I think I'm getting old.

Well, I suppose it's not getting old so much as it's getting tired. Tired of the back and forth. Tired of knowing what will happen. See...I thought I picked up a "Choose Your Own Adventure" novel but it turns out I actually have one of those detective novels from when I was small. In particular, one that I've already read a million times. At first, I had to relearn the steps the characters take and the decisions too but now those are familiar, growing increasingly bland by the day.

It's not that I don't enjoy routine. No, it's more like I just can't stand knowing the missteps that will lead to failure. Over and over and over. No matter how many times it seems like the intrepid girl detective might actually catch her long time nemesis, in the end it's always the same. She slips on the wet floor and he makes his escape. I sigh and glance away from the pages. Everything seems more entertaining to me now. Eventually, I put the book down...and each time I do, it's longer and longer before I pick it up again.

I certainly don't hate the characters...they're not doing anything wrong. I don't hate the setting, or the author...it was a great book for a while. I'm not angry at myself for reading the book so many times. I'm just ready for something different. Ready for a story whose end I don't know before I start.

And I guess that's growing up, right? You get older and practice doing things the way you think they ought to be done. Eventually you figure out if this "way" of yours is workable. You compromise in some manner or another and then you move on to something new. I've clutched onto this for a very long time and I suppose it'd be safe to say that I will never really let it go. But the reality is that I have given up on trying. I can rummage around in my pockets and show you what's inside but I'm not going to offer any of it to you. No matter how you ask for it or how many times you tell me it's what you want. And I don't mean this in a high school, "that's it I'm so done with this FOREVER" way. No, my approach is more apathetic. I've been here before, I've felt this way before, and I've been wrong before. But I simply don't have the energy to keep re-reading this book I know the ending to. I'd rather spend that energy on a walk in the part, writing a paper, or researching one of my millions of interests online. I'll probably pick up the book again but I think by the time I do, it's going to have dust.

I think I'm finally getting sick of emotional writing. Well, it's not that I'm getting sick of it. I still appreciate a well-written sentimental phrase and all the energy that goes into crafting the perfect sentences. However, I'm getting tired. Nights of fighting the battles that makes our shack worth shitting in and long days with little rewards makes me crave simplicity. I state something very bluntly, you listen. We agree or we disagree and move on from there. I admit, I'm still one to get wrapped up in the melodrama. Maybe that comes from growing up in a family where melodrama was common place and the only way anyone got anywhere...not that we were really GOING anywhere back then. But digressions aside, I'm getting sick of the overwhelming tears and the futility theories. I want this to work, dammit. I will make it work. You need to hold up your end in the meantime.

Okay, anyways. That's not what I was going to write about. I was going to write about maturity and misgivings. I was going to write about how I have not been perfect. Also, I was going to write about the way that someone writes when they are mad. To be clear: this is not an attack. This is not me trying to remove all responsibility from my name. No. I've done wrong and I've known that for a long time. I won't go into the long and rambling discussion of why I was who I was and am who I am. That's unnecessary. It will suffice to say that I feel comfortable with my progression and I think less than being outright nefarious in my intent, I was just ill prepared, informed, and aware to make a clear-cut, unilateral stance on my own behalf. In short, I was a total n00b.

In typical n00b-fashion, I did not know the rules of the game that were not laid directly in front of my face. That's not to say they were hidden. That's not to say I wasn't actively seeking out more information. But when you're excited about something new, you don't go off looking for reasons for it to be fucked up or not for you. You try to positively reinforce what you have, and that's what I tried to do. Did somethings seem iffy to me from the start? Sure did. My response was to take a leap of faith, reminding myself that this was something new that I needed to go outside of my comfort zone for. And this is what happened, time and time again when I was unsure I would remind myself I needed to trust a little and invest in what we had. Sometimes it felt fine and other times it wasn't so great. If you put my n00bishness together with my already meek (at least on the surface) personality, you get someone who is very open to the idea of others knowing more than her, who is more than willing to forgo confrontation if it is possible. If you asked me today what I thought of that situation I would say, "Danger zone, big time!" At the time I kept trying to imagine each progressive issue as a roadblock which would be overcome and allow us to proceed towards contentment.

At some point...I really started to make mistakes. This is what I truly do regret, not speaking up when my heart was saying..."Um, wait a second Amanda this doesn't make sense for us". I apologized for an incident I should not have apologized for. Love sneaks up on me. Crushes sneak up on me. I was ambushed and I should have spoken up. And if I didn't know to speak up beforehand at the very least I should NOT have apologized for my heart. Moreover, I should not have continued on when I felt the rift opening up. But as I said above I was very concentrated on trying something completely new so I was ready to betray myself. I guess what I didn't realize was that eventually betraying myself would lead me to betray you as well.

There's really not a number to the things I felt were uncool. However, I'm not going to enumerate them as they are things of the past and I'm not going to pretend that I can use them as ammunition. Ultimately, for however wrong or ill-intentioned or completely unintentional the actions may have been it is true that I did not take the steps to protect myself and fight back. Well, that is until the very end when I walked out, still foolishly trying to "protect" your feelings (arrogance at its finest) but finally making the important decision. At that point, I didn't want to talk about alternatives or solutions because I was terrified and panicked. I knew the answer that had been stewing around in my head and I followed it. From that point on, I do not think I was responsible to anyone. Who routinely allows their exes to dictate what they should or shouldn't do with their time? I have at least that much backbone.

On the topic of burning rage in the aftermath of dissolution, well, I can say that I don't think I'm alone in that rage. I don't mean to be hurtful but I think we all do it.

That desire for simplicity is gripping me again. But I will end on this note. I do still care and if that makes me pathetic, I'm fine with you passing your judgment on me. And if this writing falls on deaf ears, I could really care less. I'm siting here having a gratifying conversation with myself and that's enough for me. Don't assume too much that you don't know. Oh, and you know all there is to know already. I'm not as big of a liar as you'd like to make me out to be. Just foolhardy and shy...but we've covered that already.

You teach people how you would like to be treated.

I never dared to dream but when I did, it was always of you.

A moment thinking of you, touching you, talking to you...lasts endlessly as if in slow motion. Not resistant or hurried but deliberate. Like ice cream and a television show when it's pouring rain and no one is around. I appreciate the parts of you that you forgot long ago and I could lose myself in them without a care, regret, or realization.

I hope I can stop being depressed soon.