Of Sense and Sensation

I’m watching the episode of That 70’s Show where Kelso finds out that Hyde and Jackie are dating, and it’s pissing me off.  (Which is surprising because usually Donna’s the one that annoys me).

The episode basically is the culmination of a three sequence love triangle:

1. Jackie proposes and Kelso refuses
2. Kelso leaves and Jackie starts to date Hyde
3. Hyde and Kelso are best friends until Kelso finds out about Jackie and Hyde’s relationship

What should happen at this point is Kelso and Hyde’s relationship becomes irreparably damaged and Kelso hates Hyde for the rest of his life.  But no, they work it out and continue dicking around together in the basement smoking pot.

But what pisses me off is when Jackie tells Kelso that she’s not going to apologize, and I hate it because she’s fucking right.  I wish that I had done that.

I wish I didn’t apologize to you.  You hurt me so much, and you’ve hurt her too.  You didn’t mean too, but you did and you’re the most selfish bitch I know for hating her.

But you apologized to me every time you hurt me, and you hurt me a thousand times. Every text, call, email, date, kiss, and fuck you hurt me and I let you. And you didn’t mean to then either, you were figuring yourself out and I knew that.  It wasn’t your fault; I chose to stay and I chose to watch all of it - every goddamn guy.  I loved you, and I was doing it for myself.  You shouldn’t have apologized.

But I hope she hasn’t apologized to you.  You would’ve done the same thing as her. 

We’re all selfish. Fuck you for saying you were hurt the most.

(Originally written after the first breakup)

Part 1.

It’s difficult to determine where exactly to begin.  Was there any precise moment where I knew that you were special, that you were so uniquely singular? Of course, but does that necessarily mean that our story begins there?  If the future is unpredictable, does that absolutely ensure that the past is known in whole? 

I don’t want to risk erasing any possible past instance that might bring forth even the smallest amount of much needed clarity.  So I will start from the very beginning, before our relationship had even formed as a vague possibility in our subconscious, before I even met you, before anything, really. 

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I don’t know when this will resolve itself, but it will in one of two ways.  Things will stay as they are now, or they will change; that’s obvious to the point where it almost isn’t worth mentioning.  But it’s important to note. 

It matters because it serves as a reminder that things in life are rarely constant.  The universe is divided into the infinite and the finite, two opposite systems that interact with one another but remain separate.  Infinity is constant, zero is constant, time is constant.  Anything else is limited and will change or end.

But how do we define “infinity” and “zero”?  Is the life of the soul “infinite”?  Is death “zero”?  And at what end do we place “God”?  In what system do we place “love”?

I don’t know how things will end up, and I don’t know where to begin.  So I’ll let myself from two years ago start this from the beginning, and we’ll go from there.

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I feel like I’m trapped within an image of myself. I don’t think it’s a unique feeling, but I feel like I’m in a volatile and conflicting state.  It’s an uncomfortable sense of myself that I can’t particularly describe, and the feeling is elusive yet paradoxically restraining.

I think everyone has certain expectations of themselves, and these go hand in hand with specific self-perceptions.  If expectation is one’s imagining of the future, then the way a man views himself could be considered an assessment of the present, or, perhaps more accurately, the past.  But what’s more influential? The future, present, or past?

I feel like I’m snared beneath the things I’ve done, and I feel like it’s because these are the only real things.  To me, it seems like the future is only what could or what might happen, while the past is something that already exists and will always exist.  And so it feels that much heavier in the present, it feels as if the past weighs down the things that are happening.

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I don’t know why I always come back to this. 

I’ve tried to write this all out a couple times before, not a thousand times, but twice.  The first time I stopped almost as soon as I started.  I thought it was too soon, I didn’t think anything was over yet, and I felt that remembering something was an activity reserved for the past.  I didn’t want to remember something that wasn’t yet the past.  You were still very much a part of me, you were still the focus of my life, and these were still the days when I felt that you were the other half of my soul.  The second time I tried to write everything down was after the last breakup.  You told me that you needed to be by yourself, and so I left you alone.  But I couldn’t do that then, and inevitably I sought you (and yes, that admittedly sounds/is creepy/concerning). 

When you slept with Will (and I’m sorry because I know how much it hurts you when I say it), somehow I knew before you told me.  And it was the same a year later when I learned about you and him.  Except it hurt, and this time I couldn’t do anything.  The second time I stopped writing because I couldn’t (and even now I can’t bring myself to write his name).

It confirmed within me that I wasn’t enough, and even more it told me that I wasn’t worth protecting.

The second time I knew you loved him, and I knew you loved him more. 

I think it might be nice to use this blog as more of a running journal.  I say journal and not diary because diary makes me think of Anne Frank, and the Holocaust is sad.