From: coates@newton.physics.uq.oz.au (Tony Coates)
Subject: Re: Distress Call
Keywords: Suddenly, the moon blows up.
Organization: Physics Dept. The University of Queensland
Date: Wed, 9 Sep 1992 07:13:11 GMT

In article <1992Sep9.041827.17514@wam.umd.edu>, hwyman@next05cville.wam.umd.edu (The Hwyman) writes:
|> I don't know where to begin or what to say.  How about my life sucks  
|> to hell?  Yeah, not good news.
|>
|> [Sad story deleted ...]
|> 
|> Well, another nice guy bit the big one.
|> 
|> Hwy
|> 
|> P.S. Sorry to be so depressing, but, for what it's worth, I think  
|> writing                helped.
|> --

It's sad to hear that this sort of things happens, and I can only say
that I am very sorry for you.  It does seem that a summer break is
indeed long enough for things to change - it's even sadder that people
still often don't find the courage to tell someone else the way things
stand (well, some women have had bad experiences with guys who couldn't
understand what "No, finito" meant, but that doesn't serve as an excuse
for everything ...).  Having this element of surprise, though, and
having your high hopes suddenly dashed is one of the cruelest things of
all.
	Let me tell you a story, though I caution you that it may sound
really stupid.  From the time I started primary school, i.e. about six
years old, I knew that my goal in life as a man had to be to win the
affections of women.  So, unlike the other guys, I wasn't at *all*
afraid of being touched by the girls and catching "girls' germs".  In my
second year at school, I met a girl called Jay, and we quickly became
best friends.  You could have called her my girlfriend if you like,
though of course at that age it has only a platonic meaning.  This
continued until the end of my fifth year at school.  We used to visit
each other, and give each other kisses on the cheek hello and goodbye,
and generally enjoy ourselves.
	When I returned to school for my sixth year, I didn't seem to
run into Jay during the first or so.  This seemed a bit strange, so I
started asking around.  Then someone told me that she had moved.  That
was it.  Her family moved without saying a word to me.  I had been with
this friend for 4 years, and for a 10-year-old that is a *long* time -
probably half of my life as I could remember it.  I can't really
describe how much it upset me.  I don't think I really got things
together until university - almost a decade later (when I'd doubled in
age).  Even now, I still wish I knew where she was, because it feels
like there's this hole that needs an answer to fill it.  And I'm 28 now.
	The thing is, I shouldn't really be trying to hold on to a
memory that is now dead and buried.  It is a trap that is too easy to
fall in to.  Yes, with the joy of relationships comes the pain, and I
know how it can hurt (I have a divorce pending), but I don't think that
I could ever give up on continuing.  I don't think anyone should. 
Perhaps I'm just scared that if I ever stop going forward that life will
pass me by.  But go forward we must, or all we do is grow stale.
	This may sound lame, but you can never know whether any
relationship will last, and so you have to enjoy it while you have it. 
If it ends, at least be happy for the joy that was.  To want something
to last forever is wonderful.  To put too must trust in the belief that
it will or must is, perhaps, foolhardy.  Sometimes we taunt ourselves by
trying to forsee our lives too far in advance.
	Maybe none of this helps, and it's all a bit scatty, but I'm
sure that you will find that there is still a great life out there
waiting for you to live it.

				*brotherly hugs*
							Tony.
[Knight Defender of the Grail of Human Dignity]