I DON'T UNDERSTAND

You might remember a long time ago when I talked about my friend Jack. Well, Jack is, evidently, no longer my friend. And I don't know what to think about that. I really really don't.

About a month ago, I got an email. And this is a little overshare-y, but I'm just going to paste the whole email in here, because that's the only thing I can think to do:

I really want to see you. I was originally going to say that I need to see you, but obviously that's not true. I keep waiting for a time when I don't actually find myself wanting to call you when I'm in C'ville, but so far that time has not come. It's just... I dunno. It's not like I have anything in particular to say. In fact, I guess I don't have anything to say at all. I just can't be here and not feel like I'm missing something not seeing you. That was too many negatives. 
I think how this is probably going to go is that I'll keep sending these sorts of emails when I get a bit drunk - because otherwise (for the most part) I'm in control enough to remember what dignity is - for however long it takes me to stop feeling the need to send these emails. And you can ignore them until then. It's just hard to stop myself right now. When I'm back here, it all comes back, and while a lot of "it" is stupid mad stuff, some of it is the other part and it's all still here.

And I read it, and I got this sort of sinking feeling, and I just did not know what I could say in response that wouldn't be leaping down her throat. So I sat on it for a few days. I started emails and deleted them. And eventually I came up with something to say:

I've been thinking about this for a few days, although I guess that's obvious. And the nicest thing I can come up with is that I need you to not do this. If you want to get together and do something, give me a call or Facebook or whatever and we can do that. We don't have as much in common as we used to, but I'd wager we can still have a good time doing something.
But this? This is bullshit. You don't get to drag me back into those memories just because you're drunk and in Charlottesville. You don't get to send me emails implying that when you think of me, you mostly remember "stupid mad stuff." Am I supposed to be gratified that "some" of what you think about me is "the other part"?
I can't just ignore these, because they're not harmless. You send me this kind of crap every few months, and every few months, I have do deal with the consequences. You should see what I posted in my school blog after you emailed me in November; I was depressed for a week, right as final-project-season started. Because as much as you have a hero complex, I fix things. I smooth things over. That's what I do. But I can't smooth over the past, and you don't have the right to make me try.
Write your emails if it makes you feel better. If you're drunk and upset, whatever, you'll probably send them. But don't pretend like this is harmless catharsis for you, because I can't afford to have "it" all come back to me, too.

When I read through it again, obviously I did not succeed at not leaping down her throat. But I don't think I was unreasonable, and I still think it needed to be said. She sent me back a little apology and "that's not what I meant, but sorry about that," and then evidently she unadded me on Facebook and my other blog, and while that's obviously not a huge deal, it signals a change, and I hate change. I've mentioned that.

Anyway. I don't know what I even want to say about any of this. But Jack has always been there. And I don't like knowing that she's not anymore. I don't like that at all. She knew me better than anyone, once. Is it so crazy for that to mean something to me? Even if we barely know each other at all anymore? I don't know. I guess I understand why she did it, but I wish she hadn't.

I feel like I am alone, now. That's stupid, and it's melodramatic, and objectively it is false. But I will probably never be open with another person the way I was with her. I mean, you're not supposed to, not like that. Our relationship was never healthy. But it still hurts.

She didn't say goodbye.

And it took me a month to notice.

I'M REALLY TIRED, WHY AM I NOT ASLEEP

Lately, I have been just excessively anxious. (Also yes I know it's been almost two months so sue me I don't give a shit.) I went to visit Hunter over the weekend and he brought two of his dogs down with him to pick me up. I was really concerned that they would run away or get eaten by something (really? yes. really.) in my backyard if he didn't "supervise" them.

On the drive back, I spent some time worrying that they would jump out the car windows and die. I worried that we would crash and the airbags would crush them. When we stopped and Penny ran off into a field with Hunter chasing her into the "NO TRESPASSING area," I worried that the person who lived there would get home and yell at me (waiting by the car, scolding Iggy for orchestrating the whole thing) for being in his driveway. I worried that Hunter wouldn't be able to find her. I worried that (oh, yes) she would upset a cow, who would kick/stomp on her and kill her. He got her, though, don't you guys worry. Anyway, after that, on the drive, I kept worrying that we would hit a deer or something and, again, that airbags+dogs=sticky mess thing. Oh, but I added a worry that Peabody, their third and oldest dog, would have died outside by the time we got there (and it would be my fault because if not for me then she wouldn't have been stuck outside all day).

On the third, we went to a little party thing at some friend of Hunter's from high school (John invited us) where there were fireworks. While all the older (i.e. our-age) people were setting off their illegal (i.e. neato) fireworks, I was on the porch worrying about what I would do if something went wrong--if someone out there got burned, if a firework tipped over (?) and shot directly (?) at the house (?), if the hot metal bits hit me in the eye (?) while I was looking up, if the house caught fire from the hot metal bits, if the woods caught fire, if the grass caught fire, if--I think you get my drift here.

On the fourth, it stormed, and we happened to be outside playing with the dogs. I worried, completely inexplicably, that we would get hit by lightning in Hunter's front yard. Because "we're the tallest things here! we should be closer to the ground. maybe crouching? that makes us less likely to get struck. maybe we should go inside." I'm not joking.

These are not things that I really think are going to happen, of course. I have SOME realism left in me, after all. But these are things I am basically completely terrified of. I kind of wish I had more of the traditional OCD symptoms--namely the routines, because those are supposed to protect you from all these bad things happening, right? If I do _____, then my family will be safe from _____, right? I'm sure it doesn't work like that, of course. I'm sure the routines and all that only add to the anxiety. But it's a thought.

Anyway. Other than that I'm having a pretty good summer. I'm working at Little Caesar's, mainly as a cashier, and I even kind of like my job, so that's good. My boss is super-gay and awesome, and today he pointed out a customer to me as "marrying material." I said, "But will he do my cleaning for me?" That's right, suckers, I have a job where sass is practically mandatory. (Despite liking my job, I still have a lot of anxiety around that, too, don't worry. Nothing is sacred; nothing is safe.) And I've done a good bit of knitting, and I sit around a lot, so that's awesome.

I think that's going to be my whole summer what's up post, because I'm fucking exhausted and don't know why I'm awake at all.