08/05/00
any attempts to contact any therapists. "Oh, I'll do ANYTHING to get you back." Yeah, what the fuck ever, bitch. Last night I went to Zak's, and my fucking cell phone rang just as we were making our way to the bedroom. I didn't answer it. Today, true to his word, he took me to Osceola and I FIRED A FUCKING RIFLE and she called my mother's house (where I was supposed to be) twice.
But speaking of today...I got to his house at 7:00 a.m. because he said that's when we were leaving and made damn sure I knew that..."you think your ass can get out of bed that early? 'I never get up that early...'" And the dumbass was just barely out of bed, himself. Which I made sure to give him endless shit about. He showed me his dad's place--on the edge of this big cliff overlooking the Sac River (either the Sac or the Osage, my geography sucks) with a fucking amazing view...then we went to the woods to fire off some rounds. Holy shit. I've never so much as TOUCHED a gun, not since I was a kid and would get to touch the really smooth wood of my dad's hunting rifle when he would turn his back from cleaning it. He fired a few shots and I about pissed myself every time he pulled the trigger. It was loud, it was fast, it was BULLETS FLYING ACROSS A FIELD, holy shit on toast, what the fuck was I doing out here? Then he hands it to me. Fuck. I didn't realize it would be that damn heavy, and I have about the flabbiest biceps this side of the Mississippi...he told me maybe I should sit in the truck bed and rest the barrel on the wall of the truck so I'd have better balance. He gave me the instructions...and there I sat, staring at that fucking canteloupe impaled on a metal pole 50 feet away through the scope, shaking like a fucking leaf, scared out of my mind...what if the kickback knocks me over backwards and I pull the trigger again and shoot him or the truck or whatever...what if it jams and explodes in my face...what if the loud noise freaks me out to the point of wetting my pants...then I took a deep breath and pulled the fucking trigger. And I pulled it again. And on my fifth shot, that canteloupe exploded into fruit salad.
Oh...my...God. Not only did I finally fire a rifle, I actually HIT something. That I was aiming for, even.
Right the fuck on.
When I was finished, he fired a few more rounds...we ate lunch...we had sex in the bed of the truck, right there in the light of day, in the clearing...no noise but us and the wind and whatever birds we hadn't chased away...ohmigod...ohmifuckinggawd...
Then we finished off the rest of the ammo and started back home. It was only 1:00 and already so goddamn hot we were both about to die. In the woods, under the trees, with the breeze blowing and both of us damn near naked, it hadn't been so bad, but out in the sun in a beat up pickup truck from hell with no air conditioning? Stroke. Absolute stroke.
I realized on the drive home that he hadn't said one word about the fact that I was too big a wimp to actually hold the gun and shoot it. He hadn't mentioned the fact that, prior to pulling the trigger for the first time, I sat there visibly shaking for what seemed like hours. He hadn't talked down to me like I was some dumb slut and he was big bad Canyon Man, Master of Weaponry. He hadn't used it the instruction as an opportunity to grope me (i.e., "hold it THIS way..."). And I thought, damn, I really like this guy. So I told him thanks, for taking me down, and also for not mentioning the fact that I'm a puss. He asked me what I was talking about, that I had done a damn good job, "you hit that melon, didn't you?"
Dammit, why does he have to be so...positive? Why can't he be an asshole? Well, okay, he is...well, no, actually, he's not. He hasn't gone ass-over-tit falling all over himself for me, but he's never been an ass to me, either. Last night, when he didn't show up to walk the dogs, I wondered where the fuck he was and was rather pissed because we hadn't had sex all week (because I AM NOT KNOCKED UP, WOO-HOO!) and he actually called me around 7:00...he'd been at his mother's apartment cleaning up and making room for all the hospice shit...and he wanted to know if I was coming over. Last Saturday, he actually called me and had a conversation that lasted longer than 10 minutes...which may not seem like much, unless you're one of us old folks (over 21) who have determined that the telephone is a serious impingement on life and if it weren't for e-mail, you'd never hear from any of your friends. He offered to teach me how to shoot when I told him I'd never learned and had always wanted to (I begged afterwards to be sure he wouldn't forget). When Megan has me in such a state that can only be described as "catatonic," he doesn't push it. He's never forced me for details on anything. When I tell him "we're not fucking tonight," he doesn't push it.
Dammit, if he were an asshole, it would be a hell of a lot easier not to fall in love with him. But I told myself again tonight, it really doesn't matter if I do or not. I know how he feels about me, and if I'm wrong, who the fuck cares, as long as I'm not being mistreated or misled. If I'm happy, what difference does it make what he's thinking at every moment of every day? What does it matter if I know or not JUST EXACTLY how he feels about me? It doesn't, and too many people think it does, and that's why relationships are always so fucked up.
So I'm going to ride this train as long as I can, because goddammit, he makes me happy. I actually enjoy sitting on his couch and watching WWF on Thursday nights or whenever the fuck it comes on. I like the way he talks to me, never very deep and emotional, and never condescending. I like the way he always seems happy to hear from me. I like the way he responded when I asked him last night in bed--"didja miss me?"--"what do you think?"
As for Megan, who the fuck knows. I know pretty certainly that I don't want to be with her anymore. She's a manipulating, immature, irrational person and regardless of what she says, I don't think she could ever let me live down that I'm not "100% GAY." She's too into labels, too into status, too uppity and arrogant and let's face it, lately downright nuts. There's no way I could go back into that relationship and just toss aside all the hurt and heartache and gutwrenching bullshit of the past 4 years, caused by both of us to some degree. And I wouldn't want to if I could. I've never lived my life for myself, and right now, that's all I want to do.
"She's been everybody else's girl...maybe one day, she'll be her own..."
Maybe. She sure as hell is working on it.
School starts in a couple of weeks. Where will my life go then, when I have considerably less free time, and Megan isn't home nearly so damn much? Gads, too many unknowns...
but then again, that's what keeps life interesting.
Zak told me the other night that my job (which I'm loving, by the way) sounds incredibly fucking boring. I laughed and said, "yeah, well, that's okay, because the rest of my life is just so FUCKING EXCITING."
Don't run off, now...I promise to update more faithfully from here on.
But wait, there's more...