It's odd, how I feel about Doug.
Every so often I'll send him an email (I sent one a few days ago because I saw that the weather in St. Louis was terrible), and then he'll email me back, and that will have fufilled our communication quota for the next half a year.
Let me be clear that I believe myself to be fully over him.
His last email to me implied that he now lives with his girlfriend in an apartment in the city (assuming that they don't have many apartments in the boonies of Missouri). And that they took a trip to Chicago earlier in the year.
It's a weird feeling, how uncomfortable this makes me. It's like I don't want him to be happy - ever - and I certainly don't want him being close to anyone else. I'd rather him come crawling back to me, only to be shut down in a most brutal fashion, and then live out the remainder of his days far away from civilization.
We would often talk about things like travelling and moving into our own little apartment in the city. I feel like someone else is living my dream. Or maybe that he's living it without me.
And of course I feel increadibly pathetic that he's got a girlfriend and living in lovey-dovey bliss and here I am, single almost two years. I wonder if something's wrong with me.
I guess my question is why does something like him living with his girlfriend bother me? It shouldn't if I'm over him, right? But if I'm not over him, why is it that I don't feel anything for him at all?
I feel like I'm wanting some kind of satisfaction, some kind of closure. But I don't know what more there could be, or how I would go about attaining it.
John Mayer really needs to write a song about this...
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Apparently I'm in a worse mood than I thought - I just had to restrain myself from ending an email with
hope you're not still a pretentious bastard.
I changed it to
hope you're well. Which isn't a complete lie. I don't want actual harm to come to him, I just want him cut off from all of society and to be forced to live out the remainder of his years as a hermit.
I think it's time to go to bed.
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Ah, the weekend. Everyone loves the weekend. People get to stay out late, drink too much, sleep in, and spend time with friends.
How was my weekend, you ask? Well, lets see. I was cancelled on last minute by two different people on Saturday and stood up on Sunday.
Don't I feel popular.
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Yesterday I met up with an old friend, one whom I haven't seen properly since I was 10.
Her name is Alice. She came to my school in Ottawa in grade four. The first day of school we hit it off - just like we did last night.
Alice is a beautiful and intelligent woman attending university in Montreal. We talked for hours about current events and politics, old memories and how our friendship has affected one another. We agree on so many things, yet she votes liberal - a direct result of how we were raised. She values different things than I do, both in her life and in a political party. It was interesting; two intelligent people who agree in principal on most subjects, yet on opposite ends of the spectrum in most respects.
I can't help but wonder, though, if we would still be friends if I hadn't moved to Vancouver. We could have gone to different high schools. Maybe we would have become involved in different activities, been taken apart by different classes, or had a big fight and never spoken to each other again.
When you move away from you best friend, you're left with only good memories of that person. We weren't around each other during the teen years, the years that most people drift apart from each other.
So maybe our friendship was actually saved by me moving away. I don't know if it's true, but it's an interesting thought.
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