It was nice having Randy over as I've been rather stressed about things. We watched X-files, as I suddenly recalled just how much of this show I actually do remember from the first time I watched it, and bemoaned the fact that I was a teeny bopper when this show first came out. And Randy had to endure my squeels of girlish delight every time Mulder appeared on screen with his perfectly swept back hair, his professorial wire rim glasses, and those pouting lips. Besides, he was lusting after Gillian Anderson, he just didn't admit it. Some things never change with me.
I paused the episode that squicked me out most, the one about Toomes, the mutant liver eater, while reading something on a journal friended on mine, and had to ask him advice since he had been involved in a similar situation himself with Heather. And this lead us to talking about this and that, and things, and we sort of devolved into our usual Jenn/Randy conversations of the stresses in our lives, the lengths to which we've grown or changed, why Patric is so neurotic and why we seem to like this about him as we are his friends, and then this always seems to lead back to SLAFC, where we muse on the degeneration of things, why things went so wrong, and how we are so glad we tried to stay the hell out of the shit when it was flying, even though some of it was flying about us. Well, me specifically, and not completely uncalled for, though some of it was bald faced lying, and well it boiled down to how we realized that at that point SLAFC was full of really not nice, asshole people and while yes, we were a part of that culture and did some not nice things, (I know I specifically did), we didn't want to be part of that anymore and sort of divorced ourselves from it. In fact I think Randy and I got so much closer because of that, because all we really wanted out of the downfall of it all was just to be left the hell alone.
I think one pointed question that popped into my head in all of this is, "do you regret siding with Patric in all of this?" I had many reasons not to, and I had many reasons to. I knew vaguely what was being said about me, and while now I don't care to ever know precisely, as I think it's a) bullshit most of it, and b) pointless years after the fact, at the time it didn't seem to matter so much to me as scrabbling away as far and as fast as I could did, because it was all so horribly, horribly awful, and I didn't want to hurt anyone or be hurt. I just wanted to be left alone and for everyone else to leave me alone. In hind sight, this probably meant that I should have cut out everyone, Killie, Patric, the acolytes of both, and just hermited myself away, and to an extent I did. As I found most everyone involved slightly dispicable or at least a bit silly for throwing into it, (I myself did not feel particularly good about my own involvement), the one person in all of this I shouldn't have thrown in with probably was Patric.
Lot's of people will have nasty things to say about that, and frankly, since few of you ever bothered to get to know me or talk to me, and I can't say I know you and talked to you, you can zark off. Those who do know me and have an opinion, well it's yours, and I won't argue with it. But I do know something. In the four years between the time I decided to cut myself off, and the time I'm at now, I don't think I could have asked for a better friend save Randy. And Randy himself had to make that same decision years ago, and I think he'd say something similar to myself. Patric is trying, he's a headache, he's unpredictable, and thoroughly annoying at times. There are times I'd like to beat his head against the wall and hope something got through the thick, un-empathetic skull of his. But then I realize that Patric has also been a loyal friend, the first to come to my rescue when the chips are down for me, and the one who I can rely coming in when I'm bleeding on the side of the road somewhere. He hasn't always been completely honest, but he's never lied bold face to my face. And he's proven that despite where he was when I met him, he is a person who is trying hard, and I mean REALLY hard to be a good person. That isn't to say he's perfect or that he succeeds, but he tries, and that's more than I can say for a lot of people.
I guess in the long and the short, the whole experience I guess can be seen as a learning experience. I learned that perhaps that sort of lifestyle isn't for me. At my heart I'm a good person, who likes to be nice, and no longer wants to keep lies, secrets, or do things behind peoples backs because of my weird emotional issues. I think it's much better to just not get involved now than to rationalize it or to make it right in your brain. If instinct says no, go with it. Bad monkey! And try to be kind to people, don't just use them as toys or bad mouth them because you want to feel superior. It doesn't make you a good person. And that more than anything, I don't want to be the person I was during that time. I have many fond memories of the club, but I wasn't nice, I wasn't good, and perhaps I lent myself to many of the more colored accounts of myself because I made the choices I did. It's best to just not, and you know, people will respect you for the good person you are. My Dad of all people taught me that, because he's the sorta guy who is like that.
I have few friends now, and perhaps that's good for me. I have no serious relationship at the moment, and like Randy said, perhaps I shouldn't worry about that. For me, he feels, the right person will just come along and zap me, like a lightening bolt or something. Course, this is Randy, but he might be on to something on this one. So perhaps I shouldn't worry so much about that, as I've got so many other goals to work on. And despite all the work issues and money worries and stresses of school, my constant argument with my weight, and whatever, I think that I've come a long way from the person I was. The fact that so many nice, wonderful people like the boys, the Jewell gang, and my LJ friends piled out of the woodwork during this tough time for me means a lot, and it must mean that I'm a good enough person that they respect me. And perhaps that means I've grown a bit myself out of all this. And you know what, that isn't such a bad thing after all.
So enough about reminicing. In six months, I'll have my BA in History from UCLA. In seven, I might be mucking about Pompeii looking for Hottie Prof. And in eight, I might be working at DR again, where I started all those years ago. Things are looking up from here. And all the rest of that is all so much in the past.