8 Dec 2003
There is no way I could ever want to stop being friends with you, you are far too exceedingly cool and entertaining for that to ever even be a consideration, but as you pointed out on numerous occasions and I eventually realised, that is all you have ever and will ever see me as. A friend. Which is great, although admittedly I did not feel that way at first. It took awhile, a few years, the odd tear and probably about eighty barrels of beer but I had come round to the idea and this meant I could be around you without trying to win your attention/affection/amour, be consumed with jealousy and an inescapable feeling of inadequacy when evidently failing to win your a/a/a and instead just get on with having a good time. The first time I saw you without (metaphorically) exploding inside, it made me start. I later likened it to having a small soft lump on my earlobe which used to irritate me slightly but at the same time was highly enjoyable to play with in those quiet moments, and then to awake one day and reach for it and to find it gone. Even though its disappearance meant that it wasn’t cancerous and that my ear wasn’t about to fall off, I still missed it. However, much like finding a new lump on some other part of my anatomy shortly afterwards, I didn’t miss missing you for long and became preoccupied with something else. Instead of being ‘Gemma, Love of my Life’ you were ‘Gemma, Top Mate, Illuminated Person of a Certain Style and Grace, Loudest Burper in the West.’
“So why is it that you write this affected bullshit to me?”, you may well be asking yourself, as a secondary question, the first still having remained unanswered upto now. And |I shall answer that too. I write because, like I said, you made me forget that I was over you. That last weekend you came down, you allowed my hands to wander and didn’t seem at all adverse to me exploring you (although, admittedly, once again you barely touched me, a hint with which I should have been hitting myself over the head with). At that time, I was really starting to get into Bex, and I remember worrying slightly that she might take affront to me inviting another female friend to one of our meetings like I had done before, even though the thought of you and I even thinking about getting it on was not a thought I had naturally of my own volition. Then, what with the alcohol, the fire, the alcohol, the lack of Bex, I started molesting you, and for a change, you didn’t slap me. That night (despite my failure to truly push the point home, again) combined with the comfort which I felt hanging out with you before (as a totally platonic friend) combined to reinstigate this blasted feeling of complete desire for everything that you are.
So, off you popped back to London, and here I stayed, foolishly enjoying thinking less and less of Bex and more and more of you. It was so easy to slip back into old habits, especially when this time I thought it might even be worthwhile. The embers were blown upon, the flames fanned, the plutonium placed into the hearth and the desire was rampant. Anyway, then you came back down and it was immediately apparent that, somehow, I had got it all wrong. And that is why I write now.
So, basically, Gemma, I don’t get it. I am spending these few days after your return expunging you from my mind. It is bloody hard work; everywhere I look I keep seeing you. It is a pain, but one which I have dealt with before so I do not envisage too much more of a problem. The upside of this downturn is that I have realised that you can be a complete fucking bitch. No, sorry, let me take that back. You can be a complete fucking sexy bitch (you see, I’m not quite entirely over you yet!) Why would you fuck with me, for just about the first time ever, just when I had hooked up with someone as enticing to me as Bex is, and then fail to even explain to me or recognise the fact when I was in obvious confusion? Some people could get away with feigning ignorance of their actions but you cannot. You are a head-do and you have successfully done mine right in. I might be tempted to explain it as some kind of game of control. I know this shit goes on and am often guilty of taking advantage but never so heinously. Certainly, most of the last weekend I spent cowering, like a simple minded mongrel not being able to keep up with his Dungeon Master!
SO, that is why I write and that is how you should take it. I love you to bits, think you are utterly special, but now I also think you are a tricky bitch. The very fact that I am writing this is healthy. Someone did kind of warn me that you might be tricky but, at the time when I looked upon you as a friend, this was of no relevance. I guess I also thought that, when you and I did get together, it wouldn’t be an issue. I suppose I am also largely at fault for being such a soppy so and so, such a push over, but normally that is never a problem. Enough of this. I want my buzz back.
Of course, I’m never going to send this diatribe. At one point I thought I might but a day later and it all seems mildly irrelevant, and I imagine its effect would be minimal and unimportant if you were to read it. You would probably laugh a little and although I am always happy to make you happy, not like this with this baring off my frustration. I will say it again though ,”GEMMA, FUCK OFF!”
There, that’s all better now.
But wait, the saga is not over. Two weeks later and I awoke this morning to find that which is below scribbled in a jotter pad with the discernable physical struggle of a drunken mind and hand. Recorded here for posterity and shits and giggles.
“I’ve been trying to extinguish you from my thoughts but I just cannot. You are to me like berries on a tree, no, you are breath. To extinguish it would, at the same time, negate my ability to live, to enjoy. I hope you appreciate the hold that you have over me. I know you do. I’m living on the “perhaps one day” approach. Call it crazy, call it a non-worker, yet still I find it easier to deal with these possibilities than to deal with those that don’t include you.”
Kerist, I’m still completely hooked on the bitch! Or it might just be because I have not recently met anyone who could replace/supercede/knock for six the Gem bitch. Fuck, I don’t know, but I am sure that she will always mean something to me, but probably not what I want. Maybe I am just emotionally immature, or a slack jawed romantic with no appreciation of reality in these matters of the heart. Then again, are these even matters of the heart? Maybe there are concerns of the mind and I am ably doing my own nut right in. Go figure!