You are currently browsing the daily archive for June 14th, 2009.
Tonight I had The Conversation again.
It’s the one where I make a comment that implies I’m single to a good friend I haven’t seen or talked to in too long, and they, trying to disguise it as an off-handed comment, ask, ‘Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask, what happened with that?’ Then, before I can answer, the asker interjects with how perfect he and I were together, how everyone was always waiting for us to figure it out and was so happy when we finally got together.
And then I must explain that I don’t really know, and I haven’t talked to him in two and a half months, so I’m no closer to understanding now than I was then. I proffer guesses, about his stress level and the distance and how depression brought out my clingier side, but say over and over how I really can’t be sure, it’s just that things were rocky for the last while of the relationship. I say it’s okay, and I know it’s for the best, and that I trust God – all true things.
It always leaves me with a tiny rock in my stomach, though. I wish I could give better answers to my friends, but I won’t ever ask him for the reasons. I don’t really want to know them. Things are what they are, and that’s fine. It’s just a little unsettling when I can’t give anyone a straight answer, because I feel like I’m lying, or hiding that I was actually a horrible girlfriend and he hated me. I hope I wasn’t and he didn’t. I know I had my faults (still do, just new ones), but I hope there was more to everything than those.
So either my dislike of milk has gotten even worse recently, or the milk I’ve been trying to stomach for the last week is sour.
I don’t know how to tell if it is sour, because all milk smells/tastes wrong and disgusting to me anyway. Possibly because it’s kind of weird to drink the juice squeezed from a cow’s nipple – but who’s judging? Anyways, I really like cheese, a byproduct of the same nipple nectar, so that’s a moot argument in my book.
Hmm.
