Karma Chameleon

As I mentioned in my last post, Karma is fucking with me. First I attempt to have sex for the first time in quite some time and it sucked. Then I get an email from my ex boyfriend whom I haven't spoken to in years, for very good reasons. Now another ghost of boys past has popped up.

Yesterday my roommate CAT took some film to our friendly 1 hour photo lab. I decided to tag along and take a roll of film that I'd found when I moved. I have no idea what's on the roll, how long it's been lurking, or even if it's mine. Sometimes those mystery rolls can hold some fun surprises. We drop off the film, run a few more errands and return a little over an hour later.

When I'm given my pictures the chick behind the counter asks me if I would like to look through them and see if I'd actually like to keep them or not. Apparently they didn't turn out very well because 1) the film was old, or 2) it had gotten hot at some point. I'm thinking both are extremely likely.

I begin flipping through the pictures and they were from college. There are several of me and various friends doing various retarded and juvenile things. There is my old college apartment, my old college roommate, my old college ass. Then towards the end of the roll I come to a photo and I stop, completely shocked. Sitting in a chair in my old apartment is one of the bigger regrets of my college career.

Michael was guy in my English class junior year. I had a mad crush on him. I'm pretty sure he had a mad crush on me. Both of us were too shy to do anything about it. Besides he was getting ready to graduate and move away. So I did nothing. I have often wondered over the years what might have happened if I'd just opened my mouth and said something. Said anything thing about how I felt. But I'll never know.

I finally got to the point where I didn't really wonder anymore, because what did that accomplish? I'd pushed him out of my mind, save for the very rare occasion. Now all of a sudden there he is looking back at me. I didn't even know I had taken a picture of him, but I'm holding the proof in my hands. I decide to pay for the crappy pictures because, well for some reason I think I should.

I can't help but wonder if the these ghosts of boys past are a sign of some sort. I'll be damned if I know what they're trying to tell me though.