Courting the Muse

http://anilladvisedromance.blogspot.com/

A Conclusion of Sorts

  I've come to understand a lot over these past months.  I've grown accustomed to life without her.  Well, no, not without her.  Anastasia is still has a very large part in my life.  But it's a more distant part, now.  The chasm looms anew, but perhaps we can bridge it once more.  I hope that we can remain good friends.

  I have regrets, sure, but on the whole there are more good memories than bad.  "'Tis better to have loved and lost..."  and all that.  But I'm worn out.  I think I'm done with romance for the time.  Love is, after all, just a chemical reaction.  Just a wonderful, terrible, painfully ecstatic symphony of firing neurons.  It's a sensation both great and small.  It is something I hope I can rekindle some day.  But not now.

  Good night, Alden.  May you dream of what was, and what may be.

  And so, the chapter of my life that inspired this blog seems to come to a close.  There will be future postings, I'm sure.  I will still complain, and angst, and muse.  But this is my formal, loose, conclusion.

  Anastasia, you've driven me to create so much, inspired me to feel, and to allow myself to feel.  You've seen, and continue to see, into the workings of my mind, which often mystify even me.  You've shown me the time of my life.  Thank you.  Thank you.  You'll always have a deep place in my heart.  Thank you.

With all the love that you deserve, that you'll accept, and that I'll give,

Ryan

Happy Birthday

It's not been a particularly bad birthday.  The celebration (as I would like to see it) kicked off with a fantastic improv show at OHD which included many of my closest friends, all of whom I am incredibly proud of for our performance that night.  Following that, we played spectators to a fine, if slightly depressing, fireworks show.  Afterwards, it was off to the Red Arrow for a birthday brinner.  That is, everybody else was off to the Red Arrow, while I ended up two towns over.  Worry not, I did make it to the restaurant, and my friends made use of my screw up to order me a surprise birthday Twinkie, presented along with some quality pens and a strapping notebook, courtesy of Morpheus, and a touching collection of Shakespeare's plays from Anastasia.  I love them all.

            A day of getting shit done, and then off to school on my birthday proper.  And while I received many well wishes and the occasional delicious banana-cookie-muffin, it is at this point that I must introduce a caveat:  while I did not have a particularly bad birthday, I didn't have a particularly great one, either.  That is not to disparage anybody's efforts to make it such; I did have a wonderful time with you all!  But when your teacher hands back tests with the accompanying phrase "I graded these, and my first thought was, 'they're going to hate themselves,'" it doesn't set the tone for a good day.  The period prior, a similar speech.  These should be minor setbacks, I know, but the day just hasn't turned out as I imagined it would.  They tell me I'm an adult, now.  Strange, I don't feel any more prepared to face the world, or even to face myself.  Another year, the same old shit.  But hey, at least you can buy cigs now.  Whoopee.  But the worst part (at least, for me) is that I don't feel much about this at all.  I'm acutely aware that there's a vacant space inside me where an emotion should be.  It's disquieting.  Hopefully, it'll pass.

            Yes.  I acknowledge that this post is extremely self-pitying.  Yes.  I understand that my birthday is not yet through.  Perhaps it'll turn around and prove itself yet.  Who's to say?  But I feel like it's helped, just a little bit, to write this.  Those of you who've read this far, you have my thanks.

Can't Write

I've been sitting in front of my computer screen for almost an hour now, trying to channel what I'm feeling, but the words aren't coming.  Still, I've got to write something.

            It was the first day of the school year today, and it should have been the start of something great.  Instead, I arrived  early in the morning to watch my classmates greet their friends while I lurked on the edge of the group.  Nobody particularly wanted to talk to me, and whenever I tried to start a conversation with someone, they either left or chased me off for one reason or another.  Honestly, though, I doubt many of them knew I was trying to talk to them at all. 

            Anastasia seems to be doing fine.  She's got all of her friends, our friends, and her exchange student from France to keep her company.

            I guess what I'm really getting at is that I feel unnecessary.  Sure, people tolerate having me around, but would it really make a difference to them if I wasn't?  Maybe I'm just a superfluous friend, invited to gatherings as an afterthought, if at all.

            God, even reading that it sounds mental!  I think there's something wrong with me.  Actually, I've thought that for a long time.  It feels like I'm back in middle school, eating lunch on my own or pacing the outskirts of the playground, desperate to get away from all of these people because any one of them could hurt me.  I hated it then, and I despise it now, but already I can feel myself slipping back into the old routine.  I guess it's like riding a bike; just something I've gotten used to.

Pillow Talk

Well it's been about a month now,

Since I had to let you go.

And as for why I wonder

If I'll ever really know.

But I've woken up each morning,

And I've felt something was wrong.

They all say it gets easier,

But I've missed you all along.

But I'm okay, I'll be alright

Is what I tell myself in bed at night.

I lie awake and think of you,

Of what we had, what we could do.

But it's over now, your hearts behind a lock.

I'm the only one who hears this lonely pillow talk.

So I go on with my business

And see you from time to time.

Though more often than you're in my sight,

You are often in my mind.

And every time I'm near you,

There's so much I want to say,

But I never find the words,

And I always seem to fade away.

But I'm okay, I'll be alright

I lie while lying in my bed at night.

I've nightmares, and I've dreams of you,

Of what we had, what we could do.

But it's over now, your hearts behind a lock.

I'm the only one who hears this desperate pillow talk.

Now I'm looking towards the future,

And I'm scared to be alone.

You said you'd never really leave,

But you must care for your own.

I just don't know where we stand know,

What is gone and what's still real.

But there's no way could fight it,

Because it's the way you feel.

But I'm okay, I'll be alright

As I picture us in bed at night.

I cry and smile, remem'bring you,

And what we had, what we could do.

But it's over now, your hearts behind a lock.

I'm the only one who hears this mental pillow talk.

And I've woken up each morning,

And I've felt something was wrong.

They all say it gets easier,

But I've loved you all along.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   A piece I was moved to write last night after the bonfire.  I've included a link here if anybody would care to hear a robot play it:

http://www.noteflight.com/scores/view/73e01d0573d6ed1a467353769474446fb78a9bfb
   You will, however, need a (free) Noteflight account to listen to it.  Your call.

A Shaky, Outstretched Hand

To whom it may concern,

            I am not in the best shape of my life right now.  As you are probably aware, one month ago Anastasia returned home from France, and broke up with me.  This less than happy homecoming left me apoplectically bawling my mind out half way up a mountain.  I was crushed.  I hadn't seen it coming.  Just the opposite; I had expected her to want see me as much as I had wanted to see her.  I think it's understandable that I made this mistake, though; the only contact I had had with her for two weeks was a few brief Facebook messages and the letters she had left behind for me.  These letters were written before she left, and were filled up with music I should listen to, topics to write back about, pictures to draw, and reminders that she loved me.  By my best guess, a few days into the trip the letters started lying to me.  There's one thing that keeps sticking in my mind, something the she said to me before we kissed for the last time:  "Absence makes the heart grow stronger."   Seems like bullshit, now.

            I kept talking to her, though, trying to find out what happened, and what I've determined is this:  There is no one, thing I did wrong (or so she says).  Being away from me for so long just made her realize that she'd rather be on her own.  All physical attraction to me died in France, as well.  There is no chance of our getting back together.  And now I'm faced with a conundrum:  What do I, a person battling with self-hatred, do with the knowledge that the only person who ever seemed to really loved me doesn't find me worth it anymore?  And I suppose that's where you all come in.

            You see, I need help.  And looking for that help, I've done what I've done in the past: gone to Anastasia.  That's not working anymore.  I sense that she's getting tired of it, and she's told me to go open up to other people.  It's good advice, and I would have done it sooner, if not for the sad fact that I am terrified of all of you.  I am gripped by an absolute paranoia that if I say one thing to hint at my perilous mental state, you'll all pack up and leave me alone in my mire.  I'm really hoping that that's not the case here.  Assuming that some of you are intending to stay, you should probably know how I'm feeling if you're going to help.

            I was fucking miserable at first, but I've slowly been able to compartmentalize my feelings, like I did back when I was that socially ostracized, loner kid who was acknowledged only to be picked on (maybe the root of the self-hatred?).  Now, I only break down when I think too intensely about all that I've lost.  I love her more than I love myself.  She says this is part of the reason that she broke up with me, that I can't go on like that, but it's clearly not the whole reason, or even the biggest part of it.  I don't understand how time away from me could make her realize that she doesn't like me as much as she thought she did.  This didn't happen to anyone else.  Was I smothering her?  I don't understand...  For the sake of absolute disclosure, I should probably discuss suicide, as well.  I've thought about it, but never actually had the desire to do it.  There are plenty of things stopping me: atheism, genetics, knowing that my great work has not even been conceived yet, Anastasia's pleading with me not to hurt myself on top of that mountain.  But the thought's always been there, hovering in the background, that I could do it.

            And that's the story, in short.  Some of this I've never even told her, but now you all know.  I don't know what I want you to do, and I don't know what I'm ready to do, but if you want to try, well, anything, you know how to reach me.

A Proverb

     Good things come to those who wait.  Very good things.