Time to hop into my Tardis and go back into the past and give younger me a good shaking.
That me is an idiot, and shouldn’t’ve gotten the opportunity to ruin things for later me. But that was when I was blissfully unaware of my compulsive tendencies and my susceptibility to obsession.
Thinking about that book’s got me thinking about all the old obsessions, and how I really haven’t gotten over any of them…just learned ways to push them down or mask them (to myself…as if they were ever perceptible to others. *shudder*).
Forget about a double edged sword though. It’s more of a multi-blade weapon. Like a trident. Or maybe not. Because of the swimming issue. Maybe like an axe. One of the kind with a spike at the top.
Until I started thinking about the book again, I had even forgotten about the whole swimming thing, which was the only time I remember arguing with him. About whether I should know how to swim so I could rescue a drowning person. Like beginner-level swimming would make me capable of doing that anyway.
When we were little, my mom always harped on us about life jackets because she said she didn’t swim well enough to save us if we fall in while we were boating.
Ugh. What a stupid conversation.
Eight years ago? I still feel mad when I think about it. I wanted to hurt him. Like the fault would lie with me if she did something dumb and I couldn’t rescue her. That oaf.
I wish I hadn’t had the whole conversation recast by that book. I see too many metaphors. Like how I probably wouldn’t’ve gotten mad if I didn’t think he was right. He must’ve known that though. I gave too much away, I’m sure. Hadn’t recast my character enough to cover it up at that point.
It makes me so mad. So mad. Because that’s what I let happen to Toni. I should have been intelligent enough to see what could happen, but I didn’t. And I will always feel guilty about that and wish I had done something…and she hadn’t drowned…I hasten to add that she’s not dead…metaphors, you know…but she is not the same now. And I could have stopped that.
At least Toni said things about it. We had a conversation.
She didn’t. Just watched silently while we argued about a dumb thing about her that was never in danger of happening. Ugh. Why not say something? In your own defense, maybe? To show that you’re not the idiot he made you out to be? Give yourself a voice for heaven’s sake. Why just solemnly watch our back and forth, and–what?–did she not see I was getting angry? Did she not see he was being an ass? Maybe that’s why she said nothing…
I would probably not be inclined to think that was a stupid reason if it weren’t for the fact that if left me having to defend myself to such a bully. Because he absolutely was one.
Murder me, please. Whoever invents the time machine. This is all too ridiculous to be borne!
Maybe I should write a story about that bloody conversation. I’ve turned it over in my mind plenty often enough and made so many assumptions and inferences that I could probably do it. Pages and pages about one conversation and one unreliable, biased as hell narrator. And a character who never even speaks! It’s got all the things that make up an idiotically obsessive story. (ahh. my iTunes just switched from classical to industrial…way to destroy my train of thought.)
You know what’s funny, in an awful way? That as much as I want to throttle HP Lovecraft for having his characters traipse all over New England, mooning over old-timey such-and-suches…I’d really like to go do it myself. When did that happen to me? (probably when Toni and I started hanging about in graveyards) And if I did. Well. Good for me.
The bridge is in Massachusetts, after all. I could get my rubbing, just like I wanted.
Ah, I’m such a terrible, stupid creature.