2002-03-22 12:39 p.m.
no one told me what to say, no one sent me home

Quick news flash: S. and I broke up on Monday. Well, more specifically, she broke up with me; I just agreed that we were having problems and it might be a good idea. I wasn't really ready to give up on it yet...but then, I'm an optimist.

Now, I could get on my online pulpit and talk some serious shit about her, but a: I still care about her (much as I wouldn't like to), and b: christ, is that lame.

All in all, after four days of reflection, anger, sadness, relief...I find I'm sad to lose her and everything that we've had together these past six months, but I'm also feeling a weight lift, one that I've felt has been pushing down on me harder and harder, especially since the start of the year.

D. and Rachel are pretty determined to ditch town (unless a miracle job appears for Rachel to grab), and I'm also pretty happy about that.

Events seem to be coinciding to give me what I've been wanting, just on a grander scale: to rearrange my life into a wide open, pressure-free environment, where I've got no one to push me or lean on or blame but myself. Thinking back, I haven't been in this situation since Georgia, and I want that again. Even if I don't live by myself (living with Stephen in Atlanta, I still felt that way), I need my microcosm gone, dissipated, orbiting in a much wider field of vision.

Atlanta: Even if I wasn't doing well auditioning, I was doing improv, 24-Hour Plays, writing quite a bit, coming up with projects right and left, and generally keeping my mind active as hell. I was out a lot, and I had a life.

Athens: I was writing at least two articles a week for Flagpole, researching any interest that came to mind, and loving having my own singular space. (Caught up on a lot of TV watching, too.)

I loved S., deeply, madly, exhaustively. We could've found a way to be with her that wouldn't have left us both so drained, but we never had the chance — always, one of us needed the other. There was never enough time to breathe, to branch out...and when the time was there, the energy or motivation wasn't. So it was overwhelming, our incompatibilities became blinding, and something had to give. In this case, it was her.

I told her I'd love her forever...and I don't doubt that. It's one of the presents that you give to another person, but that you also give to yourself, that rare moment of purity, of openness, of raw, undiluted self that is touching in small doses, but burns in large ones (like Dr. Bronner's Magic Soap). My time with her's left a mark, like a scar on your heart where someone once saved your life. She probably doesn't know this, but for a time, she did.

Mm. Like after a wake, time to move on.

A new book fell into my hands yesterday, and I'm tearing through it so quickly: American Scream: The Bill Hicks Story.

Now anyone who knows me is probably groaning already, knowing how much I talk about this goddamn guy. He was a stand-up comic from around the time I was born (1976), until 1994, when he died of pancreatic cancer.

But just from the first third of the book, I'm finding I have a lot in common in this man, someone who died as I was just coming of age.

More on him later, as I want to finish the book. I'm not about to change careers (a-fucking-gain) and dream of being a stand-up comic...but sometimes it's nice to recognize a kindred soul, even posthumously. Gives you hope that your dreams and ambitions aren't completely insane.