"I can not save you; I can't even save myself."

I'm sitting in a movie theater parking lot a mile from home, posting to my blog. I'm not sure how I ended up here ... I remember being here on Christmas Day, angry at hubby for some minor infraction of which I couldn't let go. I think I'm here because sitting outside a movie theater at night does not arouse suspiscion. Plenty of people are inside; theoretically, I could be waiting for any of them.

I'm cold. Really Fucking Cold. It's 40 degrees, and I'm in a t-shirt. I was angry and forgot to grab a jacket. Why can't I breathe normally?

The other day, I received a private message from someone who witnessed The Summer From Hell. His broken wing appears to be mended. He says he's spiritual; he has a daughter. I don't think he remembers all the drama -- I apologized for flipping out and he asked what I was talking about. He's moved far away from New York ... from everything, I guess.

I think I've unnecessarily placed too much blame on him. It's not his fault I became so emotionally vested. It's not his fault I tried to fix him. Lord, I hope he -- we -- are over that bridge.

Now it's Jeremy. He can't help where he ended up; nobody can turn back time. Hell, how often have I wished for that power? He lets his long-distance girlfriend rule his life and his schedule. I get angry and try not to let it show. Tonight, it seeped out. I was snippy... and I turned the music up way too loud in the car. He put on his headphones, so I turned the music up louder. He tells me to be angry if I'm angry, so why didn't he endure me just once -- just tonight, when I needed that acknowledgement?

I went home and screamed at Paul. I was too kind to pile any more on Jer, since his needy Internet girlfriend was (is) having a crisis. I'd be more understanding (Shit, should I be? Have I called this all wrong?), but he won't admit that he's only her shoulder. I don't even know her, but I know what's going on. I've been on both sides of that equation.

Paul yelled back, told me that I shouldn't help him anymore. But I've become my mother in that regard, and I'm proud of it. Yes, I've had it blow up in my face. But I live by the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would HAVE them do unto you... Not necessarily as they actually do unto you.

Carrie's been so patient. And stable. We still click, and it's still so special to me that's she's around.

I've forgiven Jeremy ("So many years under bridges with dirty water") for leaving when I needed him. But I swear I won't leave him while he needs that support. I won't hurt him the way he hurt me.

I should drive home. Maybe I'll smile. Maybe I'll do something obnoxiously fun because I feel better. I'll make a mug of tea because I'm cold and my hurt wrist is painfully stiff. (Also, I'm thumb-disabled: I slammed one in the hinge of the bathroom door; I burned the other in the oven while trying to be domestic.)

I don't know why I give, be, am, do anything. Maybe it tickles some deep nerve that never forgave my birth parents for giving me up (or giving up on me?). I give but cannot take. It frustrates Paul.

::sighs:: Time to go home. It's been 45 minutes. Forgive typos due to mental blocks and SideKick keyboard. <3

-- kate@katesink.com via the SideKick --
"The best way to have a good idea is to have lots of ideas." -- Linus Pauling