Franny missed his flight so he won’t return until tomorrow morning. I wasn’t that worried when he rang me to let me know what had happened since I figured his office would take care of any additional expenses involved in getting him home. One more day apart won’t kill us.
Or will it.
I’ve been strangely lethargic today. Maybe it’s because I’m tired because I was up late, or maybe it’s because I’m eating the wrong things. Today has been a licorice kitties sort of day and so far I’ve eaten 20 of them. Yes, I’ve counted them and noted them all down. I take them out of the bag, five at a time, and line them up on my notebook in order. I let the flavour of the previous one fade a bit before I put the next in my mouth. I feel like that’s more respectful than just tossing them in as soon as the one before is gone.
Respectful? Yes, I realise these are cat-shaped licorice candies, and nothing that requires being treated with respect or dignity, but somehow I feel like this is just the right way to do things.
Recently, I bought several books that I am excited to crack open and blow through. I’m hoping they are all going to be quick reads so I can ravenously absorb them in a few days and then let them sit in my head for a little while. The last new book I read took a long time because it was extremely thoughtful and difficult to process quickly. I wanted to savour it, to make it last. It was one of those books, but it was worth it in the end. I felt jumbled up on the inside, but I think that’s good.
I don’t like feeling too satisfied after reading something, such as when the plot is completely enclosed and tied up nice and neat like a handy present wrapped in ribbon and maybe some pretty, delicately-patterned Japanese paper. I prefer to read those books that quietly infiltrate your life, cling to you, and possibly become a smart part of you. You can choose to fling it aside later on, but for a while, it hangs on you, gripping tightly on a small piece of your soul.
Like a monkey. On your back. But not.
(I need to get back to writing, not just to document my life and what’s been going on, but more of the stream of consciousness style of writing. I feel like there’s more going on there. It’s less focused, less coherent, but somehow, it gives you a better idea of the author.)
But yes, back to the open-ended book endings. Life doesn’t come in discrete packages. If it did, then it would be a lot easier to jump from one part of your life to another. Beginning and ending friendships wouldn’t seem so traumatic. My past relationships will always affect my future relationships. Maybe my untrusting (this word is apparently misspelled and one of the spelling suggestions is: uninteresting) nature will eventually change, but it may take forever. After all, how am I supposed to think the best of people when I have inherent mistrust of them? Who says that I need to resolve these two seemingly contradictory statements?
Maybe I don’t need people at all. Sometimes I think that I could go about and live alone and not want to be with others, to constantly crave friendship and connection. If I didn’t have to be around people, then I wouldn’t have to trust them, and I wouldn’t have to make myself vulnerable to them. Then I wouldn’t be hurt and I wouldn’t sit and wonder about others. The last few times I’ve extended have met with failure, so maybe I should just wait for others to want to hang out with me instead. Play the waiting game, let others make the moves, and I’ll play along with them.
I’ll try this new experiment for August. I’ll see if I can go about not forming plans to see my friends and see what happens. Of course, if someone asks me to do something, I should say yes if I can because that would just be rude. I will simply need to refrain from planning anything myself for the rest of the month. This is going to be difficult, perhaps harder than I can possibly know right now.
Be agreeable. Be available at their behest. Don’t force yourself upon others. Don’t create expectations.
People do what they do, so let’s see what happens.