It's amazing how I can predict things and then forget about the fact I've predicted them.

A couple of months ago, when Chris and I broke up, I looked at the period of peace we were having, and said, "This isn't going to last. One or the other of us is probably going to lose it."

And as time went by, I found myself pulling away from him, needing desperately to re-establish my independence. There's a lot of stuff I've been sifting through in regards to my identity that I haven't been telling anyone, because it needs some time to sit in silence before I try to put it into words. And there are experiences I need to have, and places I need to go, and I was hoping to do all of these things this winter.

I'd told Chris that I couldn't deal with being needed or missed, and I still can't. I've found that being needed is a deep, dark hole with jagged rocks at the bottom for me--I am very sensitive to what the people close to me want and need me to be, and molding myself into something I'm not is okay for a while but eventually has very bad effects on me.

Not to say that most of my close friends want me to be someone I'm not. They don't. But need has a habit of twisting me into pretzled knots until I am gasping for escape. I wanted to stop that for a while until I had a better grasp on who I am now, and I have a better idea of how to resist need, how to resist twisting myself up in order to make other people happy.

So there was distance. I thought we were both okay with it, as a necessary cooling-off period after the relationship. He seemed to be having fun without me, which I interpreted as an encouraging sign. And as I started to come to a better appreciation of who I was, I thought I might test the waters with Chris again. I'd promised him we could go to Vancouver for a weekend for his birthday. I thought we might get to know each other a little again, and maybe he would get to like the person I am a little better. So I asked him if he still wanted to go to Vancouver for a weekend. Nothing fancy, just staying in a hotel overnight and doing some shopping and sightseeing. He said, "Sure!" and I started making plans.

But then I went away for the weekend, and had a very good time, and when I came back I got a mail from Chris. A very long mail, filled with all sorts of nasty accusations about my motivations for taking him to Vancouver as well as some completely false judgements on my process of personal growth, which he hadn't been seeing at all because I hadn't been taking about it anywhere, to anyone.

And rather than playing the peacemaker like I usually do, rather than being sweet and forgiving and gently setting him straight, I got pissed off. It was partially the timing, and partially the fact that I am tired of treating our relationship with kid gloves, tired of all the discussing and working things out after the inevitable blowups. I am tired of having stuff to work out with him in the first place--I don't have this kind of trouble with anyone else in my life--and I am tired of him blowing up at me randomly. And it was partially because I'd offered to do something nice for him, and I was accused of having an agenda that hadn't even begun to cross my mind. I got well and truly enraged, and sent him an email that showed just a tidge of the sharp side of my tongue.

Afterwards, we exchanged a couple of gentler mails, and then I actually had a conversation with him that made it abundantly clear that I was still angry with him, and unlikely to become less angry any time soon. Before we broke up, I knew that I'd been burying anger and resentment against him, but I hadn't realized how deeply it had gone until I opened my mouth and all this nasty stuff came out.

So he logged out of Hell. And then he removed me from his Livejournal friends list. And, with that, we were done. That was the last door, and it's closed now. We're both walking away from whatever we had.

I was considering this temporary until he removed me from his friends list; but between us, the cutting off of even that line of communication is a symbolic act. I wondered when my turn would be to go from being the best person ever to Villain of the Month, and I guess my turn is right now.

I'm shrugging and moving on. My anger will pass, eventually; and I will always, in some manner, love him. But he has some growing up to do, still, and I still have to figure out for sure who I am, to build an unshakeable self-image, something that I can stand on. Eventually, we might become friends again.

Someday.

And, of course, I wrote all of this before I heard about Senator Paul Wellstone.

Fuck.

One of the few really good guys on the Hill, and he gets killed in a plane crash just before the election.

My thoughts are with his family, friends, and staff--the latter have not only had their boss and a really great guy die, but are also abruptly unemployed.

I've spent time today talking to Muk, who is shaken and grieving. Her Senator and Wellstone not only worked together, but were good friends; one of the staffers who died in the crash worked closely with some of her coworkers.

It is all a godsbedamned shame. And this shifts the balance of power in Washington in ways I'm very sure I'm not going to like.

I really want to go home, curl up under the covers, and pretend this week never happened.

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