|Current music:||Rhapsody--Rage of the Winter|
Every time I think about updating this journal, the internet crashes and I lose my entry. I find it singularly frustrating.
My cat Iieata--the small one, her viciously imperial majesty with the sharp claws and drowsy eyes--turned up missing, and has been found again. I turned my town upside down trying to find her, scoured the pound. In the end she simply trotted back through the door on her own though, superior as ever, and I think that's the only way it could have happened, really. She wouldn't come back, after all, until a panic had come up over her absence. It's just the way she is.
And let's see. . .oh yes. My good friend Fish and dear Rian are seeing each other, now. Quite the happy couple. I can't help but wonder if I would know if Fish had been aware that Rian and I were together, or if I would still be in the dark. I can't help but wonder if they were like this last month, when I called Rian on her birthday. Or even before, when Fish talked about how well she and Rian were doing--did she mean as more than friends? In the end love is stupidity, pure folly. To hell with the pleasantries though.
Love is such a goddamn foul thing. Affection is just as bad, and friendship. Nothing more than a sick joke, all of it--I cannot become close to anyone without hating them. Anyone. Not even the people, or the person, I thought might be different. Am I naive? Was I? It isn't the fact that she has someone else now, or even that this someone is a close friend of mine. They are, after all, wonderful people, and I am happy for them. I hope things are perfect. The part that hurts is the lie, the deception--she could have told me. I don't think I even really loved her. But she meant something to me, and she was important to me, and she said that she loved me but I think in all likelyhood that she lied about that. When you love someone, you at least have the decency to tell them they are old news.
I have to go. There are things, apparently, which require my attention right this very moment. Maybe I will come back later.
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love is a dangerous beauty, and even so you had experienced it's poisons. afraid of being hurt or afraid of letting others know who you really are. feelings are wrenched out and you become angry. amusement, nothing else.|
-his infernal disease
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