The year's just begun and already shite states of affairs are brewing. Last night I attended a farewell party for my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend who I am still deeply in love with, and I just realised how little time I have left with him. Max (the wonderful man in question) is going to Johannesburg to study for a Master's degree and it looks so exciting. I'm going to miss him so much though. The party was a really decent affair, except Max and I kept going into his room to cry and cuddle and by the second time I was too sodomised by sadness to go out again, so I curled up in his bed and fell asleep like a big party pooper.
Every time I start crying with Max around he hugs me and I try to remember that for when he isn't around and I have a tears festival for one.
The English language seems so inadequate sometimes. 'I'm going to miss him' is such a fucking understatement of how I feel about this. It's probably a result of the semantic inflation of abstract nouns, and right now I am annoyed with myself for contributing to this, if only because I wish those words conveyed more.
So I knew this day was coming from very early on when we started dating, but I fell in love with him anyway. I believe I would have fallen for him even if I tried not to. It is really strange being on the experiential end of a concept which, for a very long time, has not been particularly meaningful to me.
On an unrelated note, I have this OCD about blood. It's really, really distracting and I have trouble with life and personal relationships because I am mostly preoccupied with avoiding blood and blood traces. Today Max helped me carry some stuff up to my apartment and on our way down I noticed a trail of blood drops from the gate to the stairs. I hope neither of us stepped in it but it's highly likely that I had. I put my boots on the carpet in my room and now the anxiety is hitting me like a Teutonic invasion about how I'm going to avoid touching the carpet or the underside of my boots and how many things I may potentially lose by accidentally dropping them on the floor. I have a patch of broken skin on my hand and a few healing cuts on the underside of my foot (which don't dispense blood) which I am worried about being points-of-entry into my body. This is pathetic, but part of my fear for blood is the remote possibility of being infected by a blood-borne disease like HIV or hepatitis and thus ending up forever alone or a vector to people I care about. That is my greatest fear, now that I think about it. I am incredibly dismayed by how I may have tracked blood into the apartment and my room and this is compounding on the pre-emptive feelings of loss that I've been sinking in these past few days.
Anyway, I love Max and I really wish I could have spent more time with him before he leaves.
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