and for the million hours that we were
well, i'll smile and remember it all
then i'll turn and go
while your story's completed, mine is a long way from done

Today's title song: "Champagne High" by Sister Hazel

Usual disclaimer: blah disjointed blah. Friday downer. Word vomit. Don't mind me. OK, here we go.

I don't know why things like this cross my mind from time to time. Why I let them. Sadism at it's finest, I suppose. For some reason I was sitting here this afternoon, digging through G/L accounts, and letting my mind wander. It started innocently enough, daydreaming of G in a tux, then to Mombi's wedding, then ... where it shouldn't. You know where. Thinking about how I'll feel when one of us truly moves on. Will it be bittersweet? Maybe. Will it hurt? Definitely. Will I even be there to see it? Because it will happen. Eventually. He before I, surely ... as my wounds are far deeper than his.

Spring turned to summer
But then winter turned to mean
The distance seemed right
At the time it was best - to leave
And to leave behind
What I once thought was fine
And so real - to me
And while I'm still gone
On the quest for my song
I'm at your - celebration

From time to time, I still have the vivid nightmare that awakens me in a cold sweat. Over and over again. The simple yet elegant engraved Crane's in my mailbox. Black on cream. Addressed o me and a guest. "Dr. And Mrs. T Request The Pleasure Of Your Company ..." Will I show up? Will I just send my regrets and a generous gift? I can't see it happening. I can't do it. Yes, I can. I'm the bigger person. This doesn't bother me. Yes it does.

No. I just can't.

Will I be able to just "smile and remember it all"? The moments ... the flashes of brilliance, as we call them ... or will I just "turn and go"? Even for me, there's a place where I get to that I can't put on the "brave face". I can't just chin up and hide my feelings, put on the million-watt smile through the pain, and cry alone in my living room. Even though I'm really good at it. I'm pretty sure that will be it. My breaking point.

I faulted B for sending the regret as he did in 2000. I told him, four years later over dinner and wine, that I thought he was a chicken-shit for not coming. I called him out because, after all, we are all adults, right? He poked at his tilapia, fork upside down. "I just couldn't do it, H. It hurt enough seeing you at the mall right after, even though I knew you were right across the street. I saw the cars. I was with K when you ran into her, you know. I was behind the planter, you couldn't see me. I couldn't face you. Not then. Not like that." I didn't understand at the time.
Now I do.

Even though I know it's going to happen, I can't be there for it.