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Strange day... sunny, about 20 (!) degrees (whatever happened to spring?), snow melting fast, but no vegetation out whatsoever, except for the odd bud if you looked closely; the landscape nothing but shades of grey and brown. Riding on paths that were alternately still deeply covered in snow mush or had turned into gurgling rivulets. Quite romantic, actually. The horse, who normally shies away from every puddle, anxious not to wet her feet, bravely stomped through it all, but it wan't exactly fun.

Haven't see G. in quite some time now, mixed feelings of vague guilt, vaguer regret and mostly relief, and realised that I was, in fact, a bit angry with him. People sometimes just don't hit it off, and while unrequited feelings suck, it's really no one's fault. I certainly never blamed those who wouldn't return mine. Maybe I should have broken off contact entirely, but I did tell him, repeatedly, that there wouldn't be anything but friendship between us, which apparently he chose to disbelieve for years, until I told him I was (probably) bisexual.

Not my fault, or at least not the whole mess. But while intellectually I did realise this, I also spent years beating myself up, telling myself what a horrible, cold person I was relationship-wise, and while this is partly true it can't be the whole truth, can it?

I guess as with most things in life there's no clear either/or, only an and. Through him I did realise things about myself, discovered faults, and also learned things, learned to be more direct, less over-sensitive. (He has no tact whatsoever. None.) Discovered strengths... There's some kind of balance in most experiences. But in some ways he did put me down, made me feel inadequate, subtly, constantly. And maybe it was my main fault hanging in there as long as I did, because I couldn't come out and say that it wasn't even that great a friendship.

Partly it's true, my social skills are sadly lacking, mostly simply through lack of practice. I'm either too reserved, or, when I (think I) connect with someone I get too personal too fast, either of which tends to scare people off. (When M. recently said I was, if one got to know me, ein kleiner Schalk, my reply was, well it takes three years to know me reasonably well. That, or three glasses of wine.) I'm horribly inapt at social lies, I don't do random, meaningless conversations well, I'd rather be silent. I can't maintain acquaintances, I let people slip away, if I don't care enough, if they don't interest me enough. I'm not so good with middle grounds.

In fact I'm entirely too much of an either/or person. Again, intellectually I acknowledge the need for compromises, for seeing the subtle shades and different points of view, but emotionally it's all or nothing, the baby with the bath water, that kind of thing. I guess that might be why I've become scared of going along with my emotions too much?

Despite the incessant navel gazing in this journal, looking at myself and trying to be even half-way objective is difficult for me. On the other hand, putting myself in another's place is almost too easy: every life has its inner logic, however twisted the outcome, and once you realise this it's only all too easy to emphasise, too understand, to see things from someone else's standpoint. Studying history probably helped, but it was maybe also a way of... stepping back into the position of the observer, away from taking an active decision. Gain a little distance from life. Second hand lives, second hand emotions. Safe.

Gaining a sense of self is much more difficult. Sometimes, even while I'm aware the notion is idiotic, I feel like a mirror, merely reflecting.

I guess that would be the most important thing, readjusting my perception of myself. Allow myself to get angry once in a while. Maybe be more forgiving towards myself, too. Not to apply standards I wouldn't think of applying to anyone else, standards I'm bound to fall short of. It's ruining my life....

[*sigh* This made sense when I wrote it a few days ago, now it's very.... vague, very abstract already. Not felt. And, upon re-reading, somewhat illogic.]

I probably won't have to move, but I actually want to... a few more square meters, now that I can afford them, possibly a small separate sleeping room, space enough for a tv of my own. The thing is, though, if I want to move out, I should start to invest a little more energy into looking; one way or the other I have to decide until May. Like, actually looking at apartments, instead of deciding beforehand that I wouldn't like them anyway.

Note to self, consider this a kick in your butt.


solitary summer

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