Why I haven't written

There were so many stories I wanted to tell.

When I looked up from the counter of the hotel and noticed that my van, with Nana in it, was moving. Now I knew the keys were in the car and that it was on, but there was no driver. So I swore at the clerk and went racing out the door, my heart in my throat, to discover that my brother, the big jerk, had snuck up, gotten behind the wheel and driven off expressly to scare me witless. Did I mention he's a big jerk!

That Nana had one of her loopy phases and kept announcing that she needed to get home and putting on her coat when we were at my brother's apartment, so we hid her coat. She simply put on mine.

That the young man who did that horrific thing to me got fired, or he decided to leave, or whatever, but he's gone. Theoretically I never have to see him again. He e-mailed me to tell me this was a big "miscommunication" (he wasn't let go because of me, by the way, there was another issue) and I wrote him a detailed e-mail explaining why that was the dumbest thing I had ever heard and explaining in detail how he hurt me... I stood up for myself and it was a good thing.

That one of my dearest friends is engaged and I am so excited for her.

That once again everyone around me is getting pregnant and I'm afraid I am a fertility goddess... Which just confirms that I better be careful who I choose to be intimate with, I would probably get pregnant the first time, therefore...

Anyway, I wanted to talk about all of those things and more, but I can't.

Because.

Something is wrong. I don't know what, or why, or how to explain it, but there is. Maybe it has nothing to do with me, but something worries me that it does. I have this thing with paranoia, but that doesn't mean someone isn't out to get me... j/k.

What I mean is I think there is something wrong with someone I am friends with. I don't know if I did something wrong, or if they are hurting or if it's something completely unexpected, but I feel that there is something not right. But I can't ask or push. So I have to wait and see. That is really hard. (Update: Turns out I really am just a paranoid freak... Nevermind!)

Further, I fear that I am about to hurt another friend. Something that I thought would work, now seems that it won't, and I have to tell them. I am disapointed, and I think they will be too, but I know it's the right thing. Course, I also am still hoping they will be my friend and even help me out on another, but related cunundrum. How big a jerk does that make me?

Nana will probably go into a retirement home in May and I will be alone, at least till camp, provided I go, which might not work the way I wanted it to either. Being alone terrifies me in ways I can't explain and while I know this is the right step I feel so guilty for not being strong enough to keep Nana longer.

Then of course there is the general camp politics. People never do things the way I want them to, when I want them to. There is this really terrific opportunity in the north for camp, for my assistant for three weeks, and everyone agrees that it is a terrific thing, and they want it too, willing to go the extra mile and all that, but when "they get around to it..." and I want them to take care of it now, so it's settled.

Anyway.

All this, especially the paranoia, is why I haven't written.