I find myself daylogging again, something I had planned not to do. But I also did not plan to meet Kurt Busiek today.

I had gone to the Hollywood District of Portland to get some new checkbooks, but the bank there had different hours. I was wandering around in the rain when I saw Things From Another World advertising that it was Free Comicbook Day, a fact I had forgotten. I saw that the featured guest for the day was Kurt Busiek, a name I was familiar with, in passing. Surprisingly enough, he was alone, and I struck up a conversation with him just because I was ashamed that a comic book writer should not be surrounded by admirers. Although his name was familiar to me, I didn't have a good sense of who he was, since Busiek is not a talent on the level of say, Alan Moore, nor is he a controversial figure. So I asked him the usual questions: what his favorite work was (Astro City), if he had any scary Jim Shooter stories (he did not). I also asked him, half jokingly, if he would autograph an issue of Starbrand I had in my bag. By the time I got to this point, the line had reappeared behind me, and so I had to leave, but I wanted to know one answer first:

Who would win in a fight, Batman or John Constantine?
Busiek dodged the question, saying that the question is never as simple as that, because it depends on why the figures would be fighting. He had written JLA/Avengers and had arranged Batman and Captain America to come to the conclusion that it was a waste of time to fight each other, after all. He then revealed that, as a writer, it is his job to "fix fights" as needed to move the story along. I could have expressed my disappointment with his less than Platonic faith in Batman and John Constantine as archetypes, but there was a line of fanboys behind me, so I took my leave.

I also didn't have the time or the indiscretion to query him about the Silver Surfer and his perpetual state of undress.

April 1, 2009. No joke, I haven't spoken to her, face to face, in a month tomorrow. Ex, indeed.

These days, I wonder what to make of it. I've seen her five times since then, no words exchanged and barely so much as eye contact. I wonder how I am going to change. I fear how I will react when she is willing to speak to me again. Everyday, I ride the emotional rollercoaster. Sometimes, I am at ridiculous highs, glorious and beautiful is life and I am glad for it. Others, I'm exploring the Marianas Trench of my soul, seeing what things leap out of dark corners. Every different situation provokes me into thinking, "How would I react to her, right now?"

It is obvious she should not be part of my life, for now. It is obvious to the wise parts of me that I shouldn't contemplate being near her until I needn't contemplate it. Maybe I will never speak to her again. Loss. I find it easier to forget our good times when I am down, though, and I begin to blame her for my self-doubt.

We were antidotes, cures for each other. Each of us had such a facade built up that it took the greatest of trust to hear any true emotion. Our smiles were false and our laughter only temporary. As time went on, we began to open up. Those who sought to comfort each of us were eventually accepted. Our stoicisms, pierced initially only by each other, couldn't hold water. Emotion, for the first time in many years, would show on my face. I may not have been well-adjusted, but I had times where a true smile would cross my face for hours at a time, days even. Other times, I would be breaking down and not try hard to hide it. She was able to handle things in stride, things that would've broken her before.

We were poisons, toxins to each other. Our first 'breakup' left me in the hospital. She had not told me she was with another guy, let alone the one who had taken my room when I moved out. I came over, one night, to no signs of trouble. I sensed tension, though, tension in all of the people there. The two of them were tired and went to bed a room over. I left, immediately. Angst poured through me. I texted her. She came outside the building and gave me a hug, but no apology, as I remember it. I drove home and called a cab to get over to the hospital.
Our second, third, fourth breakups were almost as bad. She left me, I left her, we both came crawling back each time. I left her to pursue another woman, at one point, and was back in a day. I cried from the moment I left her until well after I was back in her arms.

This split, with the chasm between us, was precipitated by a smaller breakup in January. We had left each other mutually, only to discover our beds cold and empty without the other. While we knew that it was not capable of being carried on forever, we made it a long time. I told her I was attracted to another woman. She took it relatively well. We kept sharing the bed. I built rapport with the other woman. Eventually, Hawaii lent me some time with the other woman and our mutual friends.

After I returned, we did have a day together without strife. When she found out what had happened, though, she began spouting jumbled thoughts. Some of what she said has me questioning even associating with her again. The choicest comment, though, was an accusation flung in the eruption of emotion: "You probably don't even like her! You're probably just going after her because you couldn't get {her roommate}!"

If there is one thing that is obvious to me, it is that I like this other woman for who she is. I don't know what I liked my ex for. Go back, three and a half years, and ask me why I like her. You'll get vague somethings. I like the other woman because of everything. She has immense personality, she's brilliant, she has a sense of humor, she's out-of-this-world cute in every way. She makes me smile. I don't remember anything else my ex said that night. Somehow, I think I knew she would work an argument like that in when it all fell apart. And she came through, went down swinging and trying to take me down with her.

When we were together, she abused me mentally. I told her my fears, my hopes, my dreams; no question went unanswered, no matter how uncomfortable. I trusted her to the core. She was a confidant. She took that knowledge, then pestered, harassed and assaulted me over every single subject she could. If there was the slightest hint of cognitive dissonance on a subject, she would fire at me constantly. My intentions were never pure, in her mind. In all honesty, yes, I have some ulterior motives, but I try to keep myself and others apprised of them.

If she asked, right now, whether she were able to be part of my life again, at this point, I would tell her this: Once you think you can keep yourself in check, you can say hi. We can get coffee at The Black Drop. I won't speak to you again after that until I am ready and you are ready. But, for now, stay the fuck out. I want no part of the pain you would bring me.

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