Done.

To add to the angst, I tried to be nice to a person that I should've ignored totally from the moment I met him. And it went well for 1.5 emails. And then he was what he is . . . and all the resentment came out and I clicked "send". And it wasn't even half of what I wanted to say.

I'm sorry that you are so stuck . . . somewhere where the focus always has to be on yourself. It's a shame.

And yes, I am acutely aware that I am not perfect . . . far, far from it. If I were perfect, there would be no emails to send, because I would have ignored it as soon as it got ugly.

Matt Good wrote something that I found of interest . . . makes sense to me in this situation:

Our acts determine our true wealth.

When someone says that they love you, and you know that they mean it to their very core, that there is no doubt in any cell in your entire body that they are unconditionally sincere – then you are wealthy. There is no question that, for a time, financial wealth can secure the placebo of love, but it cannot create it. It cannot manufacture true love, just as it cannot ensure or secure happiness. To give ourselves to others openly and honestly, and to conduct ourselves with integrity and concern for the feelings of others, even if complete strangers, represents the sum total of our riches.

As I sit here looking out the window, lost in the haze of twilight, memories, and the talons of despair, I see a city filled only with poor people.

And I wonder how that happened.

see rest of entry here.

And I'm not so sure that I know what love is . . . anymore. Pitiful that some asshole can make me doubt that.

And it will all be okay. Tomorrow is another day.