Here’s the short of it: Katie’s talking to some other guy and totally mishandled the situation. We had a promise to each other to tell each other when someone else came in to our lives, and she screwed it up. She handled it poorly. Am I jealous? Yes. Is that why I’m mad? No.

I went for a bike ride today, a nice long one. Past the high school, to McDonalds, through the Harding area, down Dresden a patch, and down Norwood. Norwood has become my favorite hill. Not incredibly steep, nice and long. I’ve been pruning the MP3s on my Clie, so that only ones that I actually enjoy stay on. I put a bunch of random ones on, then delete the ones I don’t really dig. That really helped today. As my thoughts would shift, a new song would come on and it seemed to somehow fit the new area of mental exploration. I’m thankful for that, I don’t know if it was the Hand of God, or Lady Luck, but I thank them both, just in case.

This morning I woke up to the truth, which wasn’t presented by Katie to me, and later she’d reveal that she planned on telling me Sunday. I’m happy, and so should she, that it worked out this way as compared to her plan. I’m over a hundred miles away from her, and is definitely for the best.

I called her. She was asleep, I knew she would be… I’ve tried really hard for a long time to be considerate of her sleep, but I had things to say. I waited for an hour before I called, so I guess that’s the best I could do. I said lots of things in anger, and nothing I didn’t mean. I also held back. Bathed in my own fury I felt alive. The puppy was growing into a dog. The dog was getting a taste for that ever so popular metaphorical hand. She tried defending all the wrong things, things that barely mattered to me and ignored the important things. Maybe she didn’t want to deal with them, maybe she couldn’t defend herself so she just skipped over them. She didn’t apologize, and, hell, I didn’t even want an apology. I get “I’m sorry,” out of her a lot… I guess today I realized how God feels… “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” all day long and never any change. The Disappearing Act is a prime example of that, but I’m not getting into that now, maybe never.

My frustration built as I felt unable to steer her back to things I actually wanted to talk about, and then she, in the midst of me demanding, talking, screaming, whatever about something important, asked me what a funny little line I put in one of my e-mails yesterday. That was it. She’s not listening. I said goodbye, I hung up, I hammered out the last post, and got on my bike.

There were three things that came to me, three ways, three paths:

  • Immaturity: Go home, complain and whine into the journal… Open up the coffers of your memory and dump every little truth that hurts about her out for everyone to see. Cut her open and pour poison into it. Infect everything you have and let it fester. Take everything you have that reminds you of her and shred it, destroy it, burn it, and then mail the whole lot to her and let this be your show of how you feel.
  • Psychopathic: Go on Sunday. Let loose the darkest part of the twisted soul you’ve spent so long on trying to fix and keep back.
  • Forgiving: Say your sorry. Roll over.

Nah. They’re all horrible. I’ve been all those things in so many ways. Not just to her, but throughout life. A mix of all of them, some more than others at some times, and less at other times. I needed more time.

Stepping in front of the mirror, I passed the clippers over my head and face. I looked at my shorn head and my mud speckled body… and for a moment… I felt perfect. Everything fell into place. No answers came, but that’s not really what being perfect is about. Knowledge will come and go, it’s wisdom that makes the mind perfect. I’d probably have achieved perfection a long time ago if I could finally shed the youth of this person. That comes with time I suppose, and this morning the clock spun a little faster.

I’d bet twenty bucks that there is an e-mail (or five) in my mailbox waiting for me. But I can’t do that. I don’t want to add a single new piece of information to the situation I’m mulling over in my mind. I need to finish this before I can deal with anything new. I think I’ll go to Rolling Plains. They’re having their fundraiser for the Philadelphia trip. Maybe I won’t.