All right, I've been talked into it. I'm going to JournalCon. It sounds like it's going to be a lot of fun -- I'll get to meet people I've only exchanged emails with, which is a big draw for me. I've also never been to Pittsburgh, so I'm looking forward to it. Now I just need to register, find a roommate, and figure out how I'm going to get there, since I don't have a car. Anybody in the Boston area want to let me tag along? I'll share gas money, help drive, and provide little puppet shows to amuse you! Seriously, anybody who's headed that way and would be willing to accept a passenger, I would be eternally grateful. I'm ridiculously short on cash right now, so saving money on transportation would be lovely.
I woke up this morning in a deep blue funk -- see, I put my personal ad back up on Yahoo. I had one up a month or so ago, and took it down because I kept getting weird responses. I figured it was worth trying again, so I wrote a new one, and I've gotten some emails from guys who sound interesting. However, the difference between how they come across via email and how they are on the phone has been huge. Over the past couple of days, I've been exchanging long, funny emails with one particular guy -- I'll just call him T., because I can't think of a good pseudonym for him. His messages were interesting -- he seemed really smart, down-to-earth, and just an all-round nice person. He send his phone number, and told me he'd like it if I called, and that he'd love to get together for coffee. I had mentioned in a prior message that I was very shy about meeting him, because I'm not a little petite thing. I'm tall, and I've always been heavy, no matter what I do. I'm okay with it -- hell, as down as I am on myself, I still have moments where I think I'm cute. But I don't fit the type that most men seem to want, and I told him that. I called him last night, and he very nervously asked if I had been offended by his last email. Offended? The last message I read was the one asking me to call, and if I wanted to go have coffee. What could offend me about that. "Oh... heh... you didn't read my last message yet, did you?" I hadn't, so he read it to me -- basically, it was all about what a handsome guy he is, and how he wants a "girl with an edge, a look." And he told me I should go to the gym. Ahem. Not the best way to win me over. I didn't get mad immediately, because I don't think he necessarily meant to be offensive. I explained to him that have a gym membership, and I use it, but my body seems to very much like the shape it's in, and refuses to change much. And that I'm generally okay with that, because, as far as I'm concerned, looks are incidental. There's way more to a person than what they look like -- sure, I'll drool and daydream over Hugh Jackman or Russell Crowe, but a guy could be the most gorgeous creature in the world, and also the most shallow. I'd rather meet someone who's interesting, who has a sense of humor, and who I can talk to than someone who's just easy on the eyes. And I think there's a lot more to me than just my looks -- heaven help me if there wasn't!
We did end up talking for over two hours -- he seems nice enough, if a bit conceited. I don't want to meet him, and I doubt I'll email him again -- I just don't think I'm what he's looking for. And I'm about to give up on the whole idea of meeting someone. Feh.
Oh, and one more plea: anybody heading to JournalCon who wants to share transportation, let me know! Pretty please?
I really hate being pissed off at my friends. It's not something that happns often -- I put up with a lot, and I really have to be pushed far to get angry. And it usually doesn't last long. I usually feel guilty for being angry, and prefer to just let whatever the problem is blow over, rather than make a stink about it.
I especially hate being pissed off at friends I don't see often. I want the contact I have with them to be happy, not tainted by bad feeling. And right at the moment, I am extremely pissed off at Eric. Yep, the Eric that just visited. The one I hadn't seen in five years. And I'm not happy about it.
Eric's suggested a few times that I take a vacation and visit him. When he was here, he repeated the invitation a bunch of times. I emailed him to make sure he was serious, and not just being polite, and he said the invitation was sincere. Great, I think, and start hunting for cheap airfare. I ran some dates by him, and got a response from him saying that he probably would be working, so I wouldn't see much of him. Now, the dates I suggested were in December, which I figured was far enough away for both of us to arrange a little time off. I certainly don't want to fly out there if I'm not going to see much of him -- I don't know anyone else there, and I don't know the area. So I proposed a compromise -- I'd fly out for a long weekend, if he could get a Monday and a Friday off. I got a rather curt response that any time off he takes would be to see his family, and he couldn't promise he wouldn't be working over any weekend I visited. Um, hello? You invited me, remember? I just took two days off on short notice to see him, and I really didn't think it was asking too much.
I guess I'm not really angry so much as I'm frustrated. Eric's always been a workaholic. Back when we were dating, he told me that I was last on his list of priorities, after work, his family, and school. It wasn't a malicious thing, that's just the way he is. I'd hoped he'd outgrown it a little -- he was only eighteen when he told me that -- but apparently he hasn't. He was never able to strike a balance between work and his personal life -- work is all-consuming. That's not necessarily a bad thing, if you love what you do. The thing is, he doesn't. He's not happy, and he wants to make a change. That was one thing that made me hope he had learned to let work go sometimes, and to have a life.
And I hate the fact that I felt like I was intruding, trying to plan to see him, when he was the one who issued the invitation. It's not like he lives down the street -- he's a few hundred miles away. It wouldn't be easy or cheap for me to visit, and the fact that he acted as though my wanting to actually spend time with him was asking too much just made me fume. I ended up writing him an email saying forget it, I won't bother flying out, and maybe I'd see him next time he was here. The sad thing is, I doubt he'll even notice I was upset. It probably won't even enter his mind.
I suck.
I forgot Lee's birthday, in spite of the fact that I emailed her to find out when it was, saved the email, and wrote it down in about eight different places. Agh. I'm sorry, Lee -- and your belated presents are winging their way to you even as I type.
I'm Cranky Angst Girl today -- didn't get much sleep last night, in spite of being really tired. I kept falling asleep, then waking up again every half hour or so, tossing and turning, staring at the clock, waking up the poor cat... who was being very nice about the whole thing, really. She's taken to sleeping on the bed with me, something she never used to do unless she was cold (she likes to burrow under my arm and sleep in the winter). She spent the night against the small of my back, or against my stomach, using my arm for a pillow. It was awfully cute, and I was wishing I had a way to post a photo of it. Usually if I'm too restless, she'll go away and sleep somewhere else in a huff. Last night, for some reason, she didn't seem to mind being woken up and petted all night long. Of course, she can spend all day napping now, while I'm trying to stay awake at work.
We are, as usual, dreadfully understaffed -- two people on vacation, and one person out for family issues. That leaves me and my boss, and the rather odd older man who works the evening shift. This morning, my boss was in meetings, which left just me to man the place. I don't normally mind, because my boss is good about making sure I get a break from the desk, but this morning she was busy. I'd had an enormous cup of coffee, which meant I had to go to the bathroom, and she was too busy to watch the desk for a couple of minutes. Add that to the fact that I hadn't had a cigarette all morning, and you've got the makings for a very bad mood on my part. Once her meeting was over, she came downstairs and told me to take a 40-minute break, so I'm much happier. Hence the during-work entry. I'm still sleepy, though, and I have to watch the reference desk soon... I wonder if I can find a way to nap while looking like I'm doing some actual work...
I am so not feeling well. It's very sudden -- I was fine until about three o'clock, when my stomach decided to stage a revolt. I had some stir-fried tofu and vegetables, and I doubt that's what triggered it... I was lying on my bed feeling sickly, watching TV with Smoke snuggled up at my side, when she apparently became briefly possessed and took a huge bite out of my hand, drawing blood. So now my stomach and my hand hurt. Sigh.
I had an entry all planned, but I think I'm going to be brief and go back to bed. Maybe I just had too much fun this weekend -- Dana and I went to The Common Ground in Allston Friday night after work. We had both had a stressful few days, and figured food and drink were in order. One of her roommaes and several of her friends were there, so we sat and flirted with the boys (and made them buy us drinks and give us cigarettes) for a few hous, until I had to leave or risk missing the last train home. It was great fun -- all of her friends are nice, and they're the sort of people I can flirt with completely safely, with no worries that they'll misinterpret it as anything more than just fun.
Saturday I loafed around until noon or so, then got ready for a lawn party at a coworker's house. I had been invited to lots of her parties in the past, but had never gone because Barry would never go, and would sulk if I planned to go without him. There were only a few people there that I knew, which was probably good for me -- I need to get out and meet people. Everyone I met was very friendly, there was lots to eat, and lots to drink, and lots of groups of people to mingle amongst. We played wiffleball with one of the guest's kids for a while, until one of the hosts and his band set up and started to play surf music. I can't dance to save my life, but it was fun watching other people, in between wandering outside to chat and smoke. The party started at 4, so by 9:30 I was ready to head home. It took over an hour to get back to Chelsea, and when I got there, I discovered that our downstairs neighbors were having one hell of a party. They're moving out soon, and this was apparently a farewell blowout. Beth told me we'd been invited, but I was partied out, and they were leaving to meet some friends. It was incredibly loud for a while (I meanly hoped that it kept the next-door neighbors up, as payback for their dog annoying everyone on the block) but by midnight or so, they had turned the stereo down somewhat and moved the party to the front of the house, away from the bedrooms. By the time I was ready to go to sleep, at around one, I couldn't hear them in the bedroom at all. Nice of them, I thought.
I've got more to say, but I'm just not feeling well at all, so I'm going to go nap...
Maybe it's the weather. It's dark and gray outside, and the wind is making sad moaning sounds around the windows. Even the cats looked depressed this morning. I just wanted to stay in bed with the covers over my head, and sleep for a long, long time. Nothing much appealed to me when the alarm went off this morning -- the routine of go to work, go to the gym, play with email, go to sleep just looked so drab.
Maybe it's just me. Something's been nagging at me for a while now. It's something that's happened a few times over the course of the past few months, and it makes me worry, and makes me sad. People I care about, people I really like, and desperately want to like me back, getting angry at me for things I was unaware of, things I never intended, and would take back in a heartbeat. I've said before, I think, that I seem to have trouble maintaining long-term friendships. I have three of them right now -- three people I've known since college, who have never decided they don't like me anymore, who have never gotten angry and washed their hands of me -- and I appreciate them more than they'll ever know. They feel like family to me. I've only recently, after knowing these three for almost ten years, felt comfortable in the knowledge that they aren't going to walk away. I still feel twinges of worry that I'll do something stupid and lose them, but the twinges are small, and I can usually talk myself through them.
I worry more about the friends I've had for a shorter period of time. Ever since I can remember, the same thing happens when I become friends with someone. Maybe it happens to everyone, I don't know. Does it? It goes this way: I meet someone I like a whole lot. We become friends. I develop a deep respect for them, and I grow to care about them. Then something happens -- a spat, an argument, maybe minor, maybe not. Then we aren't friends anymore. Okay, so it hasn't happened dozens of times. Three times, that I can think of -- and that doesn't count Barry, who is a whole seperate can of worms unto himself. But those three times involved people I loved, people I wanted to be friends with for years to come. And something happened. A misunderstanding, in the most traumatic of the three cases. A misunderstanding that could have been fixed easily, quicly, and with a minimum of pain, had the person involved just talked to me, rather than getting angry but keeping silent until the anger festered beyond repair. This instance happened, let's see... six years ago. It still hurts. I still miss that person. I remember the silly inside jokes we had, I remember details about ourselves that we shared with each other, because they were too painful to share with anyone else. And it hurts to know that the friendship, which could have been saved so easily, fell apart so painfully. The other two weren't so dramatic, they just happened. Friendships don't always last forever, I know.
The result of it all is a deep fear that the people I'm friends with now will walk away. I don't have very many -- I've never been much of a social butterfly, no matter how much I've wanted to be. I tend to have just a few friends, and a whole lot of aquaintences. I don't know why that is. I don't know if I'm aloof, or obnoxious, or offensive to all but the thickest-skinned of people. Maybe I am, and I'm just too thick-skulled to see it. I worry about that almost all the time. I worry that the people I care about are really thinking ill of me -- thinking I'm annoying, or offensive, or stupid. I worry that they're only spending time with me because they feel obligated to, or feel sorry for me, and they're waiting for the chance to cut me loose. I hate feeling like that. It's just happened so many times, I don't know how else to feel. The same thought circles around in my head -- much louder, of course, since the whole Barry fiasco: "If you were unhappy with me, why didn't you just tell me? I could have fixed it -- or at least tried to. If you were angry at me, why didn't you say so? I would have made amends."
I don't know where this is going. Maybe it's just the weather. Maybe I'm just scared of losing more people I care about -- and I hope that those people know how important they are to me.
I spent yesterday wrestling with dogs. Happy, hyper, goofy dogs. Two of them. Eric's golden retriever Yogi, and his parent's Lab-Airedale (sp?) mix, Bunker, had the time of their lives, rolling around biting each other on the butt. Must be a dog thing. They were happiest when Eric and I were on the floor wrestling with them. though thankfully, they were not interested in biting us on the butt.
So, after five years, I saw Eric yesterday. He's still almost exactly the same -- a little mored jaded, a little more emotionally guarded, but still the same Eric I've loved so much, for so long. He picked me up at my house at around noon (would have been earlier, but he got lost) and we headed to his parents house out in the suburbs. Yogi insisted on sitting on my lap all the way there -- nice, but Yogi is not a lap dog. He's a big, wiggly dog, but hey, he was comfortable. I haven't seen Eric's family for about eight years, so I was very nervous. When I got there, it was like I had seen them just last week. We sat and chatted with them for a while, then took the dogs outside to play. Even though it was cold and rainy, Yogi wanted to swim, so we took turns throwing a tennis ball into the pool for him. He'd belly-flop into the water, swim out to the ball, then turn and swim back, drop the ball for Bunker to steal, then they'd chase each other around until Yogi got the ball back, and we'd throw it into the pool again.
The strange thing was, Eric and I didn't really talk much all day. We talk to each other on the phone about once a week, and email back and forth when we have time, so I guess it wasn't too weird. We played pool for a while in the basement family room, and there were a lot of odd silences that were comfortable and awkward at the same time. Comfortable, because we have known each other for so long that we don't need to keep yapping at each other every minute. Awkward, because we haven't seen each other in so long. I know I was trying to sort out my feelings, and I had the impression he was, too. Lots of lingering eye contact. Lots of silly little jokes and blushes. Lots of lavishing attention on the dogs, because it was just less emotionally charged.
I still get the same feeling when I look at him -- the same tingling, hollow feeling in my stomach, the same urge to smile. The same desire to touch him, to hold his hand, or rub his back, or hug him. I had to keep reminding myself not to stare at him -- back when we were dating, I would annoy the hell out of him by just staring at him over the dinner table. I just didn't want to look away.
So now, I just don't know. I'd hoped that seeing him would clarify my feelings -- I had been concerned that I was thinking of him so much because he's safe. I wouldn't have to take the risks involved with meeting someone new, because I already know him so well. And I wouldn't have to worry about him not liking me once he really gets to know me, because he already knows me better than anyone else. He's seen me at my absolute worst, and still likes me anyway.
I noticed that his parents seemed to be carefully avoiding asking me how I'm doing, other than asking about work and school. I'm sure Eric told them about the divorce -- he asked me about it in front of them, and they didn't say anything. I'm sure they just didn't want to bring it up, which was fine with me. They just accepted me back as though I were family, teasing me, goofing around with me -- it was just very comfortable.
We ate dinner -- the largest steaks I've ever seen (the size of dinner plates, and a couple of inches thick. HUGE.) and baked potatoes and salad -- and then lolled around on the couch digesting and watching TV for a while. His parents went off to bed, and we sat in silence for a while. I just didn't know what to say, and I don't think he did either -- so we woke up poor Yogi, and lavished more attention on him. We did talk a bit more on the way home (Yogi firmly wedged on my lap again). He talked about how he wants to make a change in his career, and I made sympathetic noises -- I know he's been unhappy for a while, in spite of how emphatically he denies it. I know he doesn't talk about these things with anyone else -- it's just not in his nature to open up very much. So that feels good, knowing that he still turns to me that way. He came up and looked at my messy apartment, met the cats, and then said goodbye. Gave me a long hug, told me to come visit him... then came back and gave me another long hug, then left. Sigh. So I just don't know. I'm tired today, just worn out. In a way, it's good that nothing happened -- the last thing I need is any kind of relationship right now. I'm in no shape for it at all.
On another note, I managed to sell my bike today. I had an appointment for a guy to look at it this morning, and I managed to oversleep, so I just threw on some clothes, brushed my teeth, and ran a comb through my hair about five minutes before he got here -- and of course, he was terribly cute. Very tall, dark hair... yow. But hey, at least my bed-head didn't send him running away shrieking before he bought the bike... so now I'm off to try to make an eye appointment, so I can get new contact lenses.
I've been spending a lot of time reading this site lately. I tried to follow the civil unions thing, since it was happening in my home state and all. Honestly, I didn't think it would be that big of an issue. Granted, most Vermonters -- the ones who have lived there for generations -- are pretty set in their ways. But still, Vermont always struck me as a very live-and-let-live state. People tended to mind their own business, at the very least.
So I didn't expect much of an outcry over the civil unios law. I haven't been to Vermont since May (and I was in no mood to sightsee last time I was there), so I haven't seen any of the Take Back Vermont signs. (Have you, Mom?) I'm leery of climbing too high onto my soapbox, here, because I have the attention span of a gnat, and I haven't followed the story as closely as I'd like. But when I read something like this:
"Please have kids the normal way
I am sick and tired of the homosexuals calling us "straight pride" people names. This has now become a hateful and harassing situation for us who are proud of our "straight pride" feelings. If the gays have a right to call us all kinds of names, they have no right to cry foul when we our freedom of speech about them. Vote them out in November.
Homosexuals can't have it both ways.
Also, gays admit they want to promote a gay agenda. They admit they want to go into schools and it's one big fat cover to recruit young members that can be used for homosexuality. From all I hear and see, the real plans of the civil union was to force gay ideas on us. Gays don't want us to force our ideas on them and we don't try to teach our children that sex between men or two women is normal.
If god wanted homosexuality there would have been one sex and no population on earth. Why do you suppose only women can give birth? Not by having sex with a woman! No child should even be placed in a homosexual home. If people want kids, they should have them the normal way."
... my hackles go right up. It seems a lot of people have completely missed the point of the law. It is not legalizing gay marriage. It seems to on the surface, but it really doesn't. Patrick summed it up quite well -- it really doesn't seem to do much at all. It does, however, force people to treat committed gay couples with some degree of respect, and of compassion. Apparently, there are more people in Vermont who oppose that sort of decency than I thought. The fear seems to be that Vermont will be handed over to debauchery, when nothing could be further from the truth. What in God's name is so wrong with acknowledging a committed couple? Especially now, when the divorce rate is so damn high, and people are wringing their hands over the decline of morals in society? Okay, I'm becoming a bit of a blowhard here. My point is, while this law may not do much, the spirit of it is good. Or at least it seems that way to me -- and the bottom line is, what harm does it do anyone else? What are the people with the Take Back Vermont signs so afraid of? And take Vermont back from who?
Kymm said it all for me yesterday.
I am in the midst of wild mood swings. I woke up this morning in a good mood -- Beth's parents were here, preparing to drive to Indiana for a wedding, and her mom chatted with me while I got ready for work -- and was content sitting on the T, Foo Fighters blaring on my headphones... I walked into work, sat down, and became Snarling Bitch Woman. Irrationally irritable. Annoyed at everyone. Nothing happened to change my mood, it just came about all on its own.
A cigarette break later, and I was damn near Homicidal Snarling Bitch Woman. My poor coworker Oliver must have been terrified. Normally we get along really well, but today I don't think I said two words to him. (All the better for him, I'm sure.) After lunch, I was all content again, until I had to go to a meeting I had forgotten about. I fell asleep several times during the meeting (I was in the back, curled up in a very comfy armchair, it couldn't be helped...). Came home feeling pretty happy, knowing the whole apartment would be all mine until Tuesday. Now I am Morose Weepy Woman. The hell?
I would blame it on hormones, but it's not that time o' the month. No, the reason is much more pathetic -- I'm damn lonely. I realized the other day that, except for work transactions, I almost never speak to anyone during the course of the day. I can go for almost a week without having a conversation with someone, and it's staring to take a very strange toll. I call friends, and babble maniacally at them for hours on end. I can almost see their eyes glazing over as I ramble on, not even making sense to myself. I went out for coffee with the nephew of an old family friend yesterday, and could not shut up. I yapped like a Chihuahua on speed, and I knew I was doing it (and likely boring the poor guy to tears) but I could. Not. Shut. UP. I didn't realize how much I miss the casual little conversations that you have when you live with someone -- mind you, Barry and I very rarely had any in-depth talks. Whenever I started trying to talk to him, he would interrupt to tell me how much my voice annoyed him, or say he didn't care about whatever I was talking about. But there was a lot of just idle chatter, and I miss it.
And I don't want to feel like this. I want to be Happy Independant Woman. I want to be content enough with my own company that I have no need for a man, except for my own amusement. And I can almost talk myself into it. But deep down, damn, I hate this. I hate seeing happy couples everywhere I turn. I hate watching Beth and her boyfriend together (and feeling the house shake when they are, ahem, amourous). I am thrilled that they're happy, and I love the both of them, but... damn. And I want to stop thinking about it.
I even placed a personal ad, just in the hopes of making some new friends. I got a lot of messages from people I had nothing in common with, and a few very weird messages (one from a guy who wanted me to live in his house, take care of his two kids while he went out partying, and have sex with him when he felt like it. I must be nuts, turning down an offer like that, and a couple of messages I felt inclined to answer. All of them failed to pan out -- one guy was nice, but bored me almost to death. We hadn't a thing in common, and nothing to talk about. I ended up meeting the other guy in a club -- Beth and I had gone to see a local band, and I invited him -- and we got along passably well. I didn't want to date him at all, but I could see us being friends. Two days later, he sent me an email telling me he was sorry he had "led me on" but he didn't think he could "be in this relationship any more." Huh? We chatted for less than an hour. That's a relationship? I had NO idea... the last straw, the guy who convinced me to take the ad down altogether, was one I had been chatting with via email for a couple of weeks. He seemed normal enough -- he was articulate, and we had a few things in common. He asked me out, and I told him that, since I'm getting divorced, I'd rather just be friends. He wrote back telling me how envious he was that I was going through a divorce, because at least I had something interesting going on in my life. What?? I wrote back saying that divorce was not something I would consider enviable -- I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, and I had no idea where he thought he was going with that comment.
I had thought that meeting people, and casually dating, would help. But I can't seem to find anyone who is even remotely interested. And I am going to take my depressing little self off to bed now... sorry for the angst.
I'm still tired from my weekend. Mom was here -- we always manage to have fun, eat too much, and wear ourselves out. This time, I'd gotten tickets for a Mystery Cruise -- one of those things where a comedy group acts out a murder, and you have to try to solve it. I figured it would be fun, and even if the show was lame, it would be a nice three hours out on the water, eating catered food.
We spent some time wandering around Quincy Market, mostly looking for stores with good air conditioning -- it was hot, and we'd dressed for cooler weather, knowing it would be chilly out on the water. We found the first bits of Harry Potter merchandise in the Warner Brothers store -- while I was happy to see some, I'm also unhappy knowing that Warner Brothers will market it to death. The books should be enough on their own... but that said, I now own a very cool notepad with the Hogwarts crest on the cover. My mom bought us each one. And there's a shirt I'm saving my pennies to buy...
We had iced coffees and sat in the shade, people-watching. There was a man sitting near us doing the dollar-bill-on-a-fishing-line trick -- I didn't know people still did this! He's sit nonchalantly, with the dollar a few feet away on the ground, and when someone would try to pick it up, he'd twitch the string, flick the dollar away, then roll on the ground laughing. Really, on the ground. Screaming laughter. It was a bit creepy... so we wandered down to the wharf to watch the boats and wait until it was time to pick up the tickets.
When we got to the gate, there was a large crowd of well-dressed people milling around, flirting with a sort of steely determination. Turns out they were all part of a singles group, and they thought they'd chartered the whole trip for themselves. They hadn't, but they had bought the majority of the tickets. I think if I were part of that group, I would have thrown myself overboard -- the women outnumbered the men, and the tension was so thick I expected a wild catfight to break out any second. Way too much cooing and hair-flipping for my taste...
We pretty much ignored the show. It was cute, but once we'd eaten (surprisingly good Italian food) the lure of sitting on the top deck watching the skyline was too much. It was quiet up there, and the boat's path took us near Logan, so the planes came in to land right over us. Mom saw a shooting star, we talked a lot, and just generally relaxed. I could have stayed out all night, just sitting on the boat. We watched the beginning of the show, then wandered down to see the very end, but we didn't make any effort to solve the mystery. While we were relaxing, the singles were getting drunker and drunker... one woman apparently thought she knew me, and kept coming up and draping herself over me and talking to me incoherantly. She was nice and all, just had had a few too many glasses of wine. My mom pointed out that it was nice just sitting and listening to the people on the lower decks having a good time, without feeling pressured to go join them. And she was right -- I enjoyed just watching and listening -- I wouldn't have had any where near as much fun trying to join in.
And I think I'm a sick woman -- there was a kid working on the boat, no more than 18 or so -- and he was absolutely beautiful. Tall and thin, shaggy dark hair, lovely tan -- nice looking from a distance, but uop close, he had gorgeous pale blue-green eyes, with think dark eyelashes... he should have been required to wear dark glasses or something, just to keep from perverting older women like myself.
And now it's hot here, and very sticky. Eric will be here one week from today, and I'm praying the weather won't be like this. I hate this kind of summer weather. I need to find a place that's 80 degrees, with no humidity, every day.
This is my third attempt this eveing to post an entry -- AOL keeps kicking me off. Grrr.
It's damn hot here. I know, nowhere near as bad as other parts of the country. But we've been spoiled this summer -- very little hot weather. At the moment, it's 9:17 p.m., still over 80 degrees, and humid. There's heat lightning flickering in the distance, and the wind has come up strong. I'm hoping for a good loud thunderstorm.
I'm in a strange mood. Happy one minute, sobbing the next. I called my (very patient) friend Dana last night, intending only to say hello and chat for a bit. I ended up having a full-on emotional meltdown over the phone at her, sobbing "I'm a troll, I'm hideous, and no one will ever want me!" Poor Dana. She talked me through it, and I feel better now. Sort of. Okay, so I don't, really.
See, part of the problem is the fact that an old friend will be visiting from out of state next week. He's the old boyfriend I've mentioned. Eric was my first love. I didn't talk to him for four years, mostly because Barry wouldn't let me. During that time, I convinced myself that I didn't really have any feelings left for him except nostalgia. Now that I'm back in touch with him, well... it ain't nostalgia.
I've changed a lot since he saw me last. Gained weight -- more than I care to think about, actually. Gotten two tattoos. Changed my attitude, my outlook on life. What if he shows up to see me, takes one look at me, and runs off shrieking? What if he doesn't like the person I've turned out to be? Anyone else, I'd shrug and say "Shit happens. People change." Not so with him -- it would crush me. And another rejection right now might be more than I can stand. So a huge part of me doesn't want to see him.
Everyone -- my friends, my mom, my therapist -- says I should wait until after I've seen him, and see how it goes, and then tell him how I feel. "Even if he doesn't reciprocate, at least he'll know he's loved," was the therapist's advice. I don't know. I know Eric well enough to picture how he'd react -- flattered, but uncomfortable. I don't know if he's prepared to deal with it. I've been getting some very mixed signals from him. And I don't know how much of my feelings for him are based on the fact that he's safe -- I already know him so well, there's no risk. Getting to know someone new is scary. What if I'm just deluding myself into thinking I love him, when really, all I'm reacting to is the low risk?
I don't know. Maybe it's the weather. All I know is, I can't stop pacing, I'm chain-smoking, and probably driving all of my friends within calling range insane.
What would you do, if you were me?
I'm all hyper and wired tonight. I don't know why -- I didn't get anywhere near enough sleep last night. I went to bed at my usual time, around 11 (which is NOT absurdly early, no matter what Patrick tells you! -- but I had left the new Harry Potter book beside the bed. Mistake. I picked it up, meaning to read just a few pages... and then next thing I knew it was 12:45, and I have to be up by six. Whoops. Would it be wrong to call in sick to finish the book? Yeah, I thought so.
My weekend was mostly pleasant, in spite of spending most of it alone. I think I'm getting the hang of it now -- I was perfectly happy puttering around by myself Satirday morning and Sunday. Well, Saturday morning wasn't so nice, because I woke up with a migraine (note to self: stop drinking a glass of wine right before going to sleep. It's a bad, bad thing.) I spend most of the day lying in bed trying not to move, feeling very pitiful. Tucker came in and curled up next to me, with his head on my hip and one paw tucked reassuringly into my hand, and we napped for a while until I felt better. Beth and I watched Sleepy Hollow -- or, rather, I watched it, and Beth snored. She has seen it before, and fell asleep halfway through. Excellent movie. I loved it. I like Tim Burton, and I just love looking at Johnny Depp, so it was all good. When it was over, I left Beth to sleep, and tiptoed out to play games on the computer until it was time for Lee and Patrick to pick me up. I am beyond poor right now, so they bought dinner ingredients and rented a couple of movies (read Patrick's review, he does it much better than I do) and we settled in front of the TV for the evening.
Sunday morning I got up early -- my doctor recommended I find a good church to go to, which was something I had been meaning to do anyway. I tried a little Methodist church near my house, and decided it just didn't suit me. It was eight old people, and me. The old folks gave me the hairy eyeball all through the service, and they had me do a reading, which just made me edgy. I don't like having quite so much attention paid to me right away. The minister was thrilled to see someone under age 65 walk in, so now I feel guilty knowing I probably won't be going back. I have decided to try Park Street Church in downtown Boston next week -- it's huge, and beautiful, and they have a lot more people my own age, which is what I'm looking for. I was raised going to church -- my dad used to be a minister -- and, among other things, I miss the sense of community I always had. I'm accustomed to much smaller, country churches, so this will be very different, but I'm looking forward to it. They have a coffeehouse-type thing on Friday evenings, with live music and such, and I plan to check that out too. Anybody want to go with me?
The rest of Sunday was spent doing chores -- I did laundry, which I always like. This week was much better, though, because I had Harry Potter to read in the laundromat. I got so engrossed that the woman who runs the place had to harrumph at me a few times before I noticed that my dryer had stopped. I went home, cleaned my pigsty of a room, mopped the floors, washed dished, and then collapsed for a while. I had planned to go to my friend Dana's to watch The Simpsons, but I just didn't have the energy to go all the way out to Allston on the T. I called to beg off, and she was relieved, since she had been cleaning too, and was worn out. So I watched TV with the cats, and stayed up too late reading.
I did end up having a fairly nice conversation with my landlord -- last time I talked to him, he went on at great length about how happy and relaxed Barry seemed, living with his girlfriend. I know he didn't mean it the way it came out -- I think he thought I was worried about Barry's well-being, and was trying to tell me that he was okay, but what it came out as was "Barry's so much happier now that you're gone." It hurt a lot, and sent me into a week-long depression, and I have avoided talking to him since. Sunday, I ran into him outside, where he was preparing to trim the hedges. He told me that he never sees Barry, and that it's dark and quiet in his apartment all the time. He also said that he thinks what Barry did was horrible, and that I deserve better. He said "You deserve someone who will love you to bits, and Barry would never do that. So now you're free to find someone better." It was nice to hear -- it almost made up for what he'd said before.
I hear Harry calling me from the other room now... must go read...