Oct. 20, 2003 - 11:04 p.m.
Dear Vincent,
Why is it that illness usually coincides with unhappiness? I know that certain members of the medical community maintain that a positive outlook can bolster your health. I also know that poets are always claiming that people really do die of broken hearts. So what's the deal? Does depression tap dance on your immune system? Or does your immune system leave your mood down and out for the count?
The ordinaries are back in full force largely in part to a bit of drama going on in my life right now. Drama. Sigh. I thought I was too old for drama.
Joe, whom I mentioned a few letters back in reference to my elementary school days has become something of a romantic interest in weeks past. I won't dwell on his good points, and I won't dwell on his bad points... I will however, dwell on his actions. I suppose I know how it all began, though when it began I couldn't say. I guess it began the way these things always seem to, what I'll call the 'Touch and Go.' We'd been seeing each other in a happenstance manner on the social scene. And when one of us would leave it was "It was nice to see you Joe." "Yeah, I'll see ya." That sprig of dialogue was prefaced by a friendly handshake, head nod. The Touch as our hands met, and then the Go, as we'd leave. From there we progressed to a friendly hug. "Bye Joe." The Touch as we hugged lightly, "Night Meg." and the Go as we backed away smiling. And then the Touch began to linger- his hands wrapped around my waist for the hug and sliding off my back as the Go commenced. And then Touch and Go began to melt into the rest of the time we spent together. The Touch- (him sliding his arm around my waist to tell me something quietly) the Go (as I pulled back laughing or to respond seriously.)
A few evenings ago, Joe and I both ended up at a birthday party for Mandy. It wasn't even late yet when Joe and one of my dearest friends (for the purpose of this story I'm going to call her Sara) began to engage in a good deal of Touch and no Go. The injury from Joe was keenly felt I assure you, but Vincent, the injury from Sara was unfathomably worse. In this fashion I reached a point in the evening in which I was at my limit. All my sensibilities demanded a speedy exit. On pretense of a bathroom break, I bid the hostess goodnight and left. As I understand it, it took some time for the departure to become evident but the meaning behind it was very clear to everyone at the party except for Joe and Sara. Thus, even without a flair for the dramatic, or an intention to incite drama, it seems I have. The not so silent sympathy these past few days has been almost tangible and despite it's good intentions, irritating. It matters very little if I would choose to bow out of the situation, everyone else has other plans. Their words of advice only serve to re open the wound.
I feel foolish with regard to Joe. As Jane Austin would ruefully explain, implication is an entirely different beast than declaration. And I am bitter towards Sara. It was she I trusted with my feelings pertaining to Joe, and she that ignored them.
A stomach ache of wrathful proportion has been my constant companion since this all began. It comes and goes in spiteful twists like someone plunged their hand into my stomach and swishes it back and forth now and again. Sometimes, they run their hand up the inside of my ribs just for kicks. While I haven't stayed away from work I did teach ballet sitting down last night, it's only the second time in three years I've ever done that.
I must confess that you might be disappointed in me Vincent, I am handling it all in a rather petty manner. I console myself by smugly remembering that I photograph much better than Sara. Logically I know that's no kind of logic. Oh well. So for now I'm walking around with resentment in my back pocket and a knife in my stomach, I wonder what other treasures the week will deposit somewhere on me.
Much Love,
Meghan
what they said - what they will say
