The Rewrite

I know that our memory is always corrupted by experiences that came later.  I know that one cannot put oneself back into a moment in time with any certainty. 

Here we are again.

I try my best to say things from my point of view, that shifting vantage point that never sees everything.

And I know that what you read bears little relation to what I write.

I say these three words, or those three words, and you might read between the lines.

In the end, what you take from anything I've said might truly say more about you than I, the same as what I take from anything you've said says more about me than you.

I know a certain someone (tweet, tweet) will be insulted no matter what I write.  It's just my opinion.  Our paths crossed.  I saw it my way.  She saw it hers.  My commentary is as anonymous as I can make it, and in the wind.  Hers is unknown to me, but I'm sure she has voiced her opinion to someone.

And she's the least of my worries tonight, or at least not the main worry.

The intersection of certain females in my life, that's the big one.  The near future, the looming deadlines, the trust unbroken but... the moment will come when the immovable object or the irresistible force will be proven to be not so, and it will be either hurt or angry.

I've been on the edge of quitting.  Everything.  In rounds.  Work.  Coaching.  Playing.  Parenting.  Relationships. 

I'm in a place I can't define.  I'm not depressed per se.  I'm worried.  I'm deadened.  I'm repressing something.  I'm putting off changes I need to make, and yet contemplating changes I don't need to make.

I need to figure out what I want.  Only then can I make the right decision about what to do and when to do it.