I went to the station this morning and did what I had set out to do. Now, I guess we all await the next episode in our common drama.
My audit classes are ending… The Thai kids have far surpassed me. The Japanese, not so much, since I typically knew at least half, and at most all, of the new material in that class. And the Mandarin kids… who really cares about? But I’ll try to make it there today. [Well, they were taking a test in Mandarin. Jayne Young, the unfortunately stump-faced aide, ignored me again, as she has all semester… even though she had one extra test. I walked out… It’s clear she’s never had audit students before, and for their sakes, I hope she never does again.]
I guess I’ll take a break with audits. If possible, I’ll redo Thai and Viet 101… but that won’t be till next fall at the earliest. It can’t have been them that weighed me down this semester, since I jettisoned them half-way through… I think it was my employment that I could never quite get caught up with. Maybe if I lose this job, I’ll find one with a hard schedule that, even if I don’t perfectly keep, will not keep compounding till it buries me. It’s been a good job, but it’s like… Agent Smith on the Matrix…
I just saw the girl, Bomie, upstairs, the library’s main floor. I looked for a way to avoid her, but there was none, so we passed. She seemed to quicken her gait as she smiled an amphibian greeting (common to her race).
The acknowledgement is the worst thing of all. Rather than feign friendliness but be too afraid to ever stop and talk, she would do better to ignore me, as I try to do with her.
She, it seems, has been the one that has finished me.
…"Completed me", it should have been. But it’s just "finished".
I feel sick, in a way, every time I see a suitable girl… and think of how impossible it will be to ever care for somebody again. I can’t value them… at least, not in connection with myself. Every time I see her, I instantly recognize that all my pretensions of trying to be interested in other people are self-deceptions.
It’s been so long. I can’t say I don’t forget about her. After having any form of contact with her, she does seem to pass out of my waking thoughts within… maybe… two weeks… But then she’ll appear again on the sidewalk out of thin air, and I’ll still feel just as horror-stricken as I did those days when she was leaving me.
…Maybe it will end someday, when I leave this school… and I can find somebody, and learn to love them on a lie, and make that lie legal and eternal, and create new life out of that lie — our illegitimate offspring.
Perhaps it can be understood why I’ve felt "survivor’s guilt" with Stetson. A bullet has hit him that should have hit me long ago… but missed. Not that I believe that narcissistic rubbish that girl reported about him being jilted over her. Anyway, however his case goes… I feel like young Bruce Wayne on Batman Begins, who was walking toward Joe Chill in the courthouse, fingering his pistol… but before he had the chance to consummate his mad deed, the lady appeared and stole his crime from him.
It should have been me, years ago, facing accusations, not Stetson now.
I, like him, would probably not have had the guts to actually do wrong…
…But still, as a younger man gasping for air in the tides of intense rejection, I had imagined… stealing back the thing that was stolen from me…
It’s too complex to summarize again here, how she usurped my freedom, and my faith itself, but some of it might still be in these archives…
Yet here I remain, innocent and normal… and alone. At this point, hurting her, or anyone, is a total impossibility in my mind. It’s contrary to my whole existence… and so perhaps it was years ago, when I would rather have snuffed my own flame than caused hers to flicker… The worst I’ve been able to do is to try to say hurtful words, and even they seem to lack substance…
But though I’ve been declawed, I am still determined to push her out of the periphery of my life (granted that she lets herself be pushed out). It’s not an easy thing to ignore a person, but if I ever, ever see her again… I have to just… conjure up enough disinterest to look in the other direction, and let the moment die. And if she ever chats again, then that’s it — I need to ask her to delete me. Maybe she will on her own.
I won’t blame myself for loving somebody who is so antithetical to love… so far beneath me, on some lower plane of existence, some nether planet populated by orcs… because… it’s so inexplicable that it must have been a total accident.
And I of course won’t blame her for following her orcish nature. An orc is an orc.
And… I won’t blame my love for being true, and permanent. I’m a sufficiently advanced being that… once I commit to something… even an orc maiden… I commit to it through heaven or hell, barring only the destruction of whatever part of my brain is responsible for commitment. I won’t blame the fact that I’m sad, and will always be sad, every time I see her… into infinity.
I can’t blame BYU, or the Church, or mission work, or my testimony that I stupidly thought necessary to make clear to her nearly four years ago.
The only blame… is toward… my own misjudgement. I should have known she was an orc — and I should not have loved an orc.
…And I should not love one in the future.
……Even if that class includes everybody on this planet.
………Not that I think it does. But if I can’t find anybody, singleness will be a far better option than the eternal regret… of loving amiss.