Meant to Be.
A few days I broke up with Hunter. I didn't have much to write about that.
It seems strange that we would count the break-ups in our lives. That we could tally up significant others like cars we’ve owned: “There was the Nissan and the Ford and the Honda.” “There was Tony and Greg and Philly Joe.” Like possessions. Like things in our lives. Things that belonged to us.
And past-tense makes everything feel so goddamned manifest-destiny, you know? Cut and dry, like our recollection is the only one that counts, and like there was a definite and pre-ordained Beginning, Middle and End. It also makes the entire experience more easily disposable.
And I say this only because this is exactly what I do, too. These past few years have definitely been a different existence from the three before them, and that mostly has to do with Hunter. Okay; it pretty much entirely has to do with Hunter. Living together, we formed our own little colony, like some group in Montana. Hunter-Alice-Land. Paroled the perimeter of our insular little nation with rifles, muttering, “Stay offma’ land!” to all passers-by. Even when things got hard, we kept it guarded. Never defiled it. Even when we realized it was too much to try to keep together.
And now the fact that I’m really gonna have to find a new way to do things feels like I’m leaving my home.
And it's fucking terrifying.
The language I will now be forced to develop is entirely foreign from the one in my head. And that includes all thoughts; it includes the music and film library; it includes the things I order at different restaurants and the local ice-cream shop; it includes the phrase I say when I mean “My, god!"
[=“Jeezle-pete!” Originally, it was not my term. It was Hunter’s mom’s. But now, out it comes -- naturally as Ouch! when I stub my toe.]
It even extends outward -- to include the{/our] sweaters in my closet, my[/our] books, the[/our] coffee-shop I call home -- and the guy at the video-store who knew us only as a couple.
I guess it’s healthier to compartmentalize everything and make it seem like Fate in retrospect. It makes you certain you did the right thing. It makes Now seem like the superior moment.
A few days I broke up with Hunter. I didn't have much to write about that.
It seems strange that we would count the break-ups in our lives. That we could tally up significant others like cars we’ve owned: “There was the Nissan and the Ford and the Honda.” “There was Tony and Greg and Philly Joe.” Like possessions. Like things in our lives. Things that belonged to us.
And past-tense makes everything feel so goddamned manifest-destiny, you know? Cut and dry, like our recollection is the only one that counts, and like there was a definite and pre-ordained Beginning, Middle and End. It also makes the entire experience more easily disposable.
And I say this only because this is exactly what I do, too. These past few years have definitely been a different existence from the three before them, and that mostly has to do with Hunter. Okay; it pretty much entirely has to do with Hunter. Living together, we formed our own little colony, like some group in Montana. Hunter-Alice-Land. Paroled the perimeter of our insular little nation with rifles, muttering, “Stay offma’ land!” to all passers-by. Even when things got hard, we kept it guarded. Never defiled it. Even when we realized it was too much to try to keep together.
And now the fact that I’m really gonna have to find a new way to do things feels like I’m leaving my home.
And it's fucking terrifying.
The language I will now be forced to develop is entirely foreign from the one in my head. And that includes all thoughts; it includes the music and film library; it includes the things I order at different restaurants and the local ice-cream shop; it includes the phrase I say when I mean “My, god!"
[=“Jeezle-pete!” Originally, it was not my term. It was Hunter’s mom’s. But now, out it comes -- naturally as Ouch! when I stub my toe.]
It even extends outward -- to include the{/our] sweaters in my closet, my[/our] books, the[/our] coffee-shop I call home -- and the guy at the video-store who knew us only as a couple.
I guess it’s healthier to compartmentalize everything and make it seem like Fate in retrospect. It makes you certain you did the right thing. It makes Now seem like the superior moment.
posted by Alice at 8:05 PM
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