Dec 22 2008
Sense
Back home. Hmm. I wrote a lot before I came back to MA. I typically would have published a note about it but I have been going through a really rough time, one that included a complete nervous breakdown, self destruction, a fight with the person that means the most to me, some nasty names, some ambiguous emails and a cathartic destruction of the collage on my front door that I spent hours putting together and maybe just ten minutes tearing down at 5 am.
I am telling you all of this I suppose as a justification for the realization that I have no right to share what I am feeling with other people, especially the strangers. To hide my own humiliation.
Apparently, that is no longer the case.
I deleted a lot of notes off of facebook too. It didn’t make sense. Somethings have started to make less sense too, being back home.
The person I would most like to see seems to be indisposed at the moment, I hate how she can’t tell me why that is, but it’s good for me to go through the hard time on my own. I guess, doesn’t make sense though.
The person I emailed a few nights ago who never did get back to me, hasn’t been in touch. And knowing him, he won’t ever be. Touch. We don’t work well like that. That doesn’t make sense
And then, the person who had contacted me out of all of this is the person I would least expect, has been there. Ironically, he is not “back home” but in Ithaca. Shit. That doesn’t make any sense!
And I found out that he is married. Shit, again. I always seem to misread ambiguity. I don’t know why I convinced myself to start wondering about him, in spite of the age difference.
We eat lunch together, we talk constantly, we have intense phone calls out of our respective bedrooms, but when I finally put something out there that is so blunt, now I should be embarrassed entirely, he says: “And yes, I am married. That’s why I moved to Ithaca: So my wife could study here.”
Oh god, I am such an idiot! There’s something so beautiful in clichés, the one where the student falls for the professor, but yeah, I’m not his student anymore so, in the end, it couldn’t possibly work out.
Student + Professor = Cliché sexy romance.
Journalism Student + Her ExProfessor who is simply just a nice guy who likes to talk = NOT.
The best part of all of this is…I have strong moral convictions. He’s married, and that’s a dead end for me. Always. I never thought I would ever be at that point in my womanhood where I would have to clearly draw THAT line in the sand.
According to my six years self and her calculations, I would have turned into a princess at 16, been saved by my beloved after three nights of being locked in a dank tower, and married happily by college.
I had an interesting conversation with my mother about that. Many of my elementary classmates I know are married and pregnant now. Why did that seem like the obvious?
Why did things seem to work out at six? Now, at 19, my plan for a romantic and secretive engagement to my sexy ex~professor, detours through Europe and finishing my thoughts of expression on the couch in his office is entirely shattered. Fuck my plan. And my brain for ever making one.
Something’s happened, and changed in my life entirely. When I am in Ithaca, all I want is to be back home and with the people I know and love in MA. And then at home, I can’t really find my niche either, and I just want to be back in my dorm getting tipsy by myself and writing my own music.
I mean, god. Hopefully this will all shape up before the end of the month long honeymoon of winter and isolation. In that case, this probably isn’t a honeymoon.
I am going to visit Harvard Square, by myself tomorrow, that sounds fitting.
