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I finally found a place to smoke in peace, across from Parliament, the same parliament that wouldn’t let me smoke anywhere else. Apparently, Australia is the only place more hostile to smokers (even cigar) than the United States. Fuck ‘em!
Yesterday was harrowing. Most of day was spent reorganizing my return, changing hotels and, most devastatingly, accepting the abrasive and abrupt reality that I am my own worst enemy. The person who I first came to see, changed plans to visit and eventually came to join for coffee (or Australia’s version of it) didn’t see me at all.
I traveled over 12,000 kilometers and have the pain of unmet expectations to show for it. She did what she’s always done, wavered, waffled, invited, ignored, teased and tormented. And I did what I always do, ignore the signs, negate the input of others, head straight for disaster and sit quietly in pain wondering how I got here. I got here by being naïve, foolhardy, unreasonable and reckless. I got here by being me, the very me I wish I weren’t a part of me, the very me I try to ignore and the very me that has yet to grow up, yet to mature and yet to accept.
It’s hard not to be angry and it’s hard not to hurt, because I am angry and I am hurt and I am left disillusioned and disbelieving that someone could do this to me, stand me up, abandon me and leave me. I am left regretfully embracing being a victim, a victim of my own undoing. No one did this to me. I did this to myself. And this is my unpleasant lesson to learn.
