I love George Stroumboulopoulos.
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8 comments:
As you and I are in the same profession my name being searchable on your old posts can be a little awkward. I would be lying if I pretended I was embarrassed, my memories are strictly the golden green of youth, but I do wonder about your intent.
"Right here, I have a place for you right here in my heart. It's all yours."
Actually that is what I meant, but if you recall I believe one of us had a boyfriend at the time. Granted I was too dumb, immature, inexperienced, and arrogant to simply have an honest conversation about our circumstances and my genuine intention. No doubt I was callous with your affections, asshole seems appropriate, but know I was simply too cowardly to hand over to you the power to devastate me: I was overwhelmed and I'm sure of that one, I should've learned it back in grade school, when I was young. Nonetheless your effects have been permanent. You are my ultimate "if I knew then what I know now".
I would be lying if I did not admit that I think of you often, and not just with Dr Seuss. I'm at a loss as to how to convince you that I deserve to be excused, I'm just not sure stupidity excuses a lack of intent.
I'm sorry first about your name there, which it no longer is. I don't know why the names seemed necessary when it crossed my mind to write it, but you're right that it's awkward and wrong and a mistake. I didn't have an intent, just a lack of forethought for which I am embarrassed.
As for the latter part, you didn't do anything wrong. You don't need my forgiveness for anything. I was, and often still am, poor at communicating. I owe you the apology, and here it is.
L
And.
I wonder what it is you think you know now that would have made then any different?
J, when I think of you now - and when I thought of you in April of 2005- I think of what was magical to me at 22 . It was me who was askew, spiraling and circling and lost. You were not unkind to me; there's no regret at all. It is a fond memory.
I"m glad there's no regrets, I thought I caught a hint of contempt.
What do I know now? Well if I were to start at the end of the story I would say I know James Gatz and the need for reinvention, but I'm a little more aware of the consequence of being late.
The beginning of the story would be some dive bar on a beach in paradise with those friends you don't see for years, but when you meet up on the other side of the planet it's like you had coffee together the day before. The topic of conversation was all the important firsts and, well, you won all the major categories.
What I didn't know in the original moment was how to deal with the enormity of your effect. I didn't have the courage to share what was whirling around in my head and I certainly didn't know how rare certain moments can be, and how rarely repeated. I did know I was going to try and live my life in the rest of the world, but I didn't know how to do that either. Thus my recollection is of the carelessness of not knowing any better.
The conclusion to the evening was that I would buy you a one way ticket to a dive bar on a beach. It seemed clever at the time
But when you wander round Bali, through Katmandu or stand in the middle of Paris how do you not wonder what if?
I'm not contemptuous, just not clear enough a writer to convey the intended tone, which was anything but contempt. Lamenting my own way of seeking that which was impossible when I was 22 was an exercise in self-reproach, if anything, but I never blamed you for that. It was mine. Wanting that which is impossible is a bad habit that plagued me both before and after I knew you.
But writing anyone's full name down in a private/public thought online is bad form and a glaring display of ignorance. It never occurred to me even momentarily that I could conjure you up that way. If I'd known it could happen I'm certain I wouldn't have dared.
And now that you are here I'm flustered. You're as unexpected now as you were then. A lot of things I want to say about then would be ridiculous - because I was ridiculous. Still am, much of the time. Easily overwhelmed, impulsive (obviously). My memory of those events has surely eroded over the years; they don't stay in chronological order. I place them in a circle now with you at the centre of it, myself trapped on the other side.
I remember thinking you were an adult when I still felt very much a child. I remember crying. Not because you had hurt me but just because you had touched me. Indeed these memories stand out because they have no match.
Not only uncoordinated and ungraceful, but also largely un-driven - I don't think I've ever come first in any category, J; I can't imagine it your way. At least not that part.
But the other part, I see it. In an alternate reality I'm sure I accepted your invitation.
I've never been conjured before. Yet another first goes to you.
I suppose an apology for storming your blog is appropriate. If my exuberance left you a little flustered it's certainly my fault, but the little comment tab seemed like an invitation, but I'm sure it was not. Perhaps writing this down is as much about me as it is you. There are plenty of people walking the earth to whom I have been either thoughtless or cruel, but there are only two memories that fill me with regret; whether it was for what could have been, for what I have done, or for both.
As for the cloudiness of memories, I suppose it's fair to ask if even you can stand up to the memory of you that exists inside my head. Maybe guilt is a little heavier when shitty Canadian rock bands call you "pocket book Brando" before covering the tab.
I would send you Daisy's for your birthday, but that would probably be more about me than you as well.
And with that he wondered if sharing was such a good idea, and left to find the whiskey, determined to be funny next time.
You shouldn't apologize for being here. It seems as though you just answered when I called. If writing these things is for you, you are still welcome to write them. By proxy I'm impacted. Positively. Your being here is the most interesting thing I can remember in a long time. I think my sleep is affected already.
I'm certain, sadly, that I wouldn't come anywhere close to living up to any memories you've held onto. What you've written here already makes me seem more special than I am.
I don't remember you ever being cruel. Thoughtless, maybe. But who isn't thoughtless at that point in life? I haven't, in spite of how it must have read to you, harboured any resentment. What I have been hanging onto isn't hurt. It's just that you were extremely important to me. I think it's best to remember that. I was wanting, very much, to fall in love with you at a very inconvenient time in your life. I never thought it was about cruelty. I blamed myself, not you. Not guilty.
Don't be funny. But don't say things about guilt and blame either. It's not like that.
Thanks for letting me stay, sorry about the sleep issues. I'm more of a sitting around at work not really doing anything kind of guy, which I've got to get over. I'm glad it feels like I simply answered a call, and four years late is for me highly symbolic.
Inconvenient is a fair description, but it's absolutely what guts me. I've no problem with other's having inconvenient entrances and exits from my little drama, but it's such a horrible way to describe you. I know you're extremely critical in your own thoughts about yourself, it's part of your charm really, but anyone who finds you inconvenient is simply an ass; certainly an adjective I've had tossed my way more than once.
You've been most gracious and I could not be anymore grateful for each and every response.
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