a bridge burnt
You all are very nice. Thank you.
Leaving for New Mexico tomorrow. As for the person whom I shall refer to by the initial π, for she is an irrational number—I don't pretend to understand what she really thinks or feels, and I still believe that she at least meant well. But it has become clear that our pretense at friendship is pretense and nothing more. You do not live fifteen blocks from your friends and never see them. You do not have to schedule appointments with your friends a week in advance. I really don't know what she does with her time now—this is how tenuous our connection has become—but I no longer figure in it. So let's call things by their names.
I do not think I'm to blame for this one. I don't claim sainthood, but I have always tried to conduct these awkward post-relationship periods with as much consideration as I could muster, and in general it's worked. My best friends are my exes. You can ask them. Those of you who know me also know that I really do hate interpersonal conflict, that I will bend over backward to make allowances if at all feasible, but this once I will come out and say it: she has been, if not malicious, incredibly thoughtless, and this is without even considering that if she had told me the truth about her feelings a little earlier, I never would have moved here. I think the friendship is torpedoed, and I think it's her fault.
I have brewed myself a bitter draught with this entry. Tonight I will have to drink it—after that, God willing, I will begin to look forward. Back on Tuesday.
