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March 01, 2007 - 8:41 p.m. you caught me in a phase. a young, impressionable phase. You told me you remembered having a huge crush on Barbara Eden as a child. I didn't even know who that was. I chalked it up to my small-town, over-extended extracurricular childhood and the fact that your dad was British and you grew up on James Bond and Star Wars, I Love Lucy and all the shows I never got because i didn't have time, or cable. Guess who else was dreaming of Genie? The character in the movie you remembered, years later, that you loved. I guess you forgot there was a difference between things you thought and things you heard... but didn't think of yourself. I find that hard too. I can't tell sometimes what I know and what you've told me. Most of the time I let the boundaries slide, like the names that fall off your tongue and the lyrics, facts and quirky truths you appropriate. It doesn't make me hate you, in fact, it's kind of sweet. Until you say how much you loathe scenesters and the like. How you just happen to be doing, x, y, z and whoever/whatever, which is none other than the latest trend... all the better if you've been doing it for years. Who ever knew. Guess that's why you were so careful with that patented persona. You didn't want me to be the old, unimproved me, but I certainly couldn't take my cues from you. it all gets too confusing, making copies, from a copy of a copy.
the list you're compiling is impressive. too bad there aren't any sane, acredited references... somehow they've all been relegated to the unreliable bin, left holding a bag with whatever parts you didn't need. You're always saying how you do, but shouldn't tolerate the way you're treated in relationships. I should have listened more closely. The things you accuse your lovers of are, again, the things you wouldn't be caught dead wearing. But I've found them in your closet, next to the shirts that read 'hypocrite, selfish, inconsiderate, liar, self-styled insecure ego-maniac, attracts the people who will fit well into her glamourous story of getting the short (but hot) end of the stick. And you can blame it on your childhood. You can blame it on whatever you want. I don't blame you. and I don't blame shit on you. I don't even blame the way I turned-out on you, though I could, cause the last time I checked I was doe-eyed and unabashedly optimistic til we met. You have taught me a few things. For that I am grateful. You taught me to listen to my gut, and when that starts to hurt too much, start looking for facts. Well, here's the hard part. I no longer trust my teacher. She's been feeding me lies for years. Lies to save face, lies to cover up her own lies. Sometimes all it takes is seven years and a trip around the world to open your eyes. Still I tried. Maybe i should have listened to all those people I met, following your advice, the ones who turned out, after careful, meticulous scrutiny, to be worth letting in. Picked by your own methods, they sounded you out. They said words I didn't want to hear. So I stopped listening. They, in turn, listened to my sob story about the person I'd known for years, who I owe a lot to, but who never ceases to amaze me - i didn't think it was possible to be so variously let down and disapointed. you may just be the most selfish, inconsiderate person I've ever known.
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