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Aug. 16th, 2004
A lot has happened in the last little while since I posted. It's mostly stuff that isn't solid yet, though. There are some things that are real and true: I came home before 8pm, I made myself dinner, I read awhile. None of this has happened in a long time, certainly not so peacefully. Now I'll sleep.
I finished Kazuo Ishiguro's "When We Were Orphans." He also wrote "The Remains of the Day" which was better than, and different than, the movie.
Finishing it has made me sad and nostalgic. How books are all about putting unrealistic expectations away, about dealing with regrets and mistakes in the past and learning to enjoy what little is left of the future -- at least, that's so of the two I've read.
A year ago my hopes were so high. For all my life before that, really, there'd been bad things that happened, guilt, all those sorts of things, but no regret of this magnitude. Nothing had ever passed irrevocably from the realm of hope into impossible fantasy without being replaced by something better and more wonderful.
Now? Many, many of those hopes have done that. Do you know that I still love them? All of them? I still love dad, too, and I suppose I'll come to accept the new losses as I did that one.
Understand, though, that there's never going to be a replacement for sharing my future with any of them. Especially... well, especially all of them, but especially Kynnin. It's a terrible thing that we've hurt each other so badly that we can't trust again, and that we can't give to each other. But for me it's also a terrible thing to lose all those years of familiarity, to lose *knowing* someone like that, even if I never did know him, to lose those millions of memories of being together. It's a terrible thing to lose the building of something together, to think of the future as, not something we're heading towards walking next to each other, but as a mystery in which no one and nothing will be constant.
Constancy and stability in relationships is very important to me. Would you believe I just realised that a day or two ago? It's so important that I don't want, right now, to be in anything that can't give it to me -- not the back-and-forths that Mouse and I had from okay-to-distant (which seems to echo in my roomateship with Tillie, is this normal and just my own inability to have friendships with women? If not, what is it?) and not the alternate nurturing and attacking I get from Kynnin.
Gentle. Steady. Peace. I do have these more than I did before. It's safer. It's more comfortable. But with it comes the regret.
When I was about twelve I realised that there were things I'd never be able to do, because to do them you had to start in childhood. My options keep getting slimmer the older I get, and although I know I'll live only one lifetime and so I don't need a million years' worth of options, I grieve. Especially, I grieve the people. I wish I could only ever add people like Kynnin and Jan and Mouse to my life -- and it's true that it's only been a few weeks, and that many things might yet change. But... if they do, it's still instability.
Oh, well. This is enough rambling. I'm so tired lately, and bed is here, and work is early in the morning. The thing I want to say can't be said, really, just felt when it's quiet out and I think of a big house with dozens of rooms, some lined with books and some with Kynnin's RPGs and some with Mouse's cookbooks and some with the Juggler's tools and some with my rats and my pictures. Love to you all, and peace as well.
I finished Kazuo Ishiguro's "When We Were Orphans." He also wrote "The Remains of the Day" which was better than, and different than, the movie.
Finishing it has made me sad and nostalgic. How books are all about putting unrealistic expectations away, about dealing with regrets and mistakes in the past and learning to enjoy what little is left of the future -- at least, that's so of the two I've read.
A year ago my hopes were so high. For all my life before that, really, there'd been bad things that happened, guilt, all those sorts of things, but no regret of this magnitude. Nothing had ever passed irrevocably from the realm of hope into impossible fantasy without being replaced by something better and more wonderful.
Now? Many, many of those hopes have done that. Do you know that I still love them? All of them? I still love dad, too, and I suppose I'll come to accept the new losses as I did that one.
Understand, though, that there's never going to be a replacement for sharing my future with any of them. Especially... well, especially all of them, but especially Kynnin. It's a terrible thing that we've hurt each other so badly that we can't trust again, and that we can't give to each other. But for me it's also a terrible thing to lose all those years of familiarity, to lose *knowing* someone like that, even if I never did know him, to lose those millions of memories of being together. It's a terrible thing to lose the building of something together, to think of the future as, not something we're heading towards walking next to each other, but as a mystery in which no one and nothing will be constant.
Constancy and stability in relationships is very important to me. Would you believe I just realised that a day or two ago? It's so important that I don't want, right now, to be in anything that can't give it to me -- not the back-and-forths that Mouse and I had from okay-to-distant (which seems to echo in my roomateship with Tillie, is this normal and just my own inability to have friendships with women? If not, what is it?) and not the alternate nurturing and attacking I get from Kynnin.
Gentle. Steady. Peace. I do have these more than I did before. It's safer. It's more comfortable. But with it comes the regret.
When I was about twelve I realised that there were things I'd never be able to do, because to do them you had to start in childhood. My options keep getting slimmer the older I get, and although I know I'll live only one lifetime and so I don't need a million years' worth of options, I grieve. Especially, I grieve the people. I wish I could only ever add people like Kynnin and Jan and Mouse to my life -- and it's true that it's only been a few weeks, and that many things might yet change. But... if they do, it's still instability.
Oh, well. This is enough rambling. I'm so tired lately, and bed is here, and work is early in the morning. The thing I want to say can't be said, really, just felt when it's quiet out and I think of a big house with dozens of rooms, some lined with books and some with Kynnin's RPGs and some with Mouse's cookbooks and some with the Juggler's tools and some with my rats and my pictures. Love to you all, and peace as well.