The one about feeling and writing and forgiving

Warning: This post may be filled with much self-pity and undervaluing of one's own abilities. Proceed with caution.

I am ashamed. I promised that I would be more diligent in my blogging and I haven't written in over a week and I feel terribly guilty. I offer the following post as some sort of explanation.

I have not heard from The Daft Punk and I deleted all of his phone numbers and emails. I could not contact him. I wouldn't know how. I am deeply hurt by the way he treated me and ended things and I'm not sure what to do about it. I can't wallow in self-pity, but if MAH is to be true to himself, he will refuse to allow him to get off the hook so easily. How Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction ("I will not be ignored, Dan"). I want him to feel bad. I want him to know that he hurt me. I want him to be ashamed of his behavior. Look, I have been rejected by my fair share of men. That's life, right? But when you're in your 30's and you've been dating for three months, the"never calling again" tactic is not acceptable. Aside from the fact, that I did like him and thought he liked me, it is, for me, more about feeling insignificant and rejected. I have a very difficult time meeting men. I am told that I send out "not interested" vibes. So, for me to meet someone and like them and want to see them again is very rare. My friends know that I have a very strong sense of right and wrong, this is both a strength and weakness, and it is wrong for someone to treat another human being like this. I cannot respect someone who doesn't have the balls to say what they feel and what they want and I don't feel that people who behave in this manner should get a fucking pass. You don't like me? I'll get over that. But the stimg that resulted from the manner in which you made me aware of that will not heal as quickly. So I'm pissed and I'm sad. No one has ever made me feel quite like that and it sucks. I feel like my therapist thinks I should call him and tell him this. I won't. I hate men. Well accept for friend's husbands, fiancees, and boyfriends, A,J,J,Marc, and Doc Harley.

Last Friday night, the highlight of which was meeting Doc Harley, who I really adore, I came home to find my LSAT score waiting in my email inbox. I won't reveal the score here, but I'm pleased, not ecstatic, but pleased. I scored higher on the real thing than I did on any of the diagnostics I took, so I guess that's good. So I can stop freaking out about that and start freaking out about something else: The Personal Statement. HELP!!!! I know what it can't be, but that leaves me with very little wiggle room as to what it can be. Basically, in two pages, I have to make the case for why I should be picked over 2,000 other applicants. I know what I bring to the table. I know I'm capable. So why is this so difficult? I have all of these ideas swirling around like a storm. I just need them to start intertwining with each other. I need to show the admissions committees how I think as oopposed to what I've done. It shouldn't be a biography and it shouldn't be my resume in prose. That's really hard. Synge says I'm overthinking it and undervaluing my abilities. She's right. I'm just not used to self reflection and that is what this exercise is all about. Thankfully, I have friends who are smart and good writers. Beware, drafts are on the way to all of you.

Finally, Vixanne and I were in a big fight. It's not important to rehash the details here. We hadn't spoken in about two weeks. She emailed me yesterday. I called her. It was as if nothing had happened. There's a familiarity between us that is both unnerving and comfortable. I can't imagine my life without it. I hope she can't either.