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11:32 p.m. - June 06, 2005
I think I saw Dana for the last time tonight. Towards the end the conversation petered out and before long we exchanged take cares and that was that. We caught up on family and friends, looked at photos, talked about the yearlong interval since we last met in person. I felt foreign, like I was wearing somebody else's clothing, laughing and smiling, striving to maintain my end of the conversation, attempting to pull off some shade of happiness or content, when all I thought about was not that I wish we were together, but that I too could live and be happy, have a network of friends near and far, be excited by tomorrow's unknowns. Her happiness is earnest, it makes her laugh the gorgeous tinkle, her excitement honest.

In return I manufactured lies. Yes, I love the travel. Yes, I'm still writing poetry. Yes, I've finished the bathroom remodel. Yes, I'm thinking about going to the conference in Brazil. It isn't that I wanted to look successful or well-adapted or happy, but I just didn't want to be the same Jason I've always been, wish I could break out some undiscovered part of me - In my spare time I've been skydiving - so that I could honestly say I've changed, too. The reality is that I haven't, or at least not for the better, and perhaps I'm projecting but I sensed she was relieved we've gone our separate ways.

Even so, I hate goodbyes. I hate them so much I keep people a certain distance where goodbyes aren't expected, where I can meander like a holly jolly nobody, where little is expected of me and I expect nothing of others. And lately - a long string of goodbyes, as if I've finally reached the terminus or drop off point except that this time it's not me cutting ties but people moving on. People like Nividian, or Floodtide. And Joel - so quickly that was gone - Twids, Shanni. I thought tonight that there isn't much of me worth hanging onto beyond a certain point: I am, simply, a dud. I did not like thinking this. If a dud, be a dud and be content in sameness, the plodding, the relentless quotidienne of the little things that comprise a life. But I despise my dullness, but not enough to be otherwise, just caught in the swell between hate and revulsion like a beach ball floating away from shore.


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