5/11/00 (cont'd)
incredibly distant, and cold, and quiet. Then I would go drink a lot and cry. And wonder why the fuck he had to be such a shithead when I loved him so much. And wonder why I loved him at all. And wonder why it even mattered. And then I finally woke up and realized that I had to stop. And I called him and said "don't call me anymore. Ever. Don't talk to me, don't write to me, don't even think about me, because as far as you're concerned, I no longer exist." (My exact words, I remember the whole phone call.) And after that, for about the next 2 weeks, he would call me every morning around 7:30 and not say anything. But I knew it was him, because I could hear background noise, and I just knew him well enough that it was him, because I may be naive, but I'm not stupid.
"...go build yourself another dream, this choice isn't mine...I'm sorry..."
"This could be the saddest dusk I've ever seen...my mind is racing as it always will, My hand is tired, my heart aches, I'm half a world away..."
"20,000 years will I burn...20,000 chances I wasted waiting for the moment to turn...I would give my life to find it, I would give it all..."
"Pull your dress on and stay real close...Who might leave you where I left off?"
And I never heard from him again. E told me that when she told him I was getting married, he about shit all over himself. I can only imagine what he did when someone told him I was fucking a girl.
"I will try not to breathe. This decision is mine. I have lived a full life and these are the eyes that I want you to remember..."
So why am I even thinking about him, this pathetic fuck that tried his very damnedest to destroy me for his own benefit? The Asshole might have raped me physically, but A raped me mentally, for years, and without mercy. And I revelled in it. And sometimes I still miss him, because in spite of everything that has taken place, we started as friends...and I miss that. I miss the long talks and the passing bottles of cheap liquor and the pondering of life's great mysteries with someone who could actually think on my wavelength. The rest of it, I could just as soon do without, thanks very much. But in the beginning, it was lovely.
The moral of the story? Don't fuck your friends. It ain't worth it. I don't even know why I'm dredging all of this up, especially not here (at work), not now (roughly 7 years since I last spoke to him). Blame it on REM. No, that's not entirely true. He's one of the many souls who continues to haunt my brain, popping into my thoughts now and then to say hi and giving me fits. "He kissed me on the forehead once and I had a headache for six years..."
I have to write that paper tonight for the class I already have an A in, because I found out today that teachers can change grades. Piss. And Megan e-mailed me what she had written so far, and I realized that I had forgotten that she's a social worker, and social workers can't write research papers. She actually used song lyrics in the introduction. Which, for a social work class or an English class or any other class would be more than acceptable, but not for a criminal justice research paper. Sometimes I really wonder how she's made it as far as she has. She apologized all over herself, however, and expressed that she "just had no idea what I was doing. I just couldn't think. I'm so sorry." I think her job is really starting to get to her. She's getting really stupid, and I think it's stress induced. We've all been there, you know, when you're so fucked up over school or work or whatever task at hand that your brain turns into Quaker Instant Oats and just remembering to lift the toilet seat lid before pissing becomes a major task? I'm not that worried about the paper, though, since I already have an A (apparently) and she's already given me all the research and a basic idea to run with. "The changing face of hate crime in America." Sounds like a real uplifting topic. I'm kind of notorious for my downer subject papers. I had a biology class a few semesters back and every presntation I did was about AIDS. My term paper for that class was "Why Johnny Turned Queer--The Theory of the Gay Gene," in which I ripped the theory to shreds because there is no evidence that such exists, although evidence does, however, point to biological etiology for the existance of us queers. It was an awesome paper, she gave me 100 for it.
Christ, Sunday is Mother's Day, which means I'm going to have to spend the whole fucking day in Cess Pool. Somebody shoot me. I would much rather spend the day being productive and doing laundry, but alas, the greeting card industry has foiled me yet again. Fuckers! I'll get you, Hallmark!
Have a lovely day...I'll be talking at you tomorrow...
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