I snuck in a beer before heading home last Friday, a few gulps before the holiday weekend and, of course, the return of the BF to collect more of his belongings. (And, perhaps, finally install the new window that had been sitting forlornly on the back deck for well over a year. The idea was to install a double-hung window so that we could put an air conditioner in the living room but, of course, it's two summers later and it would only get installed out of a fading sense of obligation.) Well, no, I had a glass of Corsendonck, draft; you can't really drink a Corsendock and just say that you "had a beer." Anything Belgian seems to warrant a proper name.Point being, the one glass seemed to be enough to get me into the proper frame of mind and put me in that comfortable place that is the long Holiday Weekend. I walked over to my track, saw that I had ten minutes to spare, so I settled into a bench seat and whipped out my journal. Sounds rather sad and re-re but my brain never shuts up.I originally wrote about being worried about money - I still had to pick up some beer and groceries for the BF's impending visit - and was amazingly loth to spend any cash on him. I didn't think he was some kind of insensitive creature for wanting certain foodstuffs in the house, and I did make the initial offer. It was the proper thing for a girlfriend to do. I just really didn't feel like doing it.And there it was. Here I am, going through the motions, and I realized that it had been going on for quite some time. It wasn't a simple case of disillusionment, growing tired after nearly eighteen months of therapy to make a relationship work. Part of me had been faking it all along.There's quite a bit that drew me to my BF in the first place and there's obviously quite a bit (besides any sense of guilt) that keeps me around...despite his move two hours away, oddly enough. There's a reason why I'm "keeping an open mind" rather than simply packing it in. But...I would get chills hearing him joke around about starting fights, getting obscenely drunk, people treating other people like absolute crap, and would chastize myself for being innocent, naive, a nerd, and knew he wasn't doing anything like it at all now. The past is the past. But I couldn't stop that siren going off in my head: "This is not someone I would have had anything to do with if I had met him years ago."Train arrived, packed up the journal mid-sentence, and turned on the iPod. I felt like total and utter shit.I'm such an asshole.Such an insecure, judgmental little shit.The train started to rattle its way into the yards and the first samples of "A Perfect World" piped into my ears.And WHAM! I'm in the middle of my own Wes Anderson movie.

Of course, there is a noticable difference, Wes Anderson's personal ignorance of and likely indifference towards me aside. One comes to love Wes's flawed masterpieces of characters even as they break down, succumb to entropy, have a core that is quite eternally miserable. They're really a total, unforgivable mess, but we look kindly upon them with happy little soundtracks going off in our heads, very much like a Japanese retro mish-mash.Who knows why we're so warm and accomodating, but, happy Pizzicato Five music aside, everybody can see that I'm a true asshole. You could flog me with the musical irony.Pizzicato Five - "Roma":http://images.nickiplum.multiply.com/song/1/11/full/U2FsdGVkX19h38ITCT,j.ZEA983ReQxpUKRCdwgEoc5L.XR8SooX1w==/02%20Roma.m4a and "A Room with a View":http://images.nickiplum.multiply.com/song/1/12/full/U2FsdGVkX18hDU7dg1xupId0JCH9HTIWRNxBVNLRyivMivtL,jgkdQ==/04%20A%20Room%20With%20A%20View.m4a(Oh, and was this bit of self-criticism the "A-HA!" moment that will change everything in my life and save our relationship? Of course not. It's only one wrinkle in this unraveling fabric. And there's always room for progress and it's all change for both of us at the moment. Perhaps this was a clue to --how different we are-- what little we have in common, what we can share, no matter how open I am. Perhaps I'm just paying better attention to my own thoughts. But, dear God, right now I look like a joke.)