jock thoughts

this morning, while lifting, i had a thought. a (crucial) passage from a (fictionalized-autobiographical) story i wrote returned to my mind and i contrasted the pertinant emotional payload of the passage with my current situation.

of course, the current situation came out more favorably.

a couple months ago i'd sometimes/often make comparisons between my previous and current relationships. i do it far less frequently, now, which is proper, because my current relationship is not a reaction to my previous. the current one stands on its own merits, and would have had it come first. but i find that inevitably, i will draw comparisons. i don't particularly like that i do, because, even though the comparisons always come out with the unsurprising result of the present being more favorable than the past, still, such comparisons are unfair not only to make, but probably also to talk about. it gives the impression that i obsess about such things.

and so, to prove that i do not obsess about such things, i obsessively wrote a run-on sentence saying that i do not obsess. <golf clap>

anyhow, in the spirit of full disclosure, of which i am a great fan, here is the passage:

The kiss came to an end, but the embrace did not. Marcus held Oz tight against him, and put his head on her shoulder. Their faces touched, and he marveled at the warmth and softness of her skin. This time, though, the embrace was different. Marcus felt something new coming from Oz, and this new... emotion... was duplicated in his own heart.

Sadness, but not exactly. Heartache. Mourning. A strange feeling, Marcus had never experienced it before - either on his own, or directed at him. It was a sadness in the present, projected backwards in time from the future. A melancholy now, anticipating some sorrow or loss to come.

Like a mother's last embrace before sending her son off to war, thought Marcus.

Oz drew him in even closer, and the strange new feeling swelled to an unbearable intensity. Something terrible loomed just over the horizon. Something... permanent. Unavoidable.

The last, desperate, defiant embrace of two lovers trapped atop a burning building, thought Marcus. Two people who wish their embrace to last forever, but know that it cannot be...

(source)

yes, yes, i know. the writing is embarassingly melodramatic, but then, when i lived it and wrote it, so was i. here's the point: when Marcus held Oz, he felt -- he intuited -- that the relationship was doomed. now, in the context of the narrative, Marcus is actually a projection of Oz's mind ("a
sadness in the present, projected backwards in time from the future") and he is sensing that the relationship has already ended. in the context of my very own Real Life, though, the feeling was there just the same, only it wasn't time-travel-nonsense, it was intuition.

at the time i had the feeling, i didn't trust my intuition. trust is a thing that's best served cold. no wait, that's revenge.

sorry.

trust is a thing that must be earned. my intuition in such matters had not withstood tests, and so i gave my relationship with real-life-Oz the benefit of the doubt. i know this is true and not ex-post-facto memory shennanigans because i documented my intuitions and my distrust thereof in my Private Journal.

later, when i had more data, i came (perhaps foolishly (the very use of that word still fills me with negative emotions -- directed at myself. if the discussion that sprang from my use of the word "foolish" wasn't warning enough to me, i don't know what would be (i do know -- honesty))) to trust my intuition.

my intuition told me then that things wouldn't-couldn't-shouldn't last.

my intuition now tells me... different things.

it tells me that i am fortunate beyond my own comprehension to have stumbled into this new life i've got, and it tells me that i don't need or want it to end.

my intuition's been giving me nearly constant thumbs-up since early may.

(incidentally, my intuition told me not to write this post, but i did anyways. ohs well.)

(incidentally, the thought, such as it was, that sparked this all occurred to me in a flash as i glimpsed my own bare belly. i imagined 203's touch on my belly-skin, and missed it intensely. from there, my mind riddled me the portentious question of whether i missed her or simply missed belly-rubs. the last time i answered such a question i answered it dishonestly, with much justification and hand-waving. this time, though, there was no hand-waving. i missed (and miss) the person, not the belly-rub.

but i miss the rub, too.)