It's Come 'Round.

I suppose I deserve this...

Last time, it was me doing the forgetting. Now, they're the ones forgetting me.

But, I'm not even gone yet. That's the hardest part to come to grips with. It's understandable to lose sight of someone when distance separates you, but how is it so easily done when there's no geographical excuse?

I'm feeling a bit hyper-sensitive these days; that must account (at least partially) for these bizarre, juvenile feelings of abandonment. I feel unimportant in the eyes of some of my friends, in a time when I most need to feel supported. I am never very needy when it comes to my friendships - a downfall of mine is that I don't show a lot of emotion and I'm too prideful (a lot of the time) to ask for help or to appear weak. Perhaps, then, some of this is my doing; I've not given my friends any indication that I am struggling or in need of reassurance. They just expect me to be strong and unflinching. Yet, on the other hand, I feel that friends ought to be able to sense certain needs, without the other having to articulate them.

Are my expectations too high, and so regardless of the outcome here, I'll feel somehow slighted? Or, am I making excuses for people in lieu of some greater accountability to me and our relationship?

I think one of the great mysteries of life is the way in which character is revealed in unspectacular circumstances. I generally learn the most about others (and myself) through the trivialities of my day-to-day existence, and as a result, these trivialities cease to be so. They come to possess the truths about our idiosyncrasies, in some way a key to the hidden depths (or lack thereof) of our character.

Regardless of whether I am too difficult to please, or I'm allowing myself to make excuses for my friends, this period of time will come to be seen as tell-tale.

I'll just take my newfound impressions and go quietly...karma has dictated as much.

The first rule of Fight Club is: You never talk about Fight Club.

We're all laughing at you.

Why don't you see it?

You have become so ugly, a grand façade with little substance to support it. One day you will crumble - so miserably - and I won't be here to witness the undoing.

I envision your future, and I've been tempted to reveal it to you. To coax you over the edge then allow you to fall into a bitter realization of the destiny you've created for yourself.

Like a muscle that may only grow stronger after being repeatedly torn down, you shall never evolve without experiencing great pain. Pain like that you've mercilessly inflicted on others. But, THIS kind, you're just to cowardly to feel. I fear you'll never quite be able to endure it.

You see, pain is some physical manifestation of honesty. It is the voice of your soul; that is why you abhor it so. There is little truth left in this life you've cultivated.

Where, my girl, have you gone?

And why is it that not one of us will deign to beg for your return? Someone's stolen your form and we're all too frightened or too inconvenienced to confront her. To force her out, or at the very least, demand some explanation for her presence here.

She's your Tyler Durden.

No one's saying it. But, we all know. We've some innate sense of what's really going on - an understanding. You, however, are hopelessly unaware. That, or you've done a spectacular job of appearing so.

So, my girl, get your gun. Because there's only one way out of this mess.

You Must Be At Least THIS Crazy To Ride This Ride

My feet are cold.

I'm on a roller coaster, alone.

Racing toward uncertainty. Up ahead, a long rise in the metal tracks. Excitement. The abrupt drop beyond? Anxiety. A lighting-fast corkscrew takes me through Fear, followed by a lethargic ascent to Anticipation. A breath-taking view. Next, Sadness. Courage. Loneliness. Joy.

When, exactly, will this ride come to an end? My stomach says what my head won't admit.

I'm second-guessing myself. My mind was clear, my gaze firmly focused on the goal. Now, my vision's gone blurry. I'm back to convincing myself that I'm doing the right thing. Before, I knew.

How much can one revisit a decision before all conviction has been depleted? Is this normal? Healthy?

My feet haven't felt warm for weeks...

It's not the kind of cold I'm used to.

Numbers To Dial When My Number Is Up

You'll know how important you are to me based on whether you find your name on the list.

The list of "People To Contact In The Event Of Severe Injury Or Death."

There exist four copies of this list: My mother has one, another can be found in my apartment, filed with other important documents, the third I keep in my wallet, and the fourth is still waiting for a home.

I've kept some form of "the list" for the past four years. Some think it's morbid that I've compiled such a thing; I prefer to think of it as smart. You know, Boy Scout-caliber preparedness.

I don't recall what specific event prompted me to make the list, but I distinctly remember feeling a bit irresponsible - foolish, even - for not having gathered the information sooner.

I was living with a roommate at the time and it occurred to me that if I got into a serious car accident, for example, he'd have no way to get a hold of my family. This scared me for two reasons: One, were I in a situation in which I was clinging to life, I'd prefer a loved one by my side. Two, I wouldn't want to die and have my mother find out two weeks later, after she'd been beside herself with worry at not getting a hold of me (she can rarely go more than a few days without calling me). Then, I thought of my friends that may live out of state, those that have no ties to other of my friends or my family. Were I to die, they'd be none the wiser.

So, that's the reasoning behind it. Like I said, it seemed a natural document to keep. It wasn't until I started getting bizarre reactions from others that I began to question my mental health.

Some were scared: They thought I was PLANNING to go somewhere. This, of course, led to continual reassurance on my part that I wasn't going to be committing suicide. A few people, my mother included, saw my behavior as a bit off. They thought me paranoid. Others...they just laughed. Those are the ones that know me well enough to understand that sometimes, it's impossible to understand me.

Once I realized what a stir my list could cause, I became motivated to use it as a conversation piece - a springboard to discussions about mortality.

Because, the thing is, we are too frightened of Death.

Why is talk of death so consistently avoided? Why is one assumed to be depressed or suicidal if they openly express thoughts on dying?

Death is so taboo.

Yet, it's a normal part of life. We'll all face it. Why not embrace the fact and go in, eyes open? (Figuratively speaking.)

This little list, born of a desire for some connectedness, and - I'll admit - a bit of an obsessiveness regarding detail, has led to a completed restructuring of my views on life and death. It has made me question the "truths" given me by society - a society that teaches me to live in fear.

I don't want to die. Not now, anyway. And not in the next 50 or so years, if I'm honest. I can't pretend that I feel no fear of death; I'm not so highly evolved. Rather, my fear has diminished and therein made room for a bit of well-deserved respect.

We'll soon be old friends, Mr. Black and I.

Friendships: High Mortality Rate

Every so often I make a mental list of all my "friends." It's never a huge list.

I'll go through each name, take the temperature of our relationship, then formulate some hypothesis about the life expectancy of the friendship.

It's not generally a conscious thing, more of a compulsive activity.

Several years ago I read something - lyrics galvanized in time by some mid-century folk band, I believe - which effectively captured the nature of relationships. Something along the lines of: Some people come into your life for a reason, some for a season, and others for a lifetime.

The idea struck me then, and I've found it applicable to my life over the years. In a way, it has become a personal mantra. It has made the saying of goodbyes somewhat easier, the acceptance of absolution less challenging.

I believe that each of life's interactions account for a small piece of the puzzle, together comprising a work that explains our existence. Each is a clue to explaining where we've been, and certainly, the people we've become in the process.

For that reason, I feel no regret for the things that have transpired between myself and my friends, my acquaintances, my lovers. Each relationship has served some purpose beyond the obvious social arrangement. In every case, I have learned from the other and I hope, have somehow enabled the other's growth.

My perspective does not in any way suggest that there is no loss involved. Determining what category a relationship falls into - reason, season, lifetime - is seldom easy. Knowing if and when to sever ties can become an exhausting pursuit, but the periodic evaluation, and therefore, self-reflection is paramount if I am to maximize my time here.

There's little sense in remaining a part of something whose costs greatly outweigh its benefits, and on the other hand, no sense in forgoing some greater happiness for the sake of short-term ease of movement.

The idea of the relational relvolving door can, if one is not mindful, become an excuse for isolation; my greatest challenge has been using the theory as a means of achieving personal evolution and long-term satisfaction.

She's a bitch, and her name is Timing.

Timing is everything. Or so they say.

I say, Timing can be a real bitch.

I am feeling so ridiculously attracted to a certain man and I happen to be moving out of state in less than six weeks.

Just so you know, I may feign surprise, but truthfully, there is none here. Not with me; I've come to expect such things.

Back in early December, I was really jonesin' to ask this guy out. I met him at school and had been oh-so-subtly keeping my eye on him. He intrigued me and THAT was enough to prevent me from asking him out. (Kind of backasswards, I know.) See, I knew that if I went out with him, I'd begin to like him and I just didn't want to travel that road, knowing full well I'd be leaving in March. Call me crazy, but I seek to avoid torturing myself if at all possible.

But, how did I know I'd fancy him, you ask?

There was just something about him: Intangible. Sexy. Captivating.

Any time I use three adjectives like those to describe a man, I pretty much understand what I'm in for. Because, that special kind of three-adjective man has only shown his face in my world once before, and for simplicity's sake, I'll just say, it wasn't pretty.

But, I digress. The next logical question is: If you had effectively made up your mind about the situation in December, why are we here?

Wellll...

The term at school ended and I went on holiday to Phoenix. I didn't see the 3-Ad School Boy for a few weeks. Yet, I'm fairly certain I thought of him - and consequently, my reluctance - every damn day during that period. Apparently, I wasn't going to let myself off the hook so easily.

I began to envision the regret that would accumulate if I didn't give in to my urges, and so I came to the conclusion that I'd rather deal with feelings of attraction and intense emotion, than try to cope with those of regret. I resolved my cognitive dissonance by telling myself I would be an idiot if I let the opportunity pass. Simple, eh?

That calmness of spirit lasted until about halfway though our first date...at which point I began to silently curse myself.

F&@k! Sh%t! What do you think you're doing? Do you realize how SCREWED you are?! You've gotten a taste, now it's all over. You dumbass. F*#K.

So yeah...that was Date #1. Since the idea of avoiding torture has effectively gone out the window, I won't bother telling you the things I'm saying to myself now.

He's Just Not That Into You

F-in A.

On Saturday, a girlfriend of mine gave me a book to read. Ever so nonchalantly, I accepted. She knows I love to read; I guessed she thought it especially funny or whatever. I had seen the book many times at the bookstore and each time, the title had caught my eye: He's Just Not That Into You.

Only, I thought it was just some cheesy, chick novel. I realized about one minute into actually reading it, however, it certainly was NOT a novel. It's, uh, pretty much the proverbial single woman's nightmare, delicately wrapped in a glossy pink cover.

(Bastards rope you in and hold on tight. I hate when that happens.)

Reading the book made me feel such a plethora of emotions, many simultaneously. I felt the need to vomit while at the same time desiring to kick some guy's face in. Any guy would do. I'd teeter between the need to laugh and the urge to cry my pathetic eyes out. Shout obscenities at the wall in my apartment, if only for the release of energy.

This type of subject matter makes me go all funny. I detest being at the mercy of emotions in such a way, specifically when I haven't seen the situation coming.

I had prepared myself for a light read, something to relax with on a Sunday night while I soaked in the tub. What I got instead, was the equivalent of a fist fight was a man named All The Things You Think You Know About Relationships. He won; I lay bloody and battered on the ground, reeling from shock at a situation that I never had the opportunity to get my bearings in. He was just too fast, too powerful.

And the worst part was, he didn't even have to try that hard. He was ready for Round Three, only the slightest condensation having gathered at his temples.