A week later

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, August 26, 2010

I'm not very fond of telling you about my real life. I actually never do, I make complicated metaphors (notice I didn't choose the word complex). But I saw your real life posts and it felt warm in the place where all veins meet. Plus, being the unstable wreck I am, I need to leave evidence of at one time feeling like this.

The last time we saw each other in front of a white board I was fucking tired, I was so sick and disgusted by the green cross. I felt something wasn't right anymore. I also felt sad, for the two people I knew I had, would be gone soon. But then the boats, the booze and the hospital. And at the end, the last dinner (no Judas kiss, I hope). I was numb I didn't want it to hurt.

Then some more sand in the hourglass.

I sold my soul to another cross.
It felt weird. Then awkward. Then it felt right.
The wrongs were righted, this new cross carried with it a new promise, it carried lost forgotten eagerness. I was now able to see how much trapped I felt before.I actually feel like a belong to the place, and that there I can be more that I was. Yes, in so few time. I'd like to say now I'm all better, have a fantastic life and lots of new, interesting and wonderful friends. But this is not the movie I've been dreaming about forever.
It's not a magic cure. I'd like to say the loneliness is gone, but it's not. But along with loneliness comes solitude, my best friend. and worst enemy at times. I've re-met some people, and found a new face to the penguin's mask.
In other words, my world changed. a bit.

And sometimes, when I'm walking the garden corridors I think of something nerdy yet funny and I think "I'm so going to tell them as soon as I see..." then I remember. It's sad and funny and it makes a crooked smile in my lips.

Maybe I shouldn't say this. Maybe it's not for the best. But fuck it, I'm not one of those self sacrificed characters.

I dislike it when they ask me if I'm fine, since I'm all alone now. It has happened more times than I expected. It doesn't really surprise me, but I dislike to be seen as the hurt dear in the middle of the road. And I'll be brutally honest, I say "No, not that much, we still talk and all" it breaks me a little saying it each time. But, actually it has some truth, I don't feel sad. I don't feel sad about the new adventures, and tales, and experiences you have.

What I'm said is that we won't meet next Saturday for coffee and talk all about it. It's not actually the being apart that hurts, because I know you'll be there. It is knowing you're having all these new stories to tell, all these new emotions. All this new life. And I'm not there. That is what breaks me.

Right now I'm not nostalgic about anything, I think.

But even the I miss long chats at the car at night. I miss sitting in the living room talking about nothing. I miss not having to make any kind of effort to fit in. I miss the trips. I miss Cotilla. The indy talk, the trash talk, the pathetic self awareness that caused laugh instead of depression. I miss drinking from a table and dancing to the Spice girls.
And well.
I will confess that was the teenage dream experience.

Lived with all the required angst, with all the expected unmet hopes and all the incomfomity I could think about.

And I'm sure that now that it's over I can paint it and airbrush it in my memory to idealize it. I'm aware of the biased attention of it all. But that's memory, a distorted film seen from the contorted looking glass.

Anyway bon anniv

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