Tablesaw!

Stew of The Negro Problem (the site doesn't seem to like Mozilla) recently put out a request to the Stew/Negro Problem Mailing List asking for the lyrics to the album Naked Dutch Painter. It seems that a reporter was asking for them, for ease of review, and Stew didn't have access to his copies, which were on his computer far away.

I was at work, bored, and wjukknibs had just recently returned my copy of the album that had been sitting uselessly in his apartment for several weeks, so I thought I'd do it. It was fun; I tested myself to see how well I remembered the lyrics and challenged myself to pattern the verses into more or less even metrical lines. By the time I was done, however, there had been a message to the list from Stew saying that he was going to use the transcripted lyrics from a previously existing site. (I receive daily digests that don't show up until around 2 a.m.) That bummed me out, but I sent the lyrics anyway, to Stew and to the maintainer of the other site, because I thought that my transcriptions were interesting, too, (Mine, at least, had capital letters, if sometimes an overabundance of punctuation) and because I had taken down three songs not already on the site.

Well, just now, I got an email back from Stew, in which he commiserates about downtime on the lobster shift. Moreover, he eventually opted to send my lyrics along instead of the other site's versions because "at a quick glance it seemed that [mine] were cleaner."

Woo!

So, as I mentioned earlier, Ex has begun reading and commenting in my journal. I'm actually kind of glad. This may be a way to painlessly restart a friendship, from a distance.

She also directed me to her own webjournal. I don't feel comfortable giving the address even in this smaller area, but let me reprint a section I found early on.

( I tried to work out (alone, in my head) a breakup that I had a long time ago... )

As you can imagine, this struck me pretty hard. But really, I don't have anything more to say, I think, than what I posted as a response:

( So, yeah, I found you... )

I don't think there's much more to say, and I need to get to bed. Must wake up for Survivor Thailand, you know.

First, some history.

I wrote an entry about an email from Ex. A few hours later, I get an email from Ex answering the question that I wrote about in my journal but never asked her. Apparently, the information had been conveyed to her by a "mutual acquaintance," despite said acquaintance (hereinafter referred to as Mr. C) having never spoken directly to me about it. Since the mysterious Mr. C was reading my journal, I asked him to identify himself to me. Since that time, my journal has only been available for a few known persons to read. No one has come forward to take responsibility.

So today, my journal returns. Since Mr. C obviously does not intend to come forward, there is no sense in withholding my journal until he (or she) decides to come clean. As such, I am going back over the past two weeks' worth of entries and declassifying them, accompanied by the following message to Mr. C:

Mr. C (and any others like you)

Feel free to read my journal. That's why it's here, to be read. It is not intended only for strangers or only for close friends. But it is not to be used as a source of gossip. In fact, it should be the opposite. The presence of an online journal should prevent anyone from needing to do anything other than point to a url to exchange information about me.

That said, my journal is not a strictly factual creature. Oftentimes, I write more to release emotions than to chronicle the details of my life. Those times, especially, it is important to keep in mind the context of a journal, lest idle musings or ventings be taken as serious questions or concerns.

I had assumed that these ideas would be self-evident to anyone interested in reading my journal. Obviously, I was wrong. If these concepts are still too difficult to grasp, please feel free to remove yourself even further from my life than you already are.

Love,

Tablesaw

Today I got email from Ex and T.

My anger has receded regarding the Journal-gossip-Ex matter, and she sent a very nice letter, to which i was able to respond a bit more myself, telling her a bit about the tired moving this weekend.

T. emailed me in response to an email I sent a while ago. I know that her life has been a bit busy. And she's still busy. But it's always nice to know that she remembers I'm here, especially when I haven't gotten to see her at Mass.

Will whoever emailed Ex about my recent post please contact me? I am keenly interested, on this matter, in who is reading my journal.

Vacation is ending, and I feel very alone.

I woke myself up at five a.m. to watch a sunrise that was obscured by clouds that weren't on the horizon last night and will be gone completely by the time we check out of the house at ten. Nobody else in this house or, apparently, any other nearby house had the desire to try same.

Two nights ago I slept in the lounge for the same reason, to set my alarm for five a.m. with the hope of watching the sun be on the wrong side of the day. I stayed up late drinking with my housemates and fell asleep to the susurrations of a slightly more than tipsy woman and her devoted lover, who stood a hawklike vigil over her while she drank water and whispered herself to sleep. The whole thing left me feeling odd.

I miss Ex, more right now than I have in a while, undoubtedly due, in no small part, to the fact that two of the most beautiful and brilliant women I've met are here in this house with me, both of whom bear a more than passing resemblance to Ex. When one walks by, glowing with love for her beau, my body twists in memory and anticipation. But I don't wish that Ex and I were still together and lying together on the beach, nor do I wish that one of the women here were with me instead of her actual boyfriend. I want something more encompassing and more fundamental.

When Ex and I broke up and I had my life-shattering breakdown, I lost a lot of people I love, not just Ex. "You have to love yourself before you can love anyone else" says an old saw, and I've seen enough to know it's true. I lost loves and friendships because I wasn't able to give them the love I once did. And for quite a while after that time, while I was rebuilding myself, I certainly didn't miss the requirement, the need to pour out love I didn't yet have.

It's about a year and a half later, and I've started to ache. It started when veek visited. She came to LA with an openness to be loved and a life I now envy so much, a life with many people with whom she can commune. I responded more earnestly than I could have expected, more emotionally than I had in over eighteen months, leaving my weak and trying to find, again, what I was missing.

I worry now. The ache of love shakes me all over, and I am not certain I can stay alive if warehouses of compassion must be left untouched to mold and mildew.

How do I tell the people here (and only certain people, at that) that I'd be willing to lay down my life for them? It's not so much a matter of friendship and camaraderie or good conversations and shared experiences, it's instinct. How can I do it without needing to disclaim, "And I'm not a crazy stalker-type, honest!" And how do I become a friend again when, within hours, everyone will once again be hundreds and thousands of miles away?

There's one person here, possibly (hopefully) two, who knows how I feel, and that is a blessing. I'd probably be feeling less disoriented today if I'd had a chance to talk with either of them earlier yesterday.

I want a lover, today, so that I can hold her in my arms and tell her that I love her and that I will always love her and that I would do anything for her and that I would lay down my life for her and that I would go to the ends of the earth for her and that I would turn my back on Heaven's gates if the politics of God and the afterlife prevent her from entering Paradise. I want to hold her and while doing it, also say the same to so tell her so many others who wouldn't or couldn't understand.


The sun is up, and the clouds are gone, and I have to pack.

I've still had a great time, and enjoyed this week as much as, if not more than, any other vacation in my life, but card games and Clone Wars can wait for a while to be recorded, this can't. I hope you understand. See you at home.

Ex sends back a response rather quickly, strong undercurrents of relief from her writing. All is good on that front.

Yesterday I received an email from my ex-girlfriend letting me know that she was engaged. I have yet to respond.

It was a difficult break-up, but I'm over the fact that we've broken up and that's just how it's going to be from now on. The problem is that the break-up was and is enmeshed with my battle with depression. A short version of the story goes: "She broke up with me over a year ago because my depression had become so acute that my personality became almost unrecognizable. After she said so to my face, I cleaned up my act, but we remained broken up."

So now, I've been depressionless for a long time, but this girl still brings the pain and agony of that time to me. It's nothing to do with her, she's just the catalyst. In my mind, I know that she's happy, and I'm glad, and I wish her the best. But in my heart, there's still a very tender wound. Of course, she didn't make the wound either. I did. And that makes it harder to heal.

I've tried the "let's stay friends" thing. We were very close friends before we dated, and she is one of the smartest people I've ever met; but the association of her with my depression and angst is still too strong. I wonder, sometimes, if I saw her again, in a different situation, things might be better--just to have another image of her after this event, a new image that doesn't have me sobbing or trembling. But who knows if that will work either. Time heals all wounds, say the people who have to say something, but some take longer than other. And when I come to a point like this, I almost feel as though I'm letting her down again, as though I'm letting my depression keep my from being even a friend to her. Almost. I know that it isn't true.

(Side note that it doesn't help that her new fiancee is the guy who she was seeing when we broke up. Lots of negativity there, mostly jealousy and self-loathing, so I've absolutely no basis for objective thought in that matter.)

The whole thing resides in an emotional blind spot--or maybe less of a blind spot than a sunspot, bright light that burns the eye upon examination. So even after my emotions have settled I can still think of nothing to say.