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I finally saw the new Captain America with Jester. And I made a terrible mistake, leaving him to talk with our staff for half an hour…I don’t know what they talked about, but when I finally finished work and went to collect him from the bartop, he was also heiling me. *facepalms*
It was a pretty good evening, and I was feeling pretty good about things up until the moment I sat down to write this post.

Because of a very brief exchange I had with my boss last week before the movie released.

Me: I’m kind of looking forward to this movie.
Mike: Really?
Me: Yeah…Cap is my favourite Avenger.
Mike: You know he’s very anti-fascist, right?
Me: I know…

I’m pleased (well…slightly uneasy, actually) to report that the constant remarks about fascism and Nazism no longer phase me…but I was thinking about my assessment that this character is “one of my favourites”. Why would I say that? I’m not particularly big on comics or superheroes (although I like to watch the movies because they’re entertaining and I get to see them for free), but still…every time we talk about superheroes at work and bully each other into picking a favourite or naming one that we particularly admire, I usually pick Captain America (except for that one time at my old theatre when I made the mistake of saying that I liked Nightcrawler, and then got laughed out of the office).

But…I was thinking about why I would have answered that, as unversed in the superhero universes as I am…and…I think it’s because despite every superhero movie being about bonds between family and friends and loved ones…I think the movie adaptations of Captain America tapped into this idea I’ve always had about how hard one should strive to be a good friend, and that’s stuck with me about this character. Steve is a loyal friend, and I’ve always thought that was one of the best qualities a person could have…that unswerving loyalty.

I am not a good friend though. And that makes me sad.
I’ve known for a long time that my personality can be kind of monstrous…but until today I don’t think I have ever asked myself so bluntly, “am I a bad friend?”

I think I am. I don’t try very hard anymore, and I haven’t in some time. Probably because I tried too hard and got so discouraged when I realized that the friend I’ve cared most about really didn’t need my friendship very much…so…yeah. How does one recover from that? By trying to make a new friend and immediately allowing something genuinely awful to happen to that person, of course. That’s what I did, and it just made it all worse.

And she doesn’t know, but I think all the time about how I could have stopped it happening and I didn’t do a damned thing even though I knew…I wish I didn’t try so hard to not know things…
I think all the time about how I could have done things differently with both of them. All the time. But they don’t know. How does one tell anyone such things?

One doesn’t, of course. One never speaks of it at all. And eventually, it doesn’t even enter into one’s thoughts…until, watching a movie, that little voice whispers in the ear, you are not a very good friend.

And there isn’t time for such thoughts, so you write a little about it and shrug it off. Save for later, when you are feeling good again and need something to bring you back down, I suppose.

And speaking of friends…I’ve finally had a dream that I’ve remembered. An upsetting dream. But not upsetting like they usually are, with monsters trying to catch me, rubber ducks throwing grenades at me, or inexplicable excursions to Russia. No, instead I received a phone call in this dream.

My ex’s dad called me, and drunkenly tried to explain to me that I mustn’t get married…that my ex made a terrible mistake, and should not have dumped me. And then his mother and brother visited me and also tried to explain to me that it was all just a big misunderstanding…he never actually appeared in this dream, and I suppose that adds another, special kind of upset to the dream.

I was extremely uncomfortable with it, of course, mostly because none of these people has spoken to me in over five and a half years…and also because Jester’s parents are having a cookout at their house for our rehearsal dinner, and the day after I had this dream, my sisters decided to be trolls and ask me again and again if they’d be expected to drink beer and eat potato salad (key items served at gatherings with my ex’s family), until I finally snarled at them that this is a different family entirely and to stop being so stupid…

It’s like they knew I had this dream and just wanted to rub it in.

But you know what? That whole mess is one more example of a friend that I was sad to lose. Because as much as we should not have been considering getting married, we were good friends. And I really tried to keep us friends…but he couldn’t cope with his life, much less with trying to be my friend after we broke up.

It’s always made me sad to think that he didn’t even try.

And there we go with trying again. It makes me wonder if perhaps I am making someone sad because I don’t try harder. But like me, they don’t say anything. They just stay sad when I go and go and don’t speak to them or, you know…try.

It’s like…here is a thing about me that I am significantly embarrassed by: I need to constantly play games of pretend with myself so that I can try to do or be anything. I can’t just be me because either I get frustrated and conclude that I don’t know what that even is, or…all I can see is the darkness or the fire, and one mustn’t be only those things that are awful…instead, one must find things to admire or model on in little ways to figure out how to be better or to change one’s behaviour.

It’s very hard to be so filled with self-doubt that you cannot see yourself as having good qualities unless you are mimicking what you saw as admirable elsewhere in hopes that maybe the mimicry will cause the qualities to actually take hold in your personality and then–then you will have a quality which makes you worthwhile as a person.

And that brings me to this wedding business. Because, omg…I’m getting married in 10 days.

It’s too terrifying to be borne, so naturally, I have not thought too deeply about it or I will embarrass myself and panic. I mustn’t do that.
But…I also don’t even know how to think about it. Because…what other life milestone is like it? Graduating high school or university? No. Because that phase of your life was always going to end eventually. A new job or new location? No. Because those faces at work might change from day to day, or you may get sent elsewhere…it’s all very circumstantial. But getting married is changing who your family is. And that all sounds very scary to me.

It is probably different for people who do not get along with their families, but I get along with mine alright. It is terrible for me to think of the drifting apart from friends, but to think that this would also happen with my family is unthinkable. Yes, my work and sleep patterns make it so I don’t get to actually interact with them a lot…but…they know me.

It’s strange and upsetting to imagine that they will continue on and perhaps not even miss me very much.

And there is always the looming terror I feel whenever I consider money. What if we can’t take care of ourselves? What will we do? Ask for help? (I’d rather die.)

I don’t know. I suppose…I shall just have to let it all happen and hope for the best…try very hard to recall all the things I did to try and teach myself not to react to feeling upset. Because I’d also rather die than embarrass myself by having feeeeeelings. *vomits*

Sometimes I wish my Wolf self would take into consideration the rest of our human feelings…he gets these notions that things will be simple, and then I believe him, but they don’t turn out that way very often, do they? No. No, they don’t.

Instead, I will try to look forward to K visiting me, and then taking time off work and going on a vacation with Jester. Those are things about which I can at least imagine how to feel. Easy things. Things that are familiar because I have already done them.

One thing at a time, yeah?

And now…I will post this and read some more of For Whom The Bell Tolls, and marvel that I actually like Hemingway’s novels. And maybe even listen to some of my march songs because after all this thinking and making myself sad…I want to pretend to be happy. Because those songs sound so happy, and even though I know deep down that they aren’t, it’s good enough to fool me. Even Wolf me is fooled. Even Wolf cannot be bothered that she’s crying because you are probably dead. Even Wolf me is almost happy.