Nearly 4 days later, what I didn't do continues to haunt me. There is always next year, I say, but the wait is torturous—and even then, what I didn't do continues to haunt me.
I always take great pride in planning everything to the last detail, and having a list of things to accomplish. So when something I absolutely look forward to, make great preparations for—no, *extraordinary* preparations for—does not get achieved, firstly, I have myself to blame, and then I can point the finger at other things.
Nobody will understand, because no one has even tried. It is too easily dismissed; it is deep. What on the surface seems superficial, to me has become my sustenance. You know how after some time one looks forward to the same little pursuits, the highlights of every year? That's how it has become for me. And the worst part is, it is never guaranteed and the people are *never* constant. It's like your hometown; over the years, everything changes around you, and although you change as well, you are only hanging on to fragile memories which no one will care about.
I tell myself, it takes time—everything will pass, eventually. But the reality remains. The sliver of comfort I can take in this is that well, some things have already been decided for the future. But there is that bitter taste in the mouth: what did I come for—work? Why did I linger? Why didn't I get there faster? Why did I sleep in the day? Useless, it was. Why waste half the day? It's not the first time I've sacrificed for this, anyway. For them—anything! As the last legitimate event, why not pull out all the stops and then laugh about it afterwards? Too many things went wrong, too few things went well.
You could say, "Concentrate not on what didn't happen, but on what did." I tried. It backfired. Some things *did* go exactly to plan. But what *didn't* happen was so huge and so basic that it stares at me in the face every time I don't see my face. Because it is a personal choice, a personal plan, not fulfilling it gnaws at you slowly from the inside.
I now depend on a new but wholly antisocial event to uplift me. I hope it goes some way to mending the open wounds that remain. It is completely different by nature, so I don't expect closure at all. But if I plan my day, and take a step back and sense what is important, I may be able to heal some things. But nothing will compare to a hundred and thirty people over a fire by the sea.
In the meantime, what I didn't do will continue to haunt me.