So, apparently record sales of sleeping pills are causing worry over at Monsieur New York Times. [No worries?]
I slept through school today. And I'm starting to think that everyone just wants to sleep his way to the top. And I'd love to sink my way out of this year by sleeping through the next several months. Too bad I'm not apathetic enough to sacrifice my consciousness.
* * *
I don’t understand how I gave up someone who is still so good to me. At the same time, it seems like sacrifice is just a necessary part of all good relationships.
How much does anyone really want to know about my personal life? I love how when I share with Shane he always laughs. There's something good about the light[ness] that he adds to my life. I hid a bottle of vodka in my indoor grill and told Jeremiah that Shane did it. (It had been his idea, initially). Last weekend Shane escaped Choate for an evening and stayed over at my house and said that he hoped I would emasculate him as much as I possibly could. And I thought that was weird. We baked cupcakes and I laughed harder than I have in a long time. I feel as if it's been a while since I've associated with someone with whom I haven't slept. I'm sure we'll get around to that, eventually.
So—Jeff Taylor got a girlfriend. Or is getting a girlfriend. There is a girl in Jeff Taylor’s life and she is not me. I am not she.
I don’t want to be his girlfriend. But Jeff Taylor has been my Jeff Taylor for the past forever, and I have been his best friend and his lover and his girlfriend and his sister and we have lived together and laughed and cried and been angry. He has forced me to be candid. He has cracked me open and watched me spill out and he has mopped me up and squeezed me back into my jar. We have achieved an intimacy that I will assuredly not find for a long, long time.
And I don’t know when I’ll be able to say I am as close with anyone as I am with Jeff Taylor. Was? Could have should have would have? And the only thing I regret is that maybe I sacrificed a part of him for something temporary. Someone temporary. But at the same time, it wouldn’t have been right to hold onto that part of him. I am only sorry for the way I hurt him. But sometimes it’s impossible not to hurt those whom we love the most. (Déja-cliché)
And it broke my heart a little bit that he and I are no longer close enough to tell each other about our personal lives. And I have to wonder how close you can be with anyone if he or she doesn’t know about your personal life. But maybe this is just transition. I know he’s still here in all the fundamental ways. All the ways in which everyone else refuses to make himself available.
So last night Jeff called me because he knew I was bothered. Because even if he can’t see me and I don’t admit anything, this boy just knows. And he said “I love you” for the first time in months and it felt as if someone had wrapped an electric blanket around me. And then I cried and it felt good to cry to him. It felt good to cry to someone without feeling embarrassed. It felt good to be vulnerable and safe. Lost and safe all over again? Double-déja?
And it feels good that he makes me say what I’m feeling even if he knows I’d rather curl up around my heartache.
And I have to wonder how much heartache is healthy.
Then I saw Jeremiah briefly this afternoon and it was anticlimactic and I listened to Brahms viola quintet and cried again. Then drove in circles. Then drove home.
So Jeremiah, Annie and I saw the Tokyo String Quartet last week. Jeff told me a long, long time ago that it would be foolish and frustrating to try to force Jeremiah to appreciate the music the way I do. And that is certainly true. And I think more than anything I just wish I could do a better job of sharing all this. But maybe that’s too selfless. Maybe music is something I should crumple up and swallow and savor for myself.
So I was inappropriately but predictably disheartened by that concert (aside—the Brahms was a true disappointment), but realize that I was discouraged not because my boyfriend doesn’t get Bartok. Am I allowed to refer to him as that? Do I really want to call him that? Do I really want to be doing all this extra work? Have I not told Jeff because I’m embarrassed? Should I be embarrassed by a boyfriend who doesn’t offer to come to my concerts or be with me on my birthday?
And mainly I miss lying in bed and listening to music with Jeff and falling asleep and waking up to silence. But I can do that by myself. And do.
And for no reason, I went to bed one night last weekend overwhelmed with delusion and feeling in love for the first time in a long time. But I’m not in love. I’ve probably never been in love. I may have tasted love and spit it out now and again. But love takes time to digest. And there’s no time. And despite my own anxiety, despite the fact that I may be unprepared, I am not the impatient one. Not now.