Track Six

I felt the need to write today, more so than I've felt in a long time. I think what got me started was listening to Corinne Bailey Rae. She sings "Put Your Records On," which has been all over the radio. I don't think I've ever listened to an album that better expresses how I've been feeling. Some of that is the timing but even ignoring recent events, the music seems to really speaks to my soul.

Track six is really one of the most appropriate songs to my mood.

There has been a serious disconnect between me and some of my friends that was partially mended by, ironically, my breakup. People who I hadn't talked to in ages suddenly came out of the woodwork and offered me the helping hand that I needed. The holidays really are a time for reconnecting and I plan to use them as such. That being said, if I don't call you, give me a ring. There are far too many people who I owe time to and my brain is not nearly sharp enough to remember you all.

So "Call me when you get this." We'll have a good time. That's a promise.

Anger and Giving Up

I am irrationally angry. I have been for the past five days. I really shouldn't be. School has gone well and I am home early and enjoying seeing all my friends and helping out with the old Speech Team. Despite recent drama, which I have summarily eliminated for my own sanity, things are really as good as they ever are.

So it doesn't make sense that I am angry. And not angry at anything or anyone. Just generically angry. The random rage is manifesting as nonsensical lines of spoken words that I begin to spout whenever I'm alone. They really don't make sense. On a scientific level, I think that my emotional mind is overriding my intellectual and attempting to produce poetry. Of course the lines aren't even close to being considered verse. If I could set down and really write some poetry, I might feel a bit better but in an act of complete idiocy, I left my power cord for my Laptop in my dorm room and so am sans computer where I prefer to write.

But what really gets me about this whole thing is that I am not angry at anyone. I should be angry at a great number of people for screwing me over in the past two weeks. And yet I still find myself not hating them directly, although everyone and everything is getting a little bit of the hate.

We humans are strange creatures who seek out love and companionship, full in the knowledge that nine times out of ten, we are just going to be slapped across the face by life. And then comes the sadness and depression. And what do we do after that, but go after it all again. Maybe that's what I'm mad about. The endless cycle of love and loathing that seems to drive us.

In one of my coherent rants, I caught myself saying that "I want that revelation that surpasses love." I'm not sure what I was referring to but I can see wanting to break free of that cycle. For that matter, I think I can understand the Hindu and Buddhist perspective of the endless cycles of life, death and rebirth as being a bad thing and something to break free of. A great number of Eastern Philosophies/Religions believe in the presence of "Chakras" or centers of bodily energy. The Chakra that is of most importance to human spiritual being is the Sahasrara Chakra at the crown of the head. This Chakra is said to connect the souls or spirits of people with the divine. To access it, gurus seek to discard all attachment to the physical world. Perhaps we should learn to do a little of the same.

Muah!
Lyrinoir

"I Just Move On"

36 hours and counting. Things have settled on my end. More or less. My myriad girlfriends are apparently launching letter bombs. I can't say that I approve of dragging this thing out, but a part of me takes perverse pleasure in the barbs they are slinging. As for me, I'm done. I've said my peace and the ball is in his court now. So that's it. Well, one more thing. It is a terrible thing to break up with someone right before finals.

Moving on.

I'm going home on Saturday. I am looking forward to indulging in terrible movies with my small harem, sitting down and talking things out with Kate and having lunch with Patti and Tom. There is a lot to talk about and I have missed my friends and family a great deal over the past year. I guess I also feel like I lost contact with a lot of people.

So in the truest sense of the winter season, I will be setting up a personal Yule celebration. Yule is the traditional Wiccan holiday that, along with the roman Saturnalia, make up the basis for the modern Christmas. It's a celebration of new beginnings and casting off the old year.

So in the vein of Velma and Roxie from Chicago, “I just move on.”

Muah!
Lyrinoir

Mourning After

4 AM is a terrible time to be awake. iTunes isn't helping by playing a sting of sad, regretful pieces by Yoko Kanno and Yuki Kajiura, spliced with horribly perky j-pop. I swear that program is psychic. The caffeine pill kicked in about 30 minutes ago but instead of making me awake and jittery like it should have, I got very focused and the full impact of this day settled in my brain.

I think most of my problems stem from the fact that I fall deeply in love,very quickly. It has the double negative of scaring off causal relationships and causing nothing but pain after the serous ones. I've made remarkable progress down the “Five Stages of Grieving,” moving from denial to anger in 3 hours, passing bargaining about ten minutes ago and now settling into depression. Of course I do my best writing in the depression stage. The problem is getting stuck there. I got stuck there for... well, I don't think I ever left there after Reid. But that had more to do with my wacky attachment to a belief in destiny than anything else.

It is interesting how, in each of these stages, the final stage looks different. Years of psycho-therapy have left me with the ability to accurately judge my mental state and do so, more or less, objectively. In the denial stage, acceptance takes the form of some form of retraction. “It was all a mistake,” or “When I get back home, we'll pick up where we left off.” When I was angry, acceptance was when I would decide to forgive him for doing this to me, over AIM/right before my finals/with his Ex/at all. In bargaining, acceptance is the hope that he will buy the deal, (which I never offered) or cave into the threats (in this case, the very real threat of my girlfriends hunting him down and bashing his head in with a sledgehammer).

But in depression, acceptance doesn't exist. I am aware that at some point, I will move on, but that point is not visible from where I am standing. There is a break between my intellectual mind that realizes that this will pass and my emotional mind, which has gone and dug a hole for itself somewhere in my brain stem and it will not come out unless I poke it with a sharp stick. Putting everything all on paper is the equivalent of declaring war on my emotional brain. And while I wage a mini war in my head, my intellectual mind has busied itself researching love, romance and breakups. Not that I'm finding anything interesting.

I may have done a very stupid thing while I was traversing the rocky waters of bargaining. I IMed his Ex. We had a very, some could say overly, civil conversation in which I stated that, while it would be easier to hate him, it was ultimately very dull to partake in the expected drama. He artfully dodged my questions of who had re-initiated their flagged romance, and I artfully insinuated that he was a coward who was afraid to talk openly, where upon he took advantage of my drama avoidance and effectively hung up. The odd thing is, if I am correctly reading all the horribly public blogs that the three of us are keeping, the Ex and I have very similar thoughts when it comes to him. And similar attitudes toward relationship for that matter. Oh damn... I was the fucking rebound.

Shit

Another part of me has been pouring through old AIM conversations, trying to figure out just when I lost him. All the signals seem to point to Friday, November 17^th as the day the badness started. But as I looked further back, all the way to Halloween, I can see bits and pieces of what bit me in the ass today. The fact that I have known for almost three full weeks is a testament to something although I can't really figure out what. And to say that I knew things were going bad then is an exaggeration. It was really my random call to him over Thanksgiving that slammed it home. That's still 10 days but it's substantially less impressive. I'd still like to believe that my returning home could fix things, but I know that short of a miracle, it isn't going to happen.

As promised, I will be printing this out and burning it ritually with hemlock. I've always thought that even if Wicca and magic are not real, ritual acts bring meaning to actions beyond those which our intellectual sides (my only functioning one) cannot justify. At the same time, I made the decision to immortalize it on the web as a blog post to remind me of an event that let me accurately analyze the grief cycle and expand my self-concept in a single evening. It also stands for hope. Not for this relationship, but for future ones. Hope that I will be more adept at making my feelings known in better ways. Hope that I will be able to hold on to love.

Muah!
Lyrinoir

A small section above is in italics to indicate that it was writen after the initial draft but represented a realization that hit me after the hour it took to write the article.

Gone

Rant Time!
Duck

It's been a while since I've ranted and now I have a good reason to. It's 1 AM. I've been listening to Kelly Clarkson for at least two hours. I am pissed off.

Aaron broke up with me about seven hours ago. It should be noted that I saw this coming about a month ago when he started talking about his ex a lot more than he should have. I'm kinda surprised it didn't happen sooner.

I am not a fan of personal drama. I may love it in other people, where it is isolated so I can observe it and fix it but I hate it when it happens to me. So at this point, I am indulging in a great deal of personal drama that, while making me feel better, will complicate things in the long run.

He broke up with me over Instant Messenger. Over-fucking-AIM. This was such a slap in my face that I didn't even realize what had happened until about an hour later. He didn't even have the balls to call me.

We live in an era where personal communication has reached a place where you are no more than 18 muscle movements away from having a vocal conversations with almost anyone in the USA, regardless of distance or time. The fact that he couldn't even muster up the tiny increment of strength it would take to look up my number in his cell phone and push dial is disgusting. The only thing lower on the tree of shame would be a text message breakup. And that would have resulted in me dumping his e-mail address into as many spam generators as I could.

And I hate that that it bothers me.

And I hate that I'm indulging in a personal rant, right after I resolved to make this blog more professional.

And I hate that I can't sleep tonight.

And I hate that I STILL can't bring myself to hate him.

So here's the deal; I am going to go on with my life as only I know how. With a well written summary of what this relationship has meant to me. Then, I will take that paper and burn it with sprig of Hemlock to symbolize death. It will be over. Fire burns away the damage and Hemlock kills the infection. And that will be the end of it. A clean break.

In the words of Miss Kelly Clarkson, “I'm already gone!”

Written in Hate.
Lyrinoir

Post Script

Aaron, if you even so much as think about posting on this entry, I will ban your IP so fast your network port will fry.