Eight days ago I pulled an all-nighter in a desperate attempt to wrap volume 2, issue 1 of Shakespeare’s Monkey Revue in time to get copies up here in time for the intended release party. I managed, but in the fog of sleep deprivation.
In the days that followed, I pushed to get confirmed RSVPs for the Makepeace Brothers backyard concert that I had planned for last night.
Two days ago I shot off an overwhelmed email off to the guys to relay the sad condition of the “confirmed” list. I knew there was no way we could make it work as originally planned. Fortunately, the band reassured me that it’d work out.
And it did.
Though not quite what any of us had planned, the concert last night was excellent and SO much fun. Because of the threat of rain, we moved inside; turned out we could have stayed outside — the rain hit hard all around us, but none hit our house. Still, inside worked out well, though it was hot. More than half of the guests were people I had never met before, which was cool, but disappointing that more of my friends couldn’t make it. Overall, any “issues” (including my social awkwardness and naivete) were few and surmountable. For me, it was definitely worth the stress, exhaustion and general sense of being overwhelmed beforehand. I would be happy to do it again.
Even with “Lovely” and “Things Gonna Wait” still playing in my head, I still — or rather, again — feel overwhelmed. This time with poison, with anger, with the question of a cliche: why do we hurt the ones we love?
Despite the fair number of people who attended (including a handful who went out of their reasonable way to come), several others who said they would try to did not show. And one person who gave a definite “yes” did not follow through. That person is like family; maybe that’s why I was so easily blown off. Regardless, it hurt. And though I know I should drop it and move on, I am not ready to let go of this anger. I would not and have not ever done this to this person. But this is not the first time I have been disappointed by this “best friend.” So I’m wondering why I keep putting myself in the vulnerable position where I allow this to happen again and again. All I can come up with is that I love this person with whom I have shared some of my happiest moments. I guess the joy is worth the hurt.
Still, my expectations remain (apparently) high, though part of me is resigned to the expectation of disappointment. I have learned I cannot count on this person — unless it’s a life or death situation. I have learned expect to be the last to know and to expect her to be the last to show. I don’t expect my calls to be returned, not the first or fifth.
But I believe in soulmates, and that we may have more than one. I believe she is one of mine.
One thing I don’t know is if she feels the same about that.
Regardless, to quote Jason out of context, “the way it unfolds is yet to be told.”
I’m searching for peace in this…