I've never been good with expressing emotions. I always felt that emotions were a sign of weakness - part of being raised as my father's "son", I suppose. Lately I'm having a hard time bottling up those things that bubble up when people start flinging arrows and stones. Some I deserve. Others, less so. Innocent comments get taken out of context and used to further some cause. I make a genuine post about an overwhelming feeling I have, and someone turns it into an accusation, based on some sort of internet statistic that proves I've posted in response to something else. Frankly, I don't see the connection. I get angry more often than I used to, but I often feel like I've been kicked in the gut too. I'm not accustomed to that one. It usually brings tears. Intended kindnesses are perceived as attempts to control. And this post will be labeled as an attempt to send someone on a guilt trip - but hey - if the shoe fits, baby, wear it out.
I don't like funerals. I'm not sure that they're truly helpful to the family, but it is an expected part of the process. It just seems to me that their only true purpose is to serve as a vivid reminder that life is short, and that we never get enough days to do the things we want. I also don't like arguing with people. I think discussion is good, as long as its productive and doesn't devolve into namecalling, but I've always considered myself a peacemaker. I thought that was my job, to mediate and try to keep the peace between warring parties; it was a by-product of my parent's divorce. Perhaps that's the root of the passive-agressive tendency - I don't feel I can say what I really think, so I try to find a diplomatic way to say it without hurting anyone's feelings. Apparently I'm not as good at it as I think, so perhaps I should consider a more direct approach. The funeral was moving, and I'm glad that I went. But it does make me wonder
I was checking through my list of contacts in my Hotmail account today, when I realized I still had Sarah's old e-mail address. Even though the last e-mail I'd tried to send her had bounced, apparently I just never got around to deleting it. Seeing that was like having the wind knocked out of me - it just punctuated the fact for me that I can't send her e-mail ever again. I can't call her, talk to her, laugh with her, sit at Sunset Grill like we'd planned and drink wine until we got silly. Or in our case, sillier. I wanted to believe she was happy and that was why I hadn't heard from her. I wanted to believe that she and Isaac Tigrett were off seeing the world, because that's what she deserved. She had loved him for years, and had finally gotten him back into her life, and they deserved to be happy. What better life for a hippie than to be living her days out with the founder of the Hard Rock, for crying out loud? But now I'll never know how all that wo
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