And so came the day where I actually don't hate people. Well, maybe I do.

Please refer back to my post, I hate people., to understand what this title means and speaks of.

It was March. Winter. Cold. I was in natural hibernation mode, also wanting to die and be torn into a billion particles in my own personal wormhole of stress. I was literally going through a week by week recovery of a mental breakdown. During the Lenten season, I had learned more information about a certain someone who I had painted in my head. That certain someone was the Dorian Gray of my year. A flawless complexion to all who he'd meet, with a locked room of secrets no one were to know about. I was disgusted. I believe I was more embarrassed in myself for falling into their trap of sweet, sticky honey. So delicious, so pure... oh, how deceiving that was.

Since then, I vowed to never put myself through this again. I needed to stop pre-judging (that is essentially what I was doing). And, if I were to begin the little fantasy in my head, I were to swear for it to not go beyond that. If I took the initiative to begin my little 'character sketches,' then I had to make an internal contract to make sure it did not go beyond that.

Ah, but what good would this post be if I didn't go against my own promises? I would not have to be writing this right now. You'd be yawning five times as much as you regularly do whilst reading my posts...

The Prince happened. He will be named The Prince, as it actually was part of his character name from me. I can still remember the first time I saw The Prince. He was locking up his bike one cool, Fall morning after I had left for my weekly trip to Trader Joe's. I simply admired his good looks, and continued on... then, my second run-in was the elevator. Just him and me. And never more did I desire to live on anywhere else but the 2nd floor. Just so I could be on it a little longer. Creepy, I know.

He turned into one of those people you see once, and forever recognize them. Again. And again. And again. And you never acknowledge them, as you don't know them... but you know you have seen them numerous times. I had confided in a friend about this Prince and his frequent, yet random appearances in my life. And I never uttered a single word to him.

I spent the entire year in a fantasy, almost as a joke with my confidant. I knew he had a bike, what floor he lived on, what extra-curricular he did... but I never managed to discover his name. The most essential of portrait-painting. I had a giant list in my mind- all exotic. I began to think in my mind he was an exchange student, that he had an accent- it all began to get absurd. I was beyond any prejudging I had ever done before. I was using this actual being as a physical model for a fictional character. An inside joke. An it had turned into a huge ordeal, as The Prince managed to remain unidentified the entire year.

I felt good. I never found out who he was. I didn't intend to, and I thought, on my last days of my first year in college, it could stay this way.

Let's just say The Prince is no longer known as The Prince. I'm not going to fluff it with some cotton candy-coated transition or detailed explanation, but by a series of fortunate (or, more, unfortunate), purely coincidental, events, The Prince has a real name. He is real- he exists, and he is neither from another country, nor does he have an accent from a far off land. What I did learn exceeded my expectations. They are usually always a let-down, which is why I was skeptical to know more about this young lad.

Ah, but when this whole realization and end to this seemingly endless joke with my friend, I thought back to that March day of when I hated people. Or, more specifically, the person who had caused me to hate people. The question, "Do I really know as much about this person as I think I do?" still comes into play- and no, I never do. My answer will always be that. The thing that is different from March and July are the outcomes. Usually when news of another comes to you, it's for the worst. And, I think, actually, I don't know what to think of this 'good news.' It may have been good to me, but it was definitely bittersweet. First off, I took the risk of tarnishing his fictional image, and second of all... I don't really know much more about him. It's still at a honeymoon stage.

And I want to keep it at that.

No more exploring, as for the first time, this fantasy pre-judgement turned out with positive feedback. If given the chance to get to know The Prince more... what should I do?

What would I do?

I shudder to think. I honestly think I will cut off all opportunities to gain any kind of closeness with him, just for the sake of this dreamland I have built up for so long.

How sick am I?
Am I even sick at all?
Or, sensible?

I don't hate people. Because, now I know, there really are some good ones out there.



Hej hej,
Any

Change has occurred on the Fortuna blog. There is a new header- how difficult it was for me to let go of the original, but I believe this new one will be just fine. Do you like it? I didn't slave over it, to be honest. But I feel that I am satisfied with it. I hope you are, too.

Hej hej,

Any

Floating around

Found this little segment I wrote for a collaborative story on a forum that never finished. I quite enjoy it, might as well preserve it!

Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, Mr. Whit prayed the lift wouldn't make a stop on any floors on his way to the lobby. Any delays keeping him from the final floor would only frustrate him more. 'Why am I like this?' he observed his image in the perfectly polished doors. His restless eyes were shifting between his reflection and the levels that seemed to drop slower by the second. He took his left sleeve and gently wiped his brow, cleared his drying throat, and looked back up at the illuminated numbers. The nerves that were carving their way into him started to make excuses for the mistake:

'It's not like you haven't done this before,'

'There are always risks involved,'

And, 'Nobody said she'd be there.'

Mr. Whit brushed his right sleeve to glance at his watch at the final chime and stepped through the doors, maintaining his composure with a natural, almost easy pace in hopes to not draw attention to himself through the lobby entrance. He didn't bother to take his time and saunter through the baroque-inspired floor as he intended on his way up. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to move on and end his afternoon at the Imperial. Letting out a long sigh as soon as a gust of air kissed his cheeks, he turned on his heel and made a right to continue down the street.

Hej hej,
Any

The 11 AM

I went to the midnight o' one AM showing of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince last night. I enjoyed it, along with my mother, which we both shared some mother-daughter bonding time. Before the movie even began, I just kept thinking of all the people from high school that I could run into. I didn't want to talk to them... mother kept asking me what my problem was, why I didn't talk to anyone- even if they actually were nice to me and I had no issues with them in high school.

Why did I do that?

One stood several steps in the aisle in front of my having a conversation... and I initiated nothing to muster up a mere hello. I even remember her talking to me last year, asking questions about my future Alma Mater, Seattle University, as she plans to apply there...

I was enraged to find out that my mother ran into a group of girls I went to high school with in the bathroom. She sat down, "Now, don't get mad at me," she started.

"What?"

"A group of girls might come marching in to see you..."

"What!"

"... I ran into them in the bathroom-"

"Oh, god- why?!"

"Why not?"

I sat there, anticipating five or more girls... only one showed, to my relief. It was a nice, brief reunion. Thank Christ.

This all had me thinking... why do I want to have nothing to do with those girls anymore? What is wrong with me?
And at The 11 AM, when I woke up from the wild evening of popcorn, chocolate covered peanuts and Harry Potter, this little thought ran through my mind:

"If you were part of my past, there is a huge chance you'll never see me again."

It's a cycle. Every school or group I knew in my past... I don't talk to them still. There are very few from high school that I enjoy their company and realize that they are authentic in their remarks. But, most, I don't want to deal with them anymore. Am I trying to scoot away and make more room for the new people I am supposed to meet in life? I honestly can't name you one person I was a tight-knit friend with in elementary school.


There is only one person in the entire world that was part of my past that I would love to see again. And I have tried. Numerous times. And I believe that I will never see them again. It pains me to realize this- almost to tears... but, I have to move on from it. Unfortunately.

I don't want to come to terms with it.
Please don't make me.
Please make me.


Hej hej,

Any