Mulligan

I'm not sure if there is a way to convey how well I know that I am sometimes unable to get past the ME-ness of me. Suffice it to say that I'm nearly paralyzed with the need to reach out and make contact.

It's the way it always goes. I find out too late, or nearly so, and try like mad to turn it around. That sabotage so neatly completed and so difficult to take back. But I didn't mean it, I just needed the absence and distance to put me back in a state of unrest.

I find myself thinking it all through again and again, dismayed at how often I turned the conversation. I wonder if you recognized it, if you found me tiresome, if I'm just another failed experiment for you. I'm self-aware, painfully so, and this knowledge that I've been so thick and obvious is humbling.

It isn't that you didn't appeal, it's that I found you too appealing. I had to poke you around in my head and see how you fit there, and now I know...maybe too late...that it's not just a willingness to submit, it's an eagerness.

And I can't save myself.