I'm too hard on myself. It isn't possible to take into account every single outcome. I couldn't have known. So why do I feel so embarrassed I could cry? I don't want to do wrong by P, ever; I only want to do what he asks of me.

Pobrecito. I just want to hug him and hug him, but I know that's overstepping my bounds. All he wants is get down to business. I can do that. I can be that. But isn't there a line I can toe (tow?), be sympathetic and concerned and still be professional and serious?

I just feel so awful and so so sorry. As if he didn't have a full enough plate this semester. Then I come traipsing along and royally fuck things up again. You see why I need to vent here? I can't be telling P these things. He can't know.

One can be gone like that. The blink of an eye. If I had the words--and I'm a writer, why don't I have the words?--I could say simply that I feel for him. "I'm sorry for your loss," but in a way he'd know I really meant it. I wish I could comfort him. I wish I could take back my stupid email from last week. If I had just been stern, cold, professional-usual me, just dropped him a quick note liked he asked in the first place--then I'd only feel half what I do now.

This is why email sucks. Misinterpretation abounds. It's not like writing drafts and drafts of stories. Simple miscommunication. But I'm so horrible with words in person, coming out of my mouth.

You know, I don't wish often. But I do feel. I am human, contrary to popular belief, it seems. I just need to--I just need to stop. Being. An idiot.

Or maybe stop being so hard on myself.

Maybe this entry was a mistake.