time, when going to bed, does not mean crying until my eyes burn - when I can hear his name and not flinch; when I can look upon this and say it's actually ok.

SB xx

amongst the crowd a heart will break, and a heart will mend

When this song first came out, I loved it from the moment I heard it's swelling beat - there's something about the snare drum that calls me.  It's a fitting song for today, because today I released my own paper aeroplane.  It's only just hit me, I can't reverse it now. 

The game changer has been set in motion. Gotta say mmmmm....



SB xx

the heart on pandoras sleeve

I've spent much of the past few days writing what is essentially, my first love letter. My very own Dear John letter, of sorts.

There is so much unseen pressure that comes with writing a letter like this. What kind of paper do I use? what colour pen? My handwriting is too messy! Let alone the content. It took a while, but I got it out. It's signed, sealed and destined to be posted Monday morning. I have no idea how long it will take to get to him - it's probably better not knowing. These could be the last days that I am his friend. Even if this letter changes nothing, it will still change everything. You can't go on pretending that someone doesn't have feelings for you - it would taint everything; everything said would be over thought - it would become hard work.

I have no idea how he is going to react. I think I can trust that he will try to be noble, he may even write a considered response. I don't know.  I don't know that I expect anything. From a logical perspective; to me, this letter makes sense - because it lets me release all of these feelings I have kept hidden for so long. It is an idea that scares, but also relieves me, because I know this is the absolute I can do. There will be no more 'if onlys' or 'what ifs' because I will have done all that is within my control. If I get the result I suspect - that is, 'thanks, but no thanks' at least I know for sure, and this should allow me to let go fully. There is only one real risk that terrifies me - if he finds the idea so ridiculous, so embarrassing, disgusting or cringe-worthy that he proclaims it to people I know. That. Would. Destroy. Me.

Initially I was over thinking the letter. How do I lay it out - beginning, middle, end? How do I sign it off - nothing seems appropriate. How much is too much? Eventually, I found my flow.

I told him I like him, I told him a little about why I like him so. I told him how long, and how the letter is difficult for me. I told him that I have no expectations - I let him off the hook. Essentially what my letter says is "I am here, I want you to know I like you - do what you must. I wish you well". Hmmm, maybe I should've gone with that, instead of three handwritten pages.

I figure that this is one of life's rare 'all-or-nothing' moments - I gave it everything.  Sending the letter scares the absolute shit out of me - once committed to ink and sent, I cannot control it any longer. I'm releasing these thoughts and feelings into the world, to be carried on the wind to him. But now, that the deed is done, I think I may sleep peacefully, knowing I gave it all - I'm putting my heart on the line, along with every insecurity I ever had about men and love and John. It's either incredibly brave or beyond stupid. What is it about fortune favouring the brave?

SB xx

Chasing Rainbows

I've been in a pretty bad place the last couple of days. Sometimes things have been so dark, that I didn't know how I was to crawl out into the light again.

I saw John yesterday. Standing near him again, hearing his voice, seeing him - so happy; it made it all that much worse. He hugged me hello, and then he hugged me goodbye - he gives good hugs. Our cheeks touched during that final hug - and then, he was gone. And he'll probably be gone forever now.  There is no need for him to return.

I about bawled my eyes out - and perhaps I would've, had it not been a necessity for me to stay 'together' - given that I was at work.

I'm rethinking writing the Dear John letter - the letter that tells him how I feel - well, a condensed version.  I know that if I do it - it's at great risk - to my pride, my self esteem, to our friendship the way it stands now.  I know it'll probably break it... and I guess when someone tells you they have feelings for you - it changes how you interact with them - it's only natural. And, if it all goes down the way I figure, he's not going to want a bar of me.  No emails, no messages, no facebook, nothing. This would all probably be helpful to me, but it's not something I'm strong enough to enforce myself - if he did it - it would be game over.  Maybe it's what I need.  Maybe this overwhelming sense that I have to spill what fills the awkward silence with us, will give me the release I need.  I know I carry it with me all the time - it's not healthy.  How can I ever consider finding that real someone, when I have these strong feelings hidden away.  They eat at me - I'm quietly breaking.

So, there have been many tears. I'm still not sure about the letter. I want to seek some advice from others. Is writing a letter silly? Will he be horrible and laugh at me? Will he tell my workmates and make a fool of me? Will it be the end? Will it really make me feel better? How is he going to feel - angry, embarrassed, bothered, indifferent? It's scary.

We've had unusually warm weather for this time of year - even the air has been heavy with anticipation.  It rained a little this afternoon - a beautiful sun shower.  There's nothing quite like it - the droplets on the windscreen, illuminated by the sunlight, sparkled like diamonds as they landed on the glass.  As I was driving home I noticed a rainbow, shooting from the top of a house in the distance - changing directions, another rainbow... driving still - yet another.  No real ending, no beginning.  Beauty in it's purest form.  It was a reminder to me, perhaps a sign from above - after rain, comes rainbows - after tears, comes joy.  Maybe I will find the light again, sooner than I think.  Wouldn't it be lovely?  I felt strangely peaceful - driving beneath the pastel curves.  I will get through this.

It's easy to get caught up in everything that's going on; easy to think we have it so hard.  But, it's moments like this afternoon - unplanned, completely natural, that serve to remind, that life is glorious; beauty unexpected - it is truth; immersion in the moments is what really matters. Tears, laughter, pain - all have roles to play.  Maybe we have to play them fully to move through them?

SB xx

Those (other) three little words

I've been communicating with John pretty regularly lately - emails back and forth between us, when we each have the time. I try to be funny and casual, with just a hint of innuendo -a type of literary wink. My friend M, the only one I ever confided in about my feelings for John told me once that men were a bit thick with 'things like these' and that I would have to help John reach a certain understanding. I never really kicked that habit.
I suppose this is because I hold hope that someday it'll all click for him - like a jigsaw completed....slapping palm to forehead, exclaiming "oh THAT's what she meant!?"

We talk about work a fair bit - he's actually been pretty lovely - offering advice and being that understanding ear I don't have elsewhere. He could simply say, don't stress - it'll get better and leave it at that; but what he does is offer strategies. I don't know his motives; I don't know why he opted to message a heap of his facebook friends telling them about the bosses job and encouraging them to look into it - I don't know why he included me in this message. I don't know why he cares to expend energy, thinking about the place he has left behind and trying to influence it from afar. Is he simply trying to help me? Or is he keeping the seat, steady and warm for his someday return - midday soap opera style?

I sent a brief, partly amusing facebook message to him last night, responding to one of his questions. Checking my mail today, I found a reply; a reply which begins with "haha! I miss you StrangeBird..". I miss you? I miss you like a friend? I miss your humour? I miss you like there's no one here like you? I miss you like I miss my dead childhood dog sometimes? I miss you like I am not whole without you?

When I read it I didn't know what to think - I left the computer and found a distraction. I returned some three hours later - logged in - stared at the message for minutes - pondered a response for many minutes more. How could I respond to this? It's the first direct emotional statement he's ever attached to me. He wrote it around midnight - was he delirious or drunk? Did he mean it in the way I wanted him to?

It took me a long time to answer. It was time to take my heart out of my pocket, dust it off and rest it on my sleeve a while. A simple reply:

I miss you too John..

Click.

SB xx

Second me the f**k outta here

My manager is being seconded to another department in a few short weeks...and when I say 'being', what I mean to say is she is choosing to do this. I've had a couple of weeks for the news to soak in. It actually doesn't bother me a great deal. The way I figure it, we'll actually be better off in a lot of ways.

It's starting to get hard on everyone though - suddenly certain people are taking advantage of our poor situation - kicking us while we are down I suppose. I'm trying hard to keep everything together - for the sake of the people around me, but sometimes what I really feel like doing is escaping. What I really feel like doing is talking to someone, John someone.

I broke my silence with John last week - I sat down late at night, writing a 'maybe I'll send this' email. I slept on the issue, and decided the next day that I would send it. By pure chance, he responded that day. He says he has been super busy, he tells me to send him as many emails as I like, he asked me about 'me', he told me he might have to do a quick trip back here, he told me he'd let me know when he was coming, as a catch up is in order. I about melted out of my skin. I miss having him around, I wish he would write more often, and I hope he does want to catch up with me. Emails from him brighten my day like nothing else. I promise myself this time I won't let it get out of hand; this time I will be patient, hopeful and open.

Thing is, I'm not very good at keeping my own promises.

SB xx

Choosing the parrot or the poo

Lessons in extremes tonight: a reminder of important things I already knew, but that I forgot for a while; and then a lesson in the very important things I know, but that I choose to neglect. Bad, bad bird.

I was doing so well, and now I just want to be swallowed into the ground. I did a very silly thing. I relented on my John contact ban. In a moment of weakness, nay, idiocy I posted a ridiculous YouTube clip on his facebook wall. His very public facebook wall... An effing Seinfeld clip of all things. He hates Seinfeld. What the fuck StrangeBird? I am embarrassed for my alter ego; or is that the other way around?! Jesus.

It gets worse, I go the whole hog when I go for personal shame. Not enough that I go the public post, a lame post at that. No, I have to extend the misery...returning three hours later to the scene of the crime to find not a comment, not a pity like; nada-zip-zilch. It shouldn't be a big deal, but it is - because in my mind, he was supposed to see the post, get a laugh, remember how much he missed hearing from me and write back. If I wasn't so occupied being angry at myself for being weak and pathetic, I'd be angry at him for being a stupid, stupid man. I have such a flair for self torture, it's almost an art.

After what we shall from this moment on, call 'The Seinfeld Incident', I took myself to a presentation on 'Sparkling with Confidence - for women'. Some fucking sparkling specimen of a woman I make. Recently I realised I had lost contact with my 'internal' self, and I began to find myself drowning in a sea of my own thoughts. I've been floundering. The talk was interesting and served as a reminder not to let that naughty voice in my head rule me. I think that naughty voice tricked me tonight. Not only did I do something dumb, I also broke a promise to myself, which is the worst betrayal. I know I'll recover...but.

The presenter told a story tonight, about her experience at being at a meditation camp. Every day she would meditate outside, she loved to listen to the tweeting birds - she noticed early on, a lovely sounding parrot, but determined to keep on track she avoided searching for the source of the noise.  Everyday the thought of this parrot brought her joy, until the sixth day when she realised it wasn't a parrot at all - but rather a squeaking toilet door.  She was initially upset with herself for mistaking a toilet door for an exotic bird - the 'parrot' had delivered her joy, but now what she had was the memory of a toilet.  It was at that point she stated that we have a choice in every situation - to choose the parrot, or the poo.  For me, tonight was a steaming Seinfeld shaped poo, tomorrow I will hopefully find a parrot to focus on.

SB xx

DENIED

It's official - I know nothing about men... and seemingly, for once in my life - I should have kept my heart tucked safely away in a forgotten pocket - and not worn it on my sleeve. What a fool.

It's been a roller coaster week - most of which centres around John.  With yesterday being his last day, I worked myself up into a bit of a state (not outwardly) when the time came - but, it was an anticlimax - because he didn't say goodbye - he said he'd come back today and finish up. He came back briefly - got tied up in something and phoned hours later: "oh, by the way - if I don't see you before I go... take care... we'll catch up in emails and what-not". AND WHAT NOT?! What. The. Fuck?

I don't know, it's my own stupid fault for expecting anything more.  Why did I think, after our seemingly growing friendship in open email discussions; sharing interests - why did I think that would mean anything? I feel like such an idiot. The day of his farewell, he sent me a lovely email, picking me up out of my funk and telling me he had faith in me, telling me how vital my role is at work - pushing buttons.  When I replied, I opened up about myself - like I haven't before and I told him I'd be sad seeing him go. Obviously I overstepped the mystical boundaries; revealed too much; scared him away?

I didn't really expect our final goodbye to be fireworks and secret declarations of love in the storeroom - I wished for it, but I didn't really expect it. I thought at least it'd be done in person, maybe a hug? I just feel like a massive idiot. I needed some kind of official closure... this... today, was unhelpful. I'm just speechless.

The more I think about the things that led to today - I just feel so silly. I feel sick with myself. Still, I know that his departure is a positive thing for me.  He will no longer be a distraction.

SB xx

ask no questions, get no lies... write an email, now that's unwise

I wrote an email to my manager before I went away last week.  I paid for it today.

In all my experiences, I don't know why I think a stirring email is going to change the shitness of the world.  It's as if I think my humble string of words, so carefully put together, is going to move people to change - guess what, people don't change - they just get mad.

It wasn't a nice email, I admit. I knew I was pushing it with the contents - and yep, it was not my finest hour.  I'm not proud of it, but I suppose I felt compelled to get something to change.  You know, in all my history of letter writing, it's been in response to things that push me to the brink, or the edge - some place uncomfortable.

The pen is mightier than the sword - the keystroke, even more so.

I'm sorriest of all - that the only thing people take from this, is what an an unhinged person I am.  All they do is feel sorry for the recipient of the email; they forget what pushed a rational person to write such a thing. The poor bastard who signs off at the end.

I learnt some valuable lessons (I mustn't lose the lesson) - namely, when you feel compelled to write an email - just DON'T.

My manager was obviously disappointed in me - but not as half as much as I am disappointed in her.  I realised today, and I know now that it's completely true - that I actually don't matter in the realm of my workplace.  I'm so utterly gutted - to hear the truth, and to damage my reputation in the process.

Damn this fiery Aries mouth of mine. Fuck.

SB xx

D.O.A.

Death On Arrival

(me at work this morning)

Dick On Arrival

(John's demeanour, from the start of the day)

Departure Of Asshole

(John when he left work this afternoon... annnd...

pretty much any time he walked out the door today)

Outlook: awkward

Right, so that little email... don't think it went down so well. So now, I'm feeling shitty, even though I didn't really do anything wrong - I just tried some honesty. Maybe it's not what he wanted to hear; maybe I put pressure where it's not wanted; maybe he disagrees, strongly; or maybe he's just a dick. Whatever, if that is actually how he's going to react - leave now.

I'm sure I should have just left it well alone. Just stupid me, trying to make a difference, trying to be supportive. Who's the dick now?

Suffice to say, I didn't get a reply. I didn't get anything beyond 'hello' and 'goodbye' all day. I got nothing. I almost wish he'd replied in anger - at least then I'd know where I stood for certain.

Something in me drives me to confront him about it - in actual person. I'll take the weekend to think on it and gauge how things go next week.

SB xx

death by email

Uh oh - sent another one of those emails this afternoon - to John no less. We've each been playing a cat and mouse game with words - since before Christmas. I don't get his motivation.

My motivation is that I can't speak to him like this, face-to-face;
My motivation is because I care more than I should.

If he didn't appreciate what I wrote - why wouldn't he just leave it? He's a guy - just ignore and move on - it's not like he hasn't already sold out - so why does he keep pressing me?

He wanted me to 'expand' on what I meant. Oh, I gave him some expansion and a whole lot of frank. If he doesn't get it when he reads that email - he is truly stupid.

Forecast for tomorrow points to one of two distinct possibilities: it'll either be a groundbreaking day or a really awkward one. All money is on the awkward - but, you never know.

SB xx