A friend in need

I am stumbling through the school week post-film festival madness. I saw more films than I dare enumerate here, the most notable was the antepenultimate, an excellent art film from Belgium: Small Gods. I won't go into details here or now because, well, I feel exhausted and taxed, and overwrought.

I am also on a bit of an honesty bender. I felt like I was about to burst, or simply deflate, so I let a bit of truth slip out. That painful truth that I have a hard time sharing, or hearing. I still have an inordinately difficult time not personally flagellating myself when confronted with other's disappointments in me, but part of this whole ridiculous business about "acting one's age" (I'll be 30 any day now, shit) requires of me some self-responsibility.

So I say, but what I really do, when I begin this downward descent is to collect broken people to fix. The logic is as follows: the more of other people's problems that I can focus on, the more I divest myself of any attention to my own pain. So much so that I can barely feel it. In fact the only reason I know it is there is because I can cry multiple times a day in empathy.

I am not a particularly empathic person (though some might beg to differ) and so, if I can emote for others it is really me just displacing my own sorry ass regrets onto an external source. Self-deception be damned... it still feels better to focus outside.

So I met a woman the other day, and offered her my home. She was sweet and fun, but mostly I think I ushered her under my wing because I could see this trouble in her eyes, and I didn't want her to lose herself to someone that would abuse that. I didn't want some sleazy man taking advantage of her in her weakened state. And she needed feeding. Quite simple. She is not the only one. It seems that several of the women I find near and dear are struggling right now. Winter blues? Not likely in such tropical and sun-drenched places as we live. Although, one can never be sure.

I had my advisor over for dinner this evening. I had made her favorite foods the previous day in preparation. My house feels empty, I won't miss it when I leave it for the eastern shores, I think. Won't miss sleeping in this big bed alone. I can wait to have warm skin pressed up against mine, hands to hold. I am no good with casual encounters. We have established this. We have reiterated this ad nauseum. It is true. And yet, as long as there are friends in need, I will allay my own gnawing emptiness, in lieu of helpfulness. And maybe, just maybe, this feeling will go away.