Was sitting on the couch, happily writing and listening to the Mumford & Sons album when I was smacked in the back of the head with a lump of 2x4. Obviously not literally, though it would explain the disorientation and the nausea.
As we all know I've been in a funk for a little while, (30 or so days is a little while in the grand scheme of things). Most of the details are unimportant. A misunderstanding that resulted in hurt feelings, and a wall of silence. But I haven't been able to let it go. Given how hard it is for me to care about most things, this is unusual. True, Ms L was the first person I really felt connected to since my Pop died, but still I did not expect the hole that she left to be as large as it was. Or, more accurately, it still is.
My usual strategy of ignoring it isn't working. Keeping busy (with Library Thing, work, reading, gaming, baking) isn't working either. It runs interference, but doesn't make it go away. I did feel a hell of a lot better while I was writing, and have the makings of a reasonable story (if not an overly happy one). How does this relate to feeling concussed? Well, I finally figured out the shape of the hole. The hole is not a friend shaped hole. And while this may not be a shock to anyone else, it was a shock to me. Hence the disorientation.
So what does this mean? Honestly? Not a fucking clue. What I do know is this:
Ms L wants nothing to do with me.
Miss R loves me.
Realisticlly, that should be the end of it. But if that were the case, I shouldn't still be in this funk. Like I said, "Oh fuck."
I think I need a new heart. This one obviously has a masochistic steak a mile wide, and is likely to get me killed.
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