... And Regret

I just got below Washington, D.C. I've been kicking myself for sending that e-mail to Mara. As frustrated as I get and as much as I felt like these things needed to be said, I can't imagine that some of it didn't hurt her feelings. I've never wanted to hurt her or “make her pay.” She's the only woman I've ever loved enough to want to marry. I still love her. I suppose all I want is an acknowledgement that this wasn't about us. It was about her. As much as she likes to say that we were no good for one another, the fact remains that quite a few of my ex-girlfriends have made it clear that they wouldn't mind another go-around. So apparently I've been good for other people.

I don't know what I want, really. A signed confession? I suppose I simply want an acknowledgement that my being hurt by this is the least of it. I lost the house that's been in my family for over thirty years. I lost about half of my possessions. I'm living out of my truck, with the only occasional variation being sleeping on the couch at Mama's apartment. Somehow “I hate myself for hurting you” doesn't begin to cover it. It strikes me as someone going in and killing a family of five, burning down the house and poisoning the local water supply, and then saying “I hate myself for what I've done.” Does this make any sense? Why should we all feel sorry for her?

Well, getting all this out of my system has helped me in one regard. I've finally realized that I need to move on. No apology or explanation will be forth-coming. All I've done by losing my temper is provide more timber for the melodrama bonfire. I just hope that when Mara finds herself, she can live with herself.

Forgive me, Mara, if I am all-too-human. This is new territory for me. Maybe one day we can be friends. I hope so. But right now I'm not far enough removed from all this. And I still can't fathom how can can claim to still love me, and yet do what you did. I suppose that's the reason I keep lingering here. I'm still waiting for an explanation.