Aiyani Mersai

I love you.

I want you.

Sometimes I need you.

I choose you.

It will all fall into place.

Trust. That.

::::::::::::::::::

I haven’t bothered attempting or wanting to be in a relationship since I moved here.  My mind was set on school and work and getting by.  I was in survival mode in unknown territory.

My first summer here was dreadfully hot and humid…DREADFULLY.  I was saved by my wife and husband-in-law and and others who pitched in and mailed me an A/C unit, which is currently on right now as it is once again summer–however not NEARLY as horrid as it was last year.

My first fall was spent trekking with one to three bags a day to school and work while the leaves changed to miraculous colors of yellow and  burnt sienna.  Yah, I said burnt sienna.  The fall also held a day or two of recovery from tequila poisoning from a night of celebrating with Ro when I passed mid-terms.  Imagine what might’ve happened if I bothered staying in school and finishing that, too.  heh.

Winter approached rapidly and apparently was one of the worst that NY had seen in a few years.  Several storms.  Many evenings I just stood near my window holding the curtain to the side and watched as the snow blew every direction with ferocity.  It always landed softly though.  That was something to see.  The streets slowly becoming the purest shade of white I had ever seen.  It was beautiful–until I had to travel through it to get to school and work.  Lucky for me my housemates prepared me by Christmas and I had a wonderful winter coat and boots to protect me.  There were days when I’d catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror with three bags, long pants and boots, my coat and scarf and beanie, and gloves and think “what am I doing here?”  there were days I never thought I’d make it up to the fifth floor with all my books and clothes.  But I always did.

Spring turned slowly.  I’d look out the window and see bits of green growing on near by trees and wonder if it was jacket chili, or sweater worthy, or if it was time to just wear a long sleeve shirt.  Without wanting to take the risk of getting cold, I’d over dress and de-layer as I went about my day.  It seemed to work out fine.  The colors of green on the trees were vibrant and bright, it quickly became my favorite time of the year.  My birthday came and went.  A group of friends accompanied me to my favorite place, then we all headed over to karaoke at a place Ro and I named Ching-Chong Ping-Pong Sing-Song.  We had drinks and cupcakes and I blew out a candle, just like I wanted.

Work was work.  School was school.  It was day in and day out.  It was hard.  My health was semi-deteriorating for reasons unknown to me which began a snowball effect of missing school, grading low on quizzes and ultimately barely passing the semester.

All during those months there were the flings and the fun kissy moments with guys I’d date for a minute or so.  We’d text then get bored of each other and either move to the no longer flirty place of friends, or we’d just stop talking.  Either option didn’t phase me.  I was fine.  But at work things changed a bit.

I’m not a head honcho by any means, but management consideres themselves lucky to have me and they trust me to train every single employee that gets hired.  So far, every single person I’ve trained has become one of the best employees they’d seen.  Surpassing those who had been on the floor for more than a year, even.  That’s because of all the useless knowledge I have of our product.  That’s because I’m an excellent instructor and will change my methods of teaching depending on how people learn.  It’s because I’m good at what I do–problem is…I stopped caring about what I do a long time ago.  It’s just a job.  It’s not a career move.  I go and clock in, run my floor, teach people, fix problems, clean and go home.

I was fast approaching my first-year-in NY realizing all I had done in my first year was go to school, and work.  I could have done this anywhere.  I could have done this in any state.  Bits of sadness started landing heavy on me and I was drinking whiskey to make it all go away.  I was not drowning myself in it.  I wasn’t miserable or helpless.  I was consistent though.  I’d leave my house at 7am for school from 8:30am-2:30p, and work from 3:30p -10p then head over to my pub, a home bar I found for myself, and have a couple cocktails.

May came and went, my year anniversary came and went and the end of my school year approached.  I passed–that was the most important part.  Then my days became about work only.  They became about work–and that guy that worked with me, that I helped train, who winked at me.

Now, I’ve been winked at before.  There are different kinds of winks.  One day though, this guy looked over at me and winked the way a hottie looks when he winks.  Every thing was in slow motion for that moment.  I was in my blacks with a hat on backwards and my hair in two pig-braids.  I glanced up and beneath the bill of his hat he winked and my stomach flipped.  I laughed, I’m sure he didn’t know why –that’s if he saw me laugh–.  I didn’t over think it, it had just been a while since someone winked at me like that.  It was mysterious.  But from that moment forward, every time I looked over at that guy I would imagine him winking.  I would not show it on my face.  I was his leader on that floor.  I focused on work only.  I didn’t talk to anyone about it.  And whenever he’d work with me, at his arrival or departure he’d wink at me.  I would notice, ever. single. time.  But every time I would simply say “bye! Good work today” or something similar.  We got along just fine at work.  We liked the same music, he’s more my age than the late teens early twenties I work with.  We’d bond over songs and movies we grew up watching.  We’d laugh and be silly, but still–of course–remained professional, as it was a work environment.  One night, we both were scheduled to close the store at 9p.  I had been there since 9am, he had been there since 11am, and whiskey was next on my list.  I didn’t say that to him though, we stepped off the elevator to exit the building and he said we should get some whiskey and without missing a beat I laughed and said I was heading to my pub anyway, and he could join.

My housemate Ro came out as well.  We were drinkin’ and laughin’.  She brought me a change of clothes.  Simple stuff, Thundercats T-shirt and jeans, and I told him he was welcome to hang out with us.  He lives in Jersey and has to get over the bridge before a certain time or they close the walk way and the busses over the bridge stop running. So I told him he could go, and catch his train and bus, or he could stay and crash at my house.  I don’t offer my place to people.  I trusted him though, he was a good guy.  I knew he wouldn’t be stupid.  So he thought about it and stayed out to play.  We went from my pub, to The Liar, to Ching Chong to sing.  And he sang some Guns n Roses.  It was a good time.  The side of me that drinks and kisses boys started to emerge though and I told him in my semi-drunken state not to kiss me because we work together.  I told him I’m a kissing whoore (that’s two O’s) because I like kissing.  I drink then find a cute guy and kiss him a bit, then call it a night.  I told him he could not be that person.  To which he responded by reaching up his left hand and placed it on my face, and his right hand to my leg and leaned it to kiss me.

wow.

I was drunk for sure.  And now I’d crossed that line, a rule I laid out for myself a long time ago.  Well–it can’t happen again! Few kisses later it was time to go.  We were done drinkin’ and we’re all tired.  He came home with us and instead of crashing on the couch, he slept next to me.  I changed into my jammies, and he stayed in his work clothes, the entire night, and I slept on his chest with his arms wrapped around me.  Best sleep I’d had in a long time.  He woke up and headed home early and said thank you for letting him stay.  After that night I knew I couldn’t work with him.  I knew I’d want to kiss him again.  We had a few shifts together and I behaved, and he behaved.  Until that brief moment when I was leaving and I said “just kiss me already” to which he smiled, took his hat off wrapped his left arm around my head and swung me down dipping me with his right arm wrapped tightly around my body.  Just like in a movie.  Puke, right?  Exactly–fooking awesome.  =)

We spent more and more time together.  Breakfasts, lunches, dinners, snacks.  We’d talk on the phone, and text all day.  We’d email each other.  He began reading my blog, from the beginning because he wanted to learn about me.  What my experiences were like.  We’d talk about relationships, and jobs, and acting.  I found out more about him.  He’d been in the navy, he was also married and divorced.  We actually had a lot in common.  From small things to big things.  That was…new, for me.  Normally people I date just sort of “deal” with me.  They meet my friends and they get sucked up in the life I have.  They “tolerate” me.  But this guy,  he was different.  In the best way.  In ALL the best ways, he was different. We had similar goals.  We were able to talk about–anything.  Openly, and kindly.  I actually liked walking around holding his hand, or walking with our arms wrapped around one another.  Public display of affection wasn’t really something I was into.  Kissing in public–that extreme crazy kind, was a no no.  Small pecks used to piss me off. STOP KISSING ME IN FRONT OF PEOPLE.  I would say.  That was before him.  Now, it’s as if no one else exists.  And I’ll kiss him whenever I want.  And he’ll kiss me whenever he wants.

His eyes.  Dark and mysterious and endless.  They are a magnet and every time he looks at me, I don’t want to look away.  His smile is full and meaningful.  It’s directed right at me.  The sound of his voice is comforting.  His kisses I could drown in, happily.  Whether his hands are wrapped around my face, or back his hold; his embrace is full of life and it draws me to him like a warm shining light.  When he is wrapped around me, nothing can hurt me.  When he speaks to me I hear nothing else.  He is captivating.  He is the beautiful side of mystery.  He is worth everything I have left.  Sometimes he’ll wrap his arms around me and lean in and touch his forehead to mine and there is a comforting, protective energy I feel.  I am safe with him.  He will not lie to me.  He will not purposely harm me with his words, and in the even he says something that could cause harm, I need only bring it to his attention for him to quickly erase it from existence.  Just as with every kiss I slowly forget every other person I’ve ever kissed.  As if they never truly mattered.  As if everything was to prepare me for this…completion.

I do not need him.

I want him, always.  Close to me.  Hugging me.  Laughing with me.  Drinking with me.  Laying next to me.

This is someone who believes in me, as no other boyfriend, or partner or mate had ever believed in me.  He encourages me, supports me and wants to move forward with me.  Not pulling me, or pushing me.  Not dragging me or forcing me.  Not changing me or hurting me or convincing me that I am wrong.  If anything he says “we’re there, catch up already” with his warm endearing smile.  He wants to make plans.  He wants to stay in my life.  I want him to stay in my life.  This is someone who came to the hospital to be with me.  He held my hand when I laid in bed sick.  He brought me medicine and water and food.  He caught me when I was dizzy and falling.  This wonderful mystery of  man lay next to me reading in bed.  The simplicity of time spent together draws me to him with such force, and I love every minute of it.  He is an artist, and actor, a friend of mine.  He wrote me a sonnet.  He speaks to me as an adult about fears and insecurities and honesty.  He speaks about us, and what the future may hold.  He tells me what he wants, and it involves me.

Perhaps the mystery, then, does not reside in who he is, or where he came from.  But how he is able to know when I’m holding something back, or hanging on to something that keeps us apart.  Perhaps the mystery is that, with him–I don’t have to be one.  I don’t have to be solved, or fixed, or figured out.  He can just–see me.  Right into me.  And it’s not scary, or harmful.  It’s enlightening and rich with warm light and fuzzy feelings–the good kind.  Maybe the mystery is so simple I have made it difficult for no reason.  I’ve wanted him to just to myself to see where it goes.  And soon, it will be time to show him to the world.  Soon, it will be time to reveal that which I have kept veiled and so close to me.

Will showing his face, mean showing you mine as well?  Soon the mystery will be revealed.  The only  real question, then, is which one of us has actually been hiding all this time?

He got there around 11:30pm from work and we talked and listened to music and talked about our days.  Soon it was 1:30am and we laid down to sleep and took a nap.  After curling up next to him for a couple hours the alarm went off at 4am.  I stood up, stumbled to turn my alarm off and put drops in my eyes.  I took my pills and vitamins and brushed my teeth and we were out the door in less than 10 minutes.  He drove me to the airport because he wanted to be the last person I saw when I left NY.  I liked that.  Some people can say that’s cheasy, I think it’s adorable.  Being with him is like being in a movie.  And that’s fun.

I checked into United flight 891 to LAX and went to buy something to eat at the nearest Starbucks.  I bought banana bread, for $3.10…yah…and got some water to take my dramamine.  I swear by that stuff.  Changed my life.  I got motion sickness so bad when I was little.  Went on a plane in my 20’s without, almost hurled several times.  Now, I’ve gotten better in a car with motion sickness.  I can even read on a bus or a train, but planes still get me a bit.  Best part about dramamine in addition to the motion sickness help, that stuff knocks me out cold.  Plane rides are over sooner because I fall asleep as soon as I sit in my seat.  United provided a blanket and pillow and the last thing I remember hearing was instructions on how to buckle my seat belt.

A few hours later I landed in Los Angeles and stepped off the plane, found the monitor and saw what gate I needed to get to for my flight from LAX to SLOville.  To my luck, the gate was close by.  My latest fiascos in airports was always about having 20 minutes to run 2 miles in the airport to the opposite side.  Duffle bag and laptop en tow.  So, much to my happiness the next gate was only a few down the hall.  I grabbed a six-piece chicken mcnugget for about $4 and bought a bottle water and STAR magazine to read for the next hour.  It went by rather fast, that hour of w

aiting, and soon I was in my solo window seat on a dinky plane headed to SLOville. 

I rolled up my John Mayer sweatshirt and put it against the window, and fell back asleep.  That time I fell asleep when the flight attendant explained how to apply my mask in the event cabin should lose pressure…

I landed at 11:30am and was off the plane shortly there after.  My Maamm was there moments after I was there and we hugged and I got my suitcase and we headed towards the car.  I walked out of the small county airport and said “Oh, beautiful, gorgeous” and my mother finished the movie quote with “wish you were here.”  The drive was scenic, quiet and green.  First stop was Jack in the Crack for an ultimate cheeseburger with curly fries.  Man I miss those burgers.  Bun, meat, cheese, meat, cheese, bun.  Dropped my Maamm off back at work and went to her house where my sister was waiting.  She said she would meet up with me for lunch.  I was so excited to see her!  So excited to see the bump!  I arrived and was greeted by Rik and I started jumping up and down yelling “1 sibling 1 sibling!!!” Then Smurf walked out and I kept jumping “2 siblings 2 siblings” then my sister appeared and I jumped with my arms flailing about “3 SIBLINGS 3 SIBLINGS.”  Then we group hugged.  I feel so complete when they are with me. They are so important to me.  We ate our food and sister had to go back to work.  

Not before I spoke to the baby “Say ‘Hi Auntie Nani!'”  and rubbing lotion on her belly. hahahaha.

The Smurf was hungry and asked Rik to make some food, Rik complied and busted out his cooking skills making his first concoction of burrito type stuff wrapped in something like 4 tortillas.  Smelled amazing, filled up a huge plate–and the Smurf finished that bad boy.  I totally helped, I had a few bites, get off me.  Yes I just had a huge burger, but food smells good and I eat good smelling food.  The End–no there’s more.  Smurf then said “Hey, since we’re here just hangin’ out we should just put on FRIENDS” and I nodded and Rik came around the corner from the kitchen, eyes wide open and said “I’m in.”  We all laughed.  Good times.  So the brothers and I watched Friends and hung around in our soft pants (some of you call those jammie pants, I now call them Soft Pants because of my housemates nephew.  Good times).  Around 4:30pm I put jeans on and headed out to run a couple errands and pick up my Maamm from work.  Then I got home, took a quick shower and the brothers and I headed to my Dadda’s house for dinner.

Earlier in the day my Dadda asked me if I had any plans tonight.  I texted back:  “Yes, I’m co

ming to your house tonight” then he said ok and he’d make my favorite chicken. WIN.  My favorite chicken, with white rice and corn–dinner of champions.  So. Stinking.  Good.  I had two huge bowls of it then later had some cookies n cream ice cream.  No wonder I gained 10 pounds back this semester.  Lost 30 first semester, gained 10 back because I introduced food back to my body.  heh. We watched 2 episodes of Deadliest Warrior.  Some show with scientists and doctors calculating the methods and techniques of warriors past, and how they would do in combat.  So we watched Vikings vs. Samurai.  Then Ninja vs. Spartan.  That stuff is sick.  Sick, amazing, entertaining, educational and kinda gross.  Makes me want to do karate again, but also learn to sword fight and all kinds of stuff.  I want to be a badass when I grow up.

I also got to see Courtney and little Abby.  I love my family.  Court is Lucas’s wife (Lucas is my step brother) Abby is their daughter, and Abby is so pretty to me it’s gross.  I sometimes sing it to her too “Abby Abby, you’re so pretty Abby. Abby Abby, so pretty that it’s gross.”  Her bright blue eyes and button nose.  Her parents are in for it, for sure.

Later, I stepped out to call him and say goodnight.  I had been sending him pictures throughout the night of stuff I was doing.  It was nice to hear his voice.  I know I saw him earlier that day, but 3,000 miles is different when you’re on the phone.  I don’t know how to explain it, but it was nice to hear is voice nonetheless.

I went back in the house and sister arrived and we all hung out for a bit.  My Dadda gave me a book called “The Divine Comedy” by Dante.  It’s a beautifully bound book with gold colors around the pages.  It has a very old, but classic look to it.  The pages feel old and delicate and thin, and I can’t wait to see what the words say.  Eventually Double-T showed up, sisters husband and we all chatted more.  I got asked a few questions a

bout him and so far I’ve shown his face to Terry (stepmom), my Maamm, Sister, and Courtney.  The reveal of The Mystery Man is coming I keep telling them.  It’s fun.  I’m glad he likes to play along.  I look forward to the reveal.  heh.

Soon it was time to head home.  It was 11pm.  We took a sibling picture, as always, and a picture with my Dadda and hugs all around and were out the door.  Driving is simple.  That’s just here though.  On the Central Coast.  Everything just seems so much more simple, here.    Upon arriving to my Maamm’s house I changed into comfy pants, out of my purple dress, and I was poured a glass of white wine.

Then out of no where the Smurf started speaking about ingredients in Spam, chicken nuggets and other fast food things.  I don’t remember what was on TV, what we were talking about prior, but I remember laughing because he said one of the ingredients in Spam was Mechanically Separated Chickens.  I remember laughing so hard  I coughed.  Then he stood up and came over to me and said “what does that look like” and I replied “frozen yogurt”

and he said “That’s mechanically separated chicken.  Then he explained/read the process in which this…stuff was made.  It is crushed, eyes, legs, beak, body and blended-like into this…paste.  The pinkish color is dyed, and flavor is added.

Snopes says this of Mechanically Separated Chicken

And…and that’s all I have to say.
 

After school is out for the summer, I’m gonna write my Year-in-NY blog, there will be much to say but for now I have to spend all my typing skills on papers and journal entries and and and and and and.

And I want a really good mexican burrito, and I can’t seem to find one out here. Tilde win.

I’ve been listening to these guys a bit often lately.  The link below has a whole bunch of their songs you can listen to, so ….what are you doing? GO LISTEN–The Princess has spoken.

My top five are:

1) La Folie de Charles

2) Act III

3) Mediate

4) Drink the Water

5) Wail

Bound by Substance on Reverbnation

Lyrics can be found on their website:
Bound by Substance

THE PRINCESS HAS SPOKEN

I did this last year, only the “note” was longer.

See, I love cards, physical cards from Hallmark, or Papyrus, or freaking Walmart and Target.  It is an odd love affair, perhaps, but I love them.  I can stand in a Hallmark for HOURS and read almost every card and buy a whole bunch so I have some in the wings for any occasion.  Plus I’ll see some that would be PERFECT in something like 8 months, so I’ll get it and keep it!!  I have a treasure chest in storage in CA.  It’s fully of cards I’ve kept from birthdays and holidays that I just…wanted to hold on to and read again and again later.  They are full of memories and hand written messages.  I know technology is advancing and making it easier for us to be separatists with the idea of friends, but the truth is the “friends” I have in my life I either live with, or text on a regular basis.  Facebook has really allowed me to find pieces of my family that are far away, some I’ve never met face to face and that is amazing to me, and I appreciate it–but it’s sad when I used to get a call from my Dadda ever year and he’d sing to me on my voicemail, and for the second year in a row he’s only sent me a text.  I get a little sentimental sometimes, and maybe a little attached to tradition but it was something he’d done for years and years, and last year he just didn’t call–he sent me a text.  Oddly enough, I still have the voicemail he called with two years ago.  I used to keep them every year, and delete the prior one.  So I guess I’ll just hang on to this one until Verizon says I can’t.

I love hearing the voices of people I care about.  Don’t get me wrong–I too use facebook and I text people and send ecards, I’m just saying I miss the days of hand written cards that you know someone looked for and wrote your name on it and slapped a stamp on it a week in advance to make sure it got to you in time!  Now we sort of have reminders and alarms that say “hey! Your friend is getting old, say something on their wall about it”  Shrug.

I did something different this year and I answered my phone a couple times.  I normally don’t answer my phone at all on my birthday because I love listening to the voicemails over and over.  People are so cute sometimes with their voice mail messages.

At any rate, in order to keep with the technology and warm wishes of my Birthday I kept a tally for the day (and some change for belatedness) so I could reflect on it again later and go “wow…that’s a lot of good times!” or something like that:

70: The number of Facebook messages (via fb email, or wall posts)

13: Texts sent to my phone

4: Voicemails left on my cel phone

4: Instant Messenger messages sent to me while I was online

3: Physical cards (2 cards, 1 postcard)

2: Calls I answered…which was weird (They were Mentor and my Wife)

7: Friends that attended Medieval Times with me, and Karaoke at what we like to call “Ching-Chong Ping-Pong Sing-Song” in West Village.  Hugging you, Kissing you, cuddling up next to you, dancing with you, drinking with you was my birthday wish and you all made it come true.  My deepest gratitude for giving me your saturday evening..for 10 hours…damn.

Then there’s this award thing I like to do.  Or when I say “so-and-so wins” as a comment.  It’s all in good fun.  Beneath are this years awards.

Jared Ross: Award for being the First person to say Happy Birthday when it became my actual birthday

Kaza: Award for sending the first birthday text

Double-T: Award for sending a picture of himself right as he woke up to let me know saying “Happy Birthday” was a priority. haha

Terry Sue (fine, and Michael. hahahah): Award for funnest Birthday Care Package, including but not limited to a Princess Crown Ring!

Chimere: The award for presenting the first physical Birthday Card

The Professor: The award for most creative birthday card and gift all-in-one.

Miranda: Award for covering the most bases: Physical card, Voicemail AND Text

Joshifer & Sammybear: Award for Best rendition of the song “Happy Birthday”–god that kid is cute. crap. (and yes I saved the voicemail…)

Ro: You get an award for making me a super-yummy birthday breakfast right after I said “I want pancakes”

My Siblings get the award for gathering in one place to video chat with me.

I love you guys.  All of you that left me a message on my fb wall, texted me, called me–all of it.  I love you.  Thank you for thinking of me and making me smile.

So there I was, on the bus crosstown to the East Side for school and it is semi-crowded.  I have my overstuffed duffle bag swung across my body, and my school bag hanging off my right shoulder, and I’m standing just above a fairly old woman.  She has white/purply/silver hair that she more than likely curled over night having slept in curlers as she probably has every night since puberty.  Her nails were a nice shade of something between burgundy and marilyn-red, and her knuckles were over sized on her tiny veiny, and age-spotty hands.  She had on big Jackie-O sunglasses and what looked to be a fur coat.  She held her little bag on her lap and I noticed earphones dangling from her droopy lobes.  I smirked a bit.  It’s always funny to see elderly people with technology like cel phones, iPads and iPods.  You know that their grandchildren, or even great-grandchildren had to help them figure it out.  So this grandmother type with her gold rings on that I’m sure she hasn’t removed since putting them on in the 1940’s is slightly bobbing her head back and forth, like a bobble toy slowing down.  I can only assume it’s because whatever song is playing in those earphones.  A few more moments went by and as my curiosity grew of what she was listening to she opened her mouth and sung quietly::

“blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol, blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol.”

No. But, really.

I have myself convinced that crying is a sign of weakness, and so I try not to cry–ever.  What this has done, is in the event I DO cry I get very judgmental of myself and I get frustrated and angry.  Then anytime I get frustrated and angry and I feel there isn’t anything else I can do, I want to cry–but instead I hold it all back as best as I can, which blocks me emotionally in a few ways and causes anxiety.

Anxiety gets relieved, for me, when I can actually find breath.  So I used to do breathing exercises when I’d feel anxiety attacks creeping up on me.  Giving myself permission to breathe seemed to be a good and fair idea.  What I have found recently is that giving myself permission to cry, makes the air come easier.  The problem I have hear is I cry, too much.  I’m in my room just doing homework, or watching TV with Dory, or reading and I become instantly overwhelmed emotionally and I begin to cry.  Sometimes it lasts only a few seconds, sometimes a few minutes.  Sometimes I have to lock the world out for the rest of the day or night.

On my vacation I didn’t cry–well watching Biggest Loser made me cry…a little..but that’s all triumphant music and pain and loss and victorious etc–it’s not up there with anxiety crying.

That said, when my plane descended on saturday April 2, 2011 and the houses and streets and cars were close enough to look like a little model of New York, I began to cry.  I didn’t feel sad, or angry and I can’t think of what may have triggered the instant emotion. Sometimes I know why I get all emotional all of a sudden.  Sometimes it’s a person, or experience–nothing bad or sad, just a person or experience…and the issue I have with that discovery is now I don’t want to think about that person.  Ever.  But there’s nothing wrong with this person.  They haven’t caused me any grief, I just get emotional regarding that person.  I guess soon I’ll have to choose whether the emotions and crying for no reason are in direct relation to that person, and decide if it’s a good or bad thing, and if it’s all worth it or not.  It may be for the best that I don’t talk to that person anymore, it may be the biggest mistake in my life if I don’t talk to that person–who knows.