Friday, March 13, 2009

Spooky Spooky With A Side Of Angst

**Booga Booga
It's Friday the 13th. Ooooooh. Another wonderful ghost story that's been passed along from the past. Me, I'm not scared. I'm protected because I sacrificed a wild pig at a crossroads at midnight to Arkanon The Destroyer.

**Got your pics up, Mr. Steve. Head on over and check them out.

**Got a surprising low return on messages sent yesterday. May be time for a change in tactics.

**Move #17 is in the books, and my chess match with Mr. Koch remains a bloodless exercise in tactical maneuvering.

**One Specific Ghost
I don't put any stock in superstition, so I'll attribute the weirdness of my dreams last night to staying up way too late coupled with watching a really really bad movie. There really is no other explanation for Amy to have been a part of my dreams. At least no explanation I can come up with. Even now, I've tried to remember the elements and sequence of that dream several times with little success. The visual is almost completely faded, but the emotional punch is just as fresh as when I first awoke. The image from my dream isn't really her as I remember her, but my brain identified that character/image as being her. Twenty fucking years ago. That's a rough estimate of the last time I saw her. And she still affects me. Why? Why won't that one go away? Or, why can't/won't I let it go? Maybe I've just built it up to be too emblematic of what can happen when you try to be something you're not. A monument to missed opportunity and chances not taken. Realistically though, I can't even say that we would have had a successful, or any other type of, relationship if I had had my head on straight at that time in my life. An icon. That's what the whole thing has almost become. A gold plated monument to what may have been. She found her love. It wasn't me. But, could it have been me? Can't really say. It pains me greatly to say either way. I had my head far enough up my ass that I didn't realize what was going on at the time. That may also account for the disbelief/bitterness that I feel when people say they met and then married their first love. She was it for me. I was too fucking busy trying to be Chris for it to really click in my head that I loved her. Now she is wherever she is, and here I am. I still have a few pictures of her in amidst my high school mementos. One is up on the wall of my studio in a space that I use as a source of inspiration. It's a collection of pictures and souvenirs and assorted things that I use a centering point when I really start to go off kilter. Is that whole episode a lesson? A warning? A cautionary fable? Maybe Shakespeare nailed it when he wrote, 'To thine own self be true'. Why the hell does that still hurt after all this time when there's no evidence that it would have ever worked in the first place? Morgan suggested that I should try and get in contact with her. In the wonderfully computer integrated world in which we exist, it probably wouldn't be very hard. But the possibility of finding her scares the crap out of me. Just thinking about it makes my hands tremble a bit. Mostly because of what I feel would be the three possible outcomes of such a search.

  1. Amnesia. Something and someone from her distant past that no longer registers in any way with her. The notion of being completely forgotten is crushingly terrifying. After my experiences with the reunion last year, however, I must admit it is a very real possibility.
  2. Being wrong. Thinking that I actually had a chance with her where no such chance ever existed. This was yet another ghost that returned to haunt me this past year. I found that it was no less crushing to find out that there was simply no possibility for anything ever happening, despite anything that I thought. She may have found her true love, while I just sailed off the edge of the map.
  3. Being right. Learning that there really was something there that could have been incredible, and it died from neglect on my part. The notion having that particular episode of my life getting filed under 'My Own Damn Fault' makes me severely nauseous.
And there you have it. I'm mindfucked because I don't know, and mindfucked because I'm scared to know. And beyond that, I feel like I'm starting to enter the fringe area of psycho-creepy-obsessive-stalker-type-person. Or maybe this is the type of thing that just doesn't go away. I just don't know.

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