I think I finally had the talk with Anji that I needed to have. That we both needed to have. This happened with my friend Mitchell, and I should’ve seen the signs. People change. It’s a fact of life. People grow and mature and evolve throughout their lives, and when you’re around people a lot, you see how they change, and you change with them, and you learn over time how to adjust how you deal with those people to accomodate those changes. When you’re around someone for a long time, you develop a lot of subtle specialties that key you into how that person feels and thinks, and those too change over time, but you see how they change. Then, if suddenly you’re not around that person for a long time, you both keep changing, but you do so in isolation from each other, and those cues change, but you don’t see it happening and so when you meet back up with that person, you don’t account for the differences and suddenly there’s tears and anger and misunderstandings and hurt. We both finally admitted that had happened, and I think we’re the better for it.

Mind you, it doesn’t explain what to do next, but it tells us where we are and how we got here, and what we’d at least like to see happen from here.

One odd side effect of this talk, however, is that it’s left me in this really weird mood, and listening to Bush’s “Alien” hasn’t helped at all. I feel suffused with this very powerful violence or passion suffused into a fierce protectiveness. It’s this sense that I care for someone so much that I would kill to protect that person, without hesitation or regret. Mixed into it is a guilt and fear of this capacity within myself, like I don’t quite know or
understand how it got into my head but that I know it won’t ever go away. Perhaps I’ve heavily overanalyzing it, but it’s one of the few emotions in my head that, for whatever reason, gets heavily associated with “male,” despite the fact that there’s no creature so ferocious as a dam bear whose cubs are threatened.

I was catching myself up on my youngest sister’s livejournal, and I found where she had referenced me as “den mother,” which only adds to the sensation. Is that what I’m feeling? Does it really matter? I know that I get this way from time to time; it’s one of the few holdovers from my previous life that I think actively belongs in my head, but I still don’t really know where it fits.

I think if I totally understood how I felt, I’d be criminally insane. I think if anyone else ever totally understood how I felt, I’d be forced to kill zim for my own salvation’s sake.