Don’t ask, and I won’t tell

I could be wrong. I often am. I wish I were this time. But I doubt it — my intuition’s too strong.

Not to say that “someday” couldn’t still happen. But, it seems so much further away. I always knew that, even if this weren’t an acid trip without the actual hallucinogens, there would be a delay. I’m OK with occupying myself in the interim — I’ve never been the type to open a gift before it was time. (Not that I get altogether that many gifts — you’d think I’d be a little more eager to tear into things when they come along as rarely as they do.) I don’t know. But I tend to appreciate things more than anybody else in the world — I know special when I see it. And I treat it accordingly. I guess I just wish the sentiment were reciprocated more often and in bigger, more obvious ways.

If my theory is correct, maybe it can be a good thing. I will see to it that it is. Maybe the impetus is there to eradicate the drama and the other roadblocks that I’ve inadvertently placed. I don’t know — I’m trying not to be shattered by a hunch, but do I really need something this huge to be confirmed? I can always at least try to comfort myself that a few too many drinking binges and happy pills in my 20s might have killed off some essential brain cells and that I’m not *always* right. But how, though, do you get over something that you believed was yours and could still be, but you’ve got to walk away for awhile? I’ll tell you how — you need to erase the possibility so that you can be pleasantly surprised if the horse you wanted on the carousel comes around again and is waiting for you to ride off into the sunset with it.

I suspect tonight will be the fourth night in a row without any sleep that doesn’t involve nightmares. But I guess those are better than having no dreams at all.

On iTunes: Tori Amos, “Sleeps With Butterflies”

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