5:01 p.m. - August 15, 2003
Turn off the lights and turn in the key; it's time to say Salve
Turned in my keys and said goodbye to Marti and everybody else and there are no more ties between me and Washington, D.C. It's time to go home and now I'm packing and wondering where half my socks are hiding. Spec's sitting across from me, rolling his eyes at my journal-making but being nice and I throw up my hands because I just can't figure him out and his ups and downs aren't going to become my ups and downs, period. If I'm not his ideal, fine - move on. If he loves me despite my not being his ideal, then love me and don't punish me for not being the ideal or for whatever other reason/s run though his head. Quite a mini-lecture and we hugged and made up and once again, all is good. For now, that's the pattern. I need to believe I can do better before I can, isn't that how it goes?
Had someone told me I'd find myself bouncing here and there between logic and a sometimes-abusive boyfriend, I would have laughed and referred them elsewhere but the truth is that despite what I know in my head, all resolve disappears when he cries or says he's sorry and pledges to be different. And something deep down doesn't want him to go away so I do what he wants, push him away yet open my arms for his return. Instead of thinking about him, I want to reflect on what it is in me, about me, or because of me that perpetuates this cycle. I mean damn it, I'm a nice guy and I'm tired of crying over him.
Nice guys finish last, especially when they're gay, I think.
So, Lorster, please inform your library friend that this summer I liberated only one (1) book from the University Collections, a substantial improvement over the previous summer. I am a book fiend, I know, and slightly prone to stealing only when I cannot ever be caught, but spots can be removed with enough resolve and cleanser and who knows, perhaps one day I'll will them back to the university. I'll be better next summer, should I return.
OK, time to box up my books and papers.
