One of my plants apparently attempted suicide this weekend. I came downstairs Sunday morning and found it facedown in the kitchen sink, having leapt (or fallen, or been pushed) from the windowsill above. It seemed like a metaphor.
The last couple of months have been, overall, sort of difficult. It's safe to say that I've suffered several of what could be kindly termed 'setbacks' is an understatement. My eyes have been forcibly opened to some truth that I would have rather not known. I'm starting to realize what "blissfully ignorant" really means.
I finally came to understand that someone I'd liked from afar (very much so, from "very far") simply does not share my interest. It isn't a matter of "being ready" or any other convenient excuse; it would be too much to say he's not that into me--he's not into me at all.
I tried, gently, again, to see (maybe have a grilled cheese with) the terminally oblivious (or, in the alternative, cruel--which is a prospect I still choose not to accept) lawyer, and once again hit the wall. As with every other interaction I've had with him (and yes, I realize that "interaction" implies that both of us were present and active, but it's close enough), the past year makes me wonder what the Hell he wanted, meant to do, thought he was doing, was doing, and thought later that he had done.
Over Christmas, I had the opportunity to see someone I haven't seen in half a lifetime. The person who, probably without knowing it, nearly helped me break up my marriage before it even started. For some reason, though, we both cancelled the plan to see each other. Is it all water under the bridge? Is it too late? Have we gone too far, knowing each other too well to be "normal" anymore? Or was it just winter weather and a sick relative and we really will do it some other time?
'Things' with the delivery guy seem to have careened to a stop, probably gradually over several months but seemingly during the course of a six-hour conversation. Don't get me wrong; it's a good thing. But just because it's good and right doesn't mean it's not hard and sad and awful, too. There is more to it than even just the end of this long, thoughtless habit. Other people, money, criminal activities, time (not that it's "wasted" because it's not "spent" or "invested", just lived), and some ineffable, indescribable others, too. Sorting that one out would take a while. Not sure if it's necessary. Not sure if I'm willing.
Finally, yesterday, I found out that theloveofmylife™️ is going to be a father in a couple of months. The specifics don't matter as much as the sheer surprise that the news received. I literally had not imagined that such a thing would happen. Would it be easier if I'd imagined it, though? Would I have been "prepared"? I didn't really believe that he was 'coming back'--there is no back to come, and too much has changed in each of us and in life to be there again.
I suppose I just thought I wouldn't have to know.
[The title quotation is by Rabindranath Tagore.]
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