Dear Diary,
I wasn’t sure what I was going to write about today, so I prepared a bowl of medically approved inspiration and turned my music playlist consisting of over 1800 songs to shuffle. “When We Dance” by Sting started playing. That was me n’ Ego’s song. Which, I guess, is appropriate cuz I’ve wanted to make a follow up post about that but wasn’t sure exactly how. Or why.
On a somewhat but not entirely related note, I was having a conversation with a buddy a couple of weeks ago about how we prefer to have “REAL” conversations, like, talk about stuff that makes most folks uncomfortable. I asked if I could ask her a personal question and when she gave me clearance, I asked something to the effect of, “How long do you have to get to know someone before you’re comfortable farting around them?”
She gave me a very specific answer, like, per boyfriend. I remember thinking, at the time, that I wasn’t being specific to just lovers but I guess a boyfriend would give you the most reservation to perform flatus. But I, literally, meant the act of passing gas. Flatulence. Letting one rip. Breaking wind. Cutting the cheeeeeeese.
I was driving around, last night, and it suddenly occurred to me that she must have thought I had been asking about sex! Oh my god, I don’t even remember what I said after that but I can only imagine the Three’s a Company moment we were having, talking about totally different things. I suppose they’re both things everyone does but everyone acts so ashamed of doing. Something most folks only share around folks they’re intimate with. Lol.
So, Ego… She kinda contributed to me having a rather difficult year. Not the only, or even the main, culprit, but she was the easiest person to direct my frustrations toward. Aside from myself, I guess. While the aftermath of her social media character assassination campaign was still settling, she reached out and attempted to make amends. Pretty much from that moment, I developed a crippling tension headache. Never experienced anything like it before. It made me cry. Sometimes it felt like my head was on fire. Other times it felt like I had so much shit built up in my noggin that the slightest influence of outside pressure would pop the top of my dome like a zit.
Eventually, I agreed to meet up with Ego. She was under the impression we were gonna have a friendly walk, but I just yelled at her for, like, two hours or something. Left her crying in the parking lot of a frozen custard joint. Probably one of the worst things I ever felt compelled to do, but my headache went away. Like, almost immediately.
Until she commented on my diary. Lol, like, came back faster than it had disappeared.
I wasn’t sure what to do. So I did my best to just ignore it. And, slowly, folks stopped messaging me screenshots of Ego’s posts, stopped bringing her up in conversation, the folks who private messaged me support all started leaving me on read when I’d reach out to go for a walk or roller skating or something.
I’m gratified that the anger is gone. The headaches are gone. I am, more or less, sequestered to voluntary ignorance to her goings on. It’s unavoidable to be completely in the dark on someone with so many mutual acquaintances but it’s been a minute since anyone has brought her up. Except me, lol.
Now that I’ve had a moment to settle, I’ve had a moment to reflect on the positive contributions Ego made in my life. And they are legion. I sent her a message a few days ago telling her I missed her but I still didn’t think it was a good idea to be friends. I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to accomplish with the message, but I didn’t feel any catharsis or validation.
This lady who lives next door to my buddies, Jiraiya & Tsunade, let’s me paint over the crude graffiti teenagers tag on the wall behind her property. She appreciates art but she’s pretty conservative, so I paint stuff like flags and flowers. I decided to paint a ladybug on the wall today. That was Ego’s nickname. Pretty appropriate. She felt like I didn’t devote enough of my art to her for the amount of inspiration she provided. I guess I’m more inspired by heartache and pain. Working through my mistakes, regrets, and transgressions. I guess her time has finally come!
It'll be hard to explain to folks how I got to where I am without recounting the Era of Ego. But, at least as far as this diary goes, I don’t think I have much left to say about the matter. Nothing left to do but walk away in shame, move town, and change my name.
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