Melodramatic spree

After drowning a cup of coffee, I'm finally ready to post this. It was a late, unadulterated, night of fun, fun, fun, except for a small interlude in the middle.

Deep in the lows of someone whose beloved iPod may have bit the big one, I was persuaded into some party clothes and out to the bars by my brother and his girlfriend. Drinks were drank by most, including me, although looking into my wallet this morning it seems I've spent no money. I suppose it helps when one can monopolize on her brother's good name and can manage the gracious acceptance of a few pints in his honour.

So, about an hour after arriving, I find myself on the patio with my brother, in the distance, I spot someone I think I recognize, my knight in shining disguise's best friend, as I debate whether I should go and say hi or not, he appears, in all his band tee shirt, scruffy bearded knight in shining disguised glory. Before I know it, I've thrust my beer into my brother's hands and I walk towards him without pause.

These are just the kind of moments when pause would have been remarkably useful. And yet, I walked with determination that I scarcely knew I possessed. Looking back, I wish I had taken a moment to think this through, even just a little. Just to ask myself, "why am I going over there?" "Is it to say hello?" "To tell him off?" "What do you intend on saying?" "What tone should I take?" "What kind of message am I sending?" "Do I even want to see him?"

I realized the answer to the last of these questions was no. Unfortunately, with the lack of pause, the question hit me over the head when I was face-to-face with him and with no reasonable method of escape. He looked "surprised." Although I am even less convinced that he was, since my brother's girlfriend told me she saw him. I find it hard to imagine in a bar filled overwhelmingly with my brother's male friends, he hadn't seen us. As he pulled me in for a hug, I wondered when I would finally be able to shake the melodramatic cloud that turns my life into a misshapen Shakespeare play.

But in the midst of my melodramatic spree I didn't crumble. I felt myself dividing into two. Inside I was seething, wishing he would dissipate, to forget he existed. Particularly when confronted with an apology for "not being around these days"; he cloaked it in some excuse or other but feeling quite secure, still enveloped in the sweetness of last Saturday's date with my London Boy, it is barely acknowledged when I dismiss it with "I've been very busy myself."

Still, despite the raging internal conflict going on, outwardly I think I was too friendly, eager even. I found myself saying something and then wishing I could retract it. I felt my guard rising. I needed to rise above this moment. After all, giving him up was one of the best things I've ever done. And yet even though I realized this at the time, I found that I could help but offer him too much of myself.

Really, there is no point in scolding myself, it was an impossible situation to walk away from and that sad fact I had only realized once I was in it. I found myself perfectly unable to escape the juxtaposition of our live:, I, happy, better than ever without him; Him, sad as always, drowning in his own self-pity. Thankfully, after hearing yet another sad tale of woe of his self-imposed unhappy yet never tragic life, I was rescued by brother, whose overwhelming presence has scared away more than a few disingenuous suitors.

I tried to be unaffected, to shove this moment in the back of my head, far enough so that even my wandering dreams couldn't access it, the potential to open old wounds was far to great. Even now I feel detached from it. So a fearless soldier of good times, I did what anyone would do, I walked up to the bar and let one of my brother's friends buy me a double vodka martini with a twist.