2004-09-24 || 12:48 p.m.

|| the ISBN number that brought it all down. ||

the matter of the book in the mail lends itself so nicely to this, the online diary, for it is rife with scandal and intrigue and heartache and anger. and confusion and good feelings and jealousy and a particular acknowledgements page and inside cover inscription that brought me to tears. part of me would like to throw proper lady decorum out the window and just have it out here, along with All the Times I have been Done Wrong, but part of me, the proper lady, feels i should button it and go back about my business.
it's just this matter? is so closely tied with an indelible spot of confusion. and it's the only part of my personal saga of romance and mayhem, really, that remains all messy and marred. it's not very prominent any more, but it's there. like a knot under your skin you can feel just barely, and if you rub at it you get those electric sparks from the original impact.
so. the book. a real live beautiful bound fancifully-designed book regarding a certain annual writing endeavor that has gained fame in the past few years (jenny, mind your proper lady decorum!). by line: estranged ex-boyfriend. prefaced by email and enclosed with a note, and making the decision to not think about anything re: him anymore, an outrightly unnatural decision for me, gets reversed for four minutes while seated on the front porch of the yellow house. it's the way it is with him: real nice words but a decidedly closed off feeling, like having a beautiful hand-made invitation to come visit, all calligraphy and beautiful colors and your name written so delicately, only to find the door is padlocked and there's no sign of life behind it.
not to be terribly vague about it.
but. i just wish, still, that everything got sorted out. that things weren't so weird and clashy between us and that i could stay true to j.a.h. philosophical point number 337: be sure to maintain friendships with ex-boyfriends. because you love(d) them and had brilliant friendships and those shouldn't have to be sacrificed when the love part gets cancelled out of the equation.
boo.
i don't think i'll ever be able to read the book that came in the mail (suppressing p.l.decorum to interject: he lives but 5 miles away from me! was the mailing necessary? i think not.). i am endlessly proud and wish him the best, really i do, but i will place it in my book cabinet with author picture pressed up most obscenely against our bodies, ourselves or the spanish-english dictionary.
and write my own damn book (because i feel the one-up in the published category is a good element of my upset.) and write a very heart-felt easily-misconstrued inscription closing with a heart jenny.

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