...actually, I've been like that most of my life. If I were the kind of person who kept up with personal correspondence correctly, I probably would've moved to Boston and married Amy Chused long, long ago and then where would we be? I wouldn't know half of you, and without my interference, Xa wouldn't have moved to Austin and become a loving wife and mother (and certainly Shay would not have committed suicide with a note calling me out in person. I should feel more evil than I do, perhaps). But, really, life is too complicated to make such simple inferences from a 20 year old change in personality - like it or not, if your life has been touched by mine, and you're happy with your life, you're actually glad that I'm a poor friend, or else I might've changed something by keeping in better contact with you which would've altered your present circumstances to something less pleasant.
But, then, for years I've been saying, "if I'm happy, I can't have regrets, because anything I think I did wrong then was really important to bringing about today." Certainly I've made (and subsequently stopped writing to) many fine friends over the last twenty years, and I really do like you! I just suck at writing.
However, I'm not happy now, so I've been going over my regrets like a parade of failure - each echoing stronger and making the cycle harder to break. I spent three hours yesterday going over an argument with a car repair man that happened fifteen years ago... you know, I kinda miss when I could afford therapy and happy pills.
Having been here before I know one of two things will happen:
1) I'll die. I mean, by accident or something. This is actually unlikely at my age, so:
2) I'll get better. Then my regrets will fade. Then I'll meet another Jennifer Hawkins(*) or Kristen Noack whom I'm totally in love with but who just uses me for reassurance that men like them while they shop for a real boyfriend (**). Er, I mean, something else. Next time I won't let myself be a doormat. Really (Yes, Vorien, I've learned nothing from your nudging, except how to analyze what I haven't done right).
If you're still reading this and still interested, I'm still "between jobs" but can still get by for another couple months. Miss Kitty is still healthy. And Iron Man was "okay" - it wasn't "OMG Awesome" but it wasn't vacuuming great big green donkey genitals, either.
(*) no, not Ms Universe. my former roommate back in Houston.
(**) not actually fair to either of them, since they were clear about their lack of intentions early on. But I like to dream that I could've done things differently.