This has not been a year of good choices for me.  I look back every once in a while and wonder what happened, where I went wrong.  Admittedly, I haven’t fallen so low as, say, a cocaine addiction, but for me it’s merely a matter of semantics.

I used to know where my life was going.  I used to have plans.  Certainty.  A sense of purpose.

I have not fulfilled my resolution of the new year.  If anything, my emotional baggage has gone from a manageable backpack to steamer trunk (and this trunk has fallen on my foot more than once).

There is still one note of certainty, however.  There is no death more meaningful than one which is richly deserved.  I fully intend to deserve it.

For the first time in several years, I’m making a new year’s resolution.  For the coming year it is my goal to be as if I lost my luggage on the way to the antarctic.

Frigid and utterly without baggage.

I’ve been neglecting this journal.  It’s entirely my own fault.

Aylin broke down and cried today for the first time in what seems like forever.  She doesn’t know what to think anymore, so she comes to me for help, but I’ll be damned if I know what’s going on either.

I am not a hostage negotiator–I don’t even know who is holding who (or if any crime has been committed).

Perhaps this is not something I ought to be committing to print, but sorting things out in my head doesn’t seem to be working, and typing is easier than writing by hand.

Aylin seems so superficial, so preoccupied with her own petty amusements that all she radiates is a terrible emotional distance.  She comes across as stupid because that is the wall which is easiest to maintain.  She’s afraid of pain, so instead she’s chosen the life of the numb.  But this was not always the case.

To hell with it, she loved him, Arjuna, too much for her own good.  It ought to have been obvious from the beginning that he did not love her back, that perhaps he did not even like her, but I was not around then and love makes people stupid.  I’ve come to terms with the fact that that’s all I’m really good for: objectivity.

He spurned her, twice.  Each time she went running back, like a spaniel named Helena, and each time she was greeted with what seemed like open arms (but were really gaping jaws?).  And then the shit hit the fan hard enough for Aylin to notice.  She cowered and prodded for a while, and eventually gave up trying to get into Demetrius’ good graces (for Helena and Hermia are not friends in this tale).

All the while she loved, and mourned, and tried to forget.  Then Helena found her own love and all should be well.

But it isn’t.

Demetrius won’t stop talking, and Helena can’t stop listening (though the words sear her ears) and wondering if he’s talking about her.  He was always difficult to decipher, and even more so now that all context has been lost.

She’s started mourning again and helplessly scattering bits of herself about, and it it up to I, Hazael, to put her back together again.

I’m tempted just to go and beg for a sign from our petulant deity, Lord Arjuna.  Something, anything, to set myself at ease…

I still miss my Arjuna.  It’ weird and I know that I shouldn’t, but I do and I suppose my subconcious knows that better than even I.

I’m lying in my bed with no pants on (because it’s winter and cargo pants are uncomfortable to sleep in), and out of no where Arjuna shows up.  He tells me that he’s getting married the next day at this resort where we’re both staying (how he managed to get into my room, and why it’s my dorm room, I have no idea), and he wanted to see me one more time, or something.

For no readily apparent reason he takes off his shirt and crawls into bed next to me.  He tells me that he’s sorry, and that he hasn’t forgotten, but he’s a changed man now.  I smile and turn around so that I’m facing him and extend a hand in a mock handshake.  “Pleased to meet you,” I say, “I have no name.”  I’m not sure if he gets this oblique reference to my more annoying activities involving him, but he  says nothing, and we just lie there for a while.

There is a mosquito, and it bites Arjuna.  I offer to open the window to see if it will fly out, but Arjuna gets out of the bed as I’m doing so and begins putting on his shirt (it’s light blue), saying that he needs to get going anyway.  He wants Kitty and I to help him pick out movies for something, I’m not sure what.

The next thing I know, Arjuna is getting married to a skinny girl with clearly colored reddish/orange hair and goth make-up.  She’s wearing a pair of grey dress pants, and keeps complaining that they make her look like she has no ass.  It’s true, in fact, but I say nothing.  At some point I recycle several soda cans.

After the wedding Sterling is back in his t-shirt and jeans, and desperately trying to evade having to look after his new wife’s twin toddler cousins.  Kassi and I go looking for him.  Just as we reach the bottom of a set of stairs, Sterling catches me around the waist and makes some self-righteous comment about how he hates children.  I can’t help but wonder why he got married.

Then I wake up.  Damn dorms.

Mr. Whitekeys, I’m sick of waiting and playing this game because I’ll never be as good at it as you.

the hole is far larger than
we though it would be

statistically speaking
(the first two years don’t count)
it shouldn’t have happened this way

what use now is medical expertise?
there never was a doctor in the house
just a lot of regret
and a lot of hate

and one scared little girl
who wishes she was god
(because then she wouldn’t have to ask

to beg

for love)

because of her own stupidity

They got a divorce, Aylin and Zagreus, and now it’s up to me to pretend that I’m happy about it.

All for the best in the best of all possible worlds, right?

I fucking hate gardening.

baby, don’t tell me that you lost your soul
I’ve been carrying mine ’round in a bowl
so at least you don’t have to look at yours

dirty thing that it is I’m kind of surprised
that I haven’t gotten rid of it yet
(thrown it out with all that emotional baggage
and the entire contents of my filing cabinets)

I’m drowning under a sea of my childhood
kicking and screaming as hundreds of years
of fallible ways and infantile curses

press down upon me and I heave
HEAVE and up comes the soul
like so much poisoned shellfish.

You don’t want him dependent, but it hurts when he’s not.

I don’t dare to speculate on the implications of some things.

Like the question “have you slept with her?”  Particularly when followed by the reply of “not yet.”

Or the fact that, for now at least, my most bitter enemy is one of my better friends.  Whatever the case, I’m keeping him close.  Mr. Whitekeys, tou dree lieltva, tou dree dratzva.  I think you could say the same.  (I don’t know who I am anymore, and I’m hoping you could tell me.)

As seems fairly normal at this stage in the game, I’m having some amount of difficulty dragging more than a few coherent words out of my mind and onto paper at any given time.  I’m reasonably certain that this is the most I’ve written in weeks (except, perhaps, for the odd shopping list).  Wild horses may be required fairly soon.