and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

The problem with this place is the repetitive nature. Like all tv shows that run more than once a week (and plenty that do) it tends to get a little redundant after awhile. Blogs are like little personal soap operas in text. Which is why I try not to be dramatic, or at least personally dramatic, when I write here. It's tired and repetitive and, to me at least, boring.

If I could control the thoughts in my brain like I can control my car on the road or my bike on a path then most certainly, I would. However, I can't. However, it's redundantly repetitive with no sign of stopping anytime soon. However, I can not feel my emotions any more on this matter of love - lost - perhaps to never be found again.

The last thing I want to do here is write something I've already written before. I'm sure I've already made the mistake once or twice but I'm always aware of the possibility and I always try not to. It gives me great respect for the volumous folks like tony who crank pages upon pages upon pages every day - it's gotta be difficult to remain original.

The trick, really, is to be current. Write about the here and now. In this way you'll never overlap with an older post. But that's not what I'm here to do on this blog. I don't want to write about my every every every day because it would read just like that: "here is my every every every every every day". It becomes harder to stay away from this day-to-day the more time goes on as all the thoughts in your head - the repeating ones, the reoccuring ones - beat on your skull to be let out onto the page. They clamour loudly to be told and when you do, when you release them like children upon the playground then they go wild and roudy and sitting them back down in their chairs for new lessons at the end of recess is difficult. It's hard to get them to settle down. They want to be told again, no matter that you just did. They want want want and never is anything enough and you are, sometimes, forced to repeat yourself.

Luckily, we're human. We love re-runs. We're still watchin M*A*S*H for christ sake. This problem, it's what friends are (unfortunately for them) for. Friends take the brunt of this repetition. Friends know your repeating thoughts, your audio tapes on loop-play. Friends listen - and sigh loudly - when you have to (just have to) repeat once again that same thought you repeated yesterday which was a repeat of the day before.

The repeat today, which was repeated the day before, which will be repeated tomorrow, follows the classic plot of girl meets boy who falls in love and watches girl go far away. The last eight months of my life, which have been - for the most part - completely unrecorded in this blog have been eight months of pure 80's teen-movie drama. More so than the doktor stories of old. More so than any other time in my life.

What keeps me going is my excessive knowledge of these old teen movies. The knowledge that the endings are always - perhaps trite - but always happy and so I, too, am waiting - outwardly patient, inwardly pacing - for my happy, happy ending.

Do happy endings happen to real people?

Why are sad finishes easier to believe?

If this episode in my life were a movie then we'd be at the first false ending. A false ending is where you think the movie might be finished but you're suprised when the credits don't roll and a new scene appears (usually with the subtitles "3 Months Later" at the bottom of the screen). The last Lord Of The Rings is a perfect example of false endings as it has about 50 gazillion of them... which is just fine because, well, that is real life.

Real life is really just a collection of millions of false endings. On a macro scale there are large ones - such as this one I am living right now. The melancholy sending-off of my true love to the other end of the continent where she will find her life's calling and live happily ever after and I, having been strong and thoughtful, weak and weary, have learned some life lessons about love and will go on to love greatly and live grandly. Yah right. Anyhow, it's a false ending - and a big one. A whole 1/4 of a movie's worth of a false ending.

On a micro scale, every single minute of every day is a false ending. Think of the last rain storm you were caught in. Running, splashing through the puddles of mud and dodging traffic and racing, running, for the closest entrance to a warm, dry place. Maybe your car - fumbling for your keys and collapsing your umbrella all in one motion as you slide into the driver's seat and slam the car door. *Sigh*. Relief. Happy ending.

Birth is a false ending. Recall that sex-ed movie you watched in 8th grade where the fetus makes it's tumultous journey from the womb, through the birth canal, and out into the bright living world. Boom. Ending. O' Happy day! And there is light! What a happy ending.

Like integral calculus, life is a series of large false endings that, when broken down, become collections of smaller false endings which are, themselves, collections of micro false endings. The more your drill down the closer the approximation becomes until you reach a point where a formula is found. 2x^3 integrates to x^4 / 2 and maps all infinitely small endings of your life into the sum of your being.

There is, of course, only one true ending. Of all the false endings, only one true ending is never repeated or re-run.

Which is the beauty in life and the reason all other endings, at the same time they are feel so incredibly important and dramatic, feel so trivial at the same time.

Of course this false ending I am living right now does not feel trivial in the least. Not to me, here, now. It feels very much like two very real roads diverged in the very real woods and I was forced to take the one heavily travelled - was forced to stand by and watch the one true love of my short insignificant life head down the overgrown and unbeaten path that will more than likely never re-join the main one anywhere up ahead.

Dramatic? Yes. Melancholy? Sure. More believable because it's sad? Maybe.

But at this point I am forced to believe that happy endings can happen to real people. I am forced to believe that destiny is - if only slightly - self-controlled. I am forced to believe that I can, and will, see her and know her again some day.

I am forced to believe these things so that I can maintain some sense of sanity and some belief that goodness and happiness does and can exist in this world.

I am forced to believe the words she wrote even though my waking hours are spent questioning the truth of every single one of them:

"The day we met I knew you were a gem."

Words as instruments are easily misused.

"One of those few and beautiful souls I could know for a long, long time."

Words as weapons can cut like a knife.

"..and know well"

Words as promises can eat away at your heart for years upon years like exposure to small levels of radiation.

Words, sometimes cancerous and damaging, can also heal.

"You are something special."

If you let them.

"You are incredibly special to me."

So choose your words wisely and live your false endings like each and every one of them is as important as the final true ending. Dramatic or not. Trivial or not. What other way is there to go through life? The final true ending will come regardless of your treatment of those false ones inbetween. So make the most of them.