10.16.2012

Oh, do tell.

I owe you all an apology.

I planned this differently--I thought I could artfully cover up my hiatus from writing about the present with some filler posts about nail polish and exes but every time I opened Lakricia to do so nothing came out. It all just felt like some calculated lie and when I even thought about typing something--typing anything--a story I'm not ready to tell threatened to come out.

And I know. I said I wouldn't do this anymore, for anyone, right? But here's the thing: It's not like this is Woody. It's not like I can just troubleshoot all the shit in my head online and then wait for him to read it.

On a side note--it's shit like that that makes Wood and I the worst couple ever. We speak to each other so infrequently about how we feel about each other (even now, even platonically) that I would, for years, just put everything that I wanted to tell him here and then check my site tracker later to see if he read it. This ironically makes us very good friends.

What I'm trying to tell you, what I'm trying to divulge here is that yes, I promised myself that I wouldn't keep secrets for anyone anymore. But I also promised myself that I would at least start these oh-so-scintillating conversations in person rather than on the internet.

What I didn't anticipate was how my departure would color my judgement, would make me keep putting it off. Once I bought those tickets it all just got so real, and kinda hard, and I began to stand on the patio at Gallery and stare south down 6th from way up high and realize how much I just fucking love it here. And fuck, I'll think, how can you not love it here? A few months ago three or four months seemed insignificant compared to the eternity that New York will be here waiting for me, but fuck--what will happen without me here?

I mean, who will Sally have dinner with on Sunday nights and who's gonna tip for all of Namel's drinks when he fails too? I mean, I will miss New York like crazy, but it has only recently occurred to me that New York will miss me, too.

What's crazy is that this has never occurred to me before.

Every airplane and moving van, every jaunt to another country or another state, and I have somehow never, ever realized that I will be missed just as much as I will miss everyone so desperately.

It was only last week or maybe the one before, and it was late and I was naked, and I had propped myself up to face him with my bent left arm stretched across his chest, and then it hit me. All the people I've left behind that I've always assumed are fine without me, they missed me. They miss me, and oh-so-suddenly I could easily reason that everyone here will miss me too. It came out so flat and even; when it first came to mind I had planned on proposing it as a question, but in the moment before I spoke it became so obviously true that I had no need to ask anything.

"You're going to miss me when I'm gone."

And what the fuck are you supposed to say to that? How do you respond to someone who so declaratively tells you how you feel?

Wood asked me once, years ago, if I was sad. We were in my elevator in San Francisco headed to the lobby, he with his backpack and bike box and me suppressing tears because he was leaving again. But now that I am forced to think about this moment again I realize that I wouldn't have answered any differently had he said "you're sad" rather than posing it as a question.

I know only too well how quickly the day I leave will arrive; it always feels like I have all the time in the world and then suddenly I'm leaving the next day. But I'm struggling with this, all of this, and yes--I've already entertained the idea that everything I haven't said will come out like a flood once I get on the plane.

It wouldn't be the first time.

Sorry.

--M

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