drunken responses

You know how in war movies one side hates the other? And it's not so much about "japs" (ww2) or gooks (viet nam) or whatever, it's about what the soldier became because he had to kill those enemies? Because they were out to kill him? It's not you I hate. It's what I have become because of you. It's not what you did that I cry over. It's what I have lost because of you. It's not what your actions destroyed that I miss. It's the faith, now gone, that I miss. It's not you I long for. It's the fantasy I created about you that I crave. It's not your love that I need. It's the love of the person I thought and hoped you were. Melodramatic, yes. Intense, certainly. Real, always. You talk of connection, but I remember only the lies I sought so hard to believe. You talk of friendship, but I remember only how I was never good enough. You talk of your family missing me, but neglect to admit that YOU miss me. You talk of calling on holidays, but you didn't, and I sought the affection of someone new and pure than the faraway phone call consisting of your distant, unfulfilling wonder. I miss her. I don't miss you. I miss the person you took from me. I still don't miss you. I miss the feelings I apparently made up about you. And, yet again, I don't miss you. Or anything you stood for. I'm sick of not being good enough. I work my ass off for approval from everyone and everything, and the fact of the matter is that you were the one person who was supposed to accept me the most, and you failed. You were supposed to be just there. You were supposed to be in my corner. You were supposed to be everything I was to you. You were none of those things. You were callous and cold, distant and disloyal, unaccepting and unappreciative. I loved you for all that I thought you were. I even loved you when I found out I was wrong. You never loved me back. You never loved me at all. I wish you could take it all back. I even let you try. But you cannot, and I am left with nothing. I never knew how to love, 'tis true, but I had a good idea. Now I don't. Now I fear. Now I hate. Now I distrust. Now I am alone in a crowded room. I feel one glimmer of hope, from a little girl who is just nice for nice's sake. And I think it's a form of love, because whatever shred of love I knew you took from me. You send me a message "out of the blue" that prompts me to look at how you're doing, check on your myspace, wonder about your life. I refer to you when my friends ask me what girl would be "smart enough" or "challenging enough", and my friends roll their eyes and say, "you have such high standards when you talk, but you accept such low standards in practice." Because they know what I only know now, a year hence. They know that you never loved, never appreciated, never hoped, never foresaw, never dreamed, never... anything. You simply compared how I licked your twat with the other 20 guys you were fucking at the time. I remember feeling guilty for going out with another girl. I remember not daring to engage other women because of you. All while you were "seeing other people" Then I remember feeling guilty because an ex called, because an ex asked how I was doing, because an ex myspace'd. Because an ex got my attention for 12 seconds before I told them about you. All while you were "getting the attention I didn't provide" And I turned up, asking, wondering, listening, hoping... and you sent me a link to some bestseller about how you know in an instant whether something is right for you or not. If it was so instant, why are you writing me now? Why do you miss me so? Why do you wonder about me? Why do you still "love" me? In that "special" way that only you can? Why do you still try to taint my experiences? Why can I not just chase some little girl across the country because she makes me feel special every time she looks at me? Because she appreciates me for so much in three days when you never did, at all, in three years? Do you write me today while your new boyfriend sleeps beside you, dreaming of all the ways that you're cheating on him? Asking you directly, and peripherally, and nonchalantly, and not at all why it is that you just won't love him the way he deserves? Do you write me today because you're unhappy, because you know you let go the only man who has ever loved you in spite of yourself, rather than for how much you try to satisfy the perceived whims of the San Francisco every-man? Do you write me today to make me cry at 5am on a weekday night as I lament the loss of the first girl since you that made me hope? Do you write me today to make me miss the naive, if discouraged, little boy I used to know inside of me? The naive little boy who died a million deaths at your hands? The naive little boy who believed in you with his whole soul, only to be told he wasn't worthy of your love? Or even your loyalty? -------------------------- Trying again: I thought of you on Thanksgiving. I thought of Jenna and Lynn, Steve and Kevin, Maddy and spooky, bedrooms with two light switches, and "slow down" signs faced the wrong way. I thought of you and green beans, red wine, and that silly apples and something card game. I missed that familiarity even as I was wondering if the experiences I was having at the time might someday be familiar. I have trouble reconciling the "good Laura" I loved and the "bad Laura" I scorn. I have trouble remembering how much I loved you while trying to fight back the tears at the loss of the good man I have trouble remembering. I have become all of the things I criticized and hated -- being 20-something and always moving, always dating, never committing, never hoping, never allowing, never open, and damn well never loving. I miss the naive guy who believed in fairy tales. And most days of the week I blame you for killing that great guy. I'm sorry for that. I'm not sure why, really, because when I think of the end, I hate you, and everything since. But I'm sorry anyway. Because.... I love you still, even as it pains me to admit it. Writing it makes me cry. Not to long ago a little girl made me believe again. I don't know how she did it, but she did. I hoped and loved for just a moment in time, and it felt so damn good. I felt like me again. I may well spend a lifetime trying to capture that again. You never told me how you felt. You never told me anything except how I wasn't quite good enough. Do you know that? Do you know that, even in the best of times, I felt like I had something to prove to you? Do you know that I never felt good enough, strong enough, buff enough, fit enough, fast enough, tall enough, anything enough in your eyes? I thought I didn't need that. I thought I could achieve and accomplish enough so that none of that would matter. But I do need that. You were supposed to have my back. You were supposed to be in my corner, even if no one else was. I thought that you were the one. I need it and I deserve it. I'm not just good enough, I'm great! I'm sure you're reading this, almost laughing to yourself, because you know it's true. Then why didn't you ever tell me that? Worse, why didn't you treat me that way? Why didn't you believe it yourself (because you wouldn't have treated me the way you did if you had)? I suppose it's your turn to prove yourself worthy. Your turn to work for my acceptance. On 12/13/06, Laura D wrote: Think about it... it's not meant to be bad thing. If you view it as such, it's probably not a good idea. Just know that I meant what I said in my email, and my intentions are good. I'm not trying to make things worse. On 12/13/06, Alfie wrote: The first thing that crossed my lips when I read this wasn't very respectful. I think I could handle talking to you. There are lots of "buts", however. Lemme think about it. On 12/13/06, Laura D wrote: I sent a holiday card to your PO Box yesterday, which was a pretty odd experience. Not that act itself, obviously, but sending it felt like I was sending it off into oblivion not really knowing if and when you'd get it, where you're living, if you're even in the country, etc. when a year ago I knew just about everything. In any case, I just wanted to tell you that I sent the card because you've popped into my head a lot in the last few weeks, and I was thinking of you. It sort of started with Thanksgiving when my family asked where you'd be spending it (yes, they miss you), and I said I didn't know what you were doing. I was kinda curious because I know you sometimes get a little bummed out during the holidays. I didn't want to call though, because I wasn't sure if it was appropriate, and I didn't want to ruin your holiday if you didn't want to hear from me. This prompted me to check out your blog, and doing so lead me back to checking out your blog more than once where a few things caught my attention (I won't address those here because the purpose of this email isn't to engage you in any kind of dialogue that you don't want to engage in with me... just to let you know I was thinking of you and why I sent the card.) Anyway, I noticed you have written a few introspective/life purpose type in your blog and that always makes me wonder what's going on with you. Not that you need or want to tell me anything, but I feel like we did connect in certain way that few people do, and reading stuff like that makes me wish I could still talk to you about things like that, and sometimes I wonder if you, too, miss talking to me about things like that. Despite the way things ended, I feel like our relationship (both the friendship and the romantic part) was so unique that it seems unfortunate that as adults we can't learn how to be friends, especially after we were both a such a huge part of each others' lives for 3 years. I'm not asking you to take me back as a friend or trying to engage you in dialogue. I know I hurt you, and I screwed up, and I don't deserve that. I just wanted to tell you my door is always open should you ever decide you can or want to talk again, and you know where to find me (well not really, because I moved... but you know what I mean.) So if you ever decide there is a place for someone like me in your life, I'm here and would love to see you or talk to you. When we said "goodbye" back in March, you told to call you on Christmas or something. I guess this is my version of that because I don't want to call you on Christmas if you have no desire to hear from me and it's just going to ruin your day. However, I also didn't want December to go by without ackowledging the passing holidays and wishing you well. So that's it... just wanted to wish you well and let you know I still think about you, and I care about your happiness... I'm not really expecting a response, but I'd be delighted to receive one...or a call on Christmas. And if not, have a great 2007, and I'll try again next year ;) Best wishes, Laura

Chocolate Box

From Word of the Day, http://wordsmith.org --

This week's theme: desserts used metaphorically.

chocolate-box (CHO-kuh-lit boks, CHOK-lit -) adjective

Having a romanticized beautiful image; stereotypically pretty.[From the kind of pictures often seen on boxes of chocolate.]-Anu Garg (garg wordsmith.org)

"But to accept that is merely to endorse a patronising, chocolate-box image of the country -- to see it all as pretty lanes, thatched cottages and rosy-cheeked lasses milking cows -- and to turn a blind eye to the reality of rural life today." Anna Morrell; An Everyday Tale of Randy Rural Folk; Western Mail (Cardiff, Wales); Nov 9 2006.

--

HMMMMM. "Chocolate-box" made ME think of a black girl's special place. I just hollered at a cube-mate of mine and asked what he thought it meant, and after a thoughtful grunt, I heard and inquisitive "Butt Love?"

You learn something new every day, huh?

(I did also check urbandictionary.com, and they had nothing to say on the matter.)

Farming vs Hunting

Approaching women is different depending on which field you happen to be playing on.

Bars, clubs. the lady on the street, and parties are generally hunting-only locales. You either enter the room, weapon in hand, and strike, or you go home. There is some freedom to these venues, because you probably won't see any of these people again, so if you totally stick your foot in your mouth it really doesn't matter. On the other hand, it's pretty hard to be a Sensitive New Age Guy here. Nice guys don't finish at all here. Neither do nice girls (generally) respond.

No, my dear conversationalists (if your tongue is your strong point and you're not wittier than chris rock, this is you), you need to find a farm. This is someplace where you see the same people over and over again. This could be the gal at the coffee shop who makes your latte, any of the hotties at the gym, or the classroom. It could be an office mate or that cutie up in apartment 920. This is the case where you make casual conversation, flirt your ass off, then leave them hanging and DON'T try to close the deal. Talk to them here and there for a month or two, then open the dating bag someday when you're feeling on top of the world. You ever notice how no girl says no on those days? Well, this is perfect, because you get to WAIT until one of those days turns up, then go and harvest!

Really, though, you need both methods, because unless you move around a lot, you tend to start farming in your own backyard after awhile. And no one wants to be THAT guy. Well, unless you're sure the girls at Starbucks are talking about your nine inch penis and not about what a jerk you were for not calling back. (lol)

That hope thing

I’ve decided I’m a hope whore. I’m cynical enough so that I basically never have hope in the first place, with anyone, but every once in awhile circumstance and serendipity toss it on my lap and I can’t help but feel it.

Then I get a little psycho. I become a little needy, obsessively attentive, and basically worship the ground she walks on. I overlook little clues that I’m coming on too strong, that she really isn’t as wonderful as I’m imagining she is, and that in another week or two I’m going to be left wondering what the heck happened.

It’s a pretty rare occurrence — that cynicism thing keeps my hope in check and the alfie playbook actually allows things to grow organically to a point — but it still happens once in awhile.

And I still feel like a big fat idiot.

FTW. Or not.

Yeah, so, I’ve been home less than a week and ended the membership with my female representation in two area codes.

Well, sorta. I told a partial truth to one of them, and was critical of another. Basically I’m ending relationships because I can’t stop thinking about LB.

I keep telling myself it’s fantasy, but the more I think about it, the more I feel like Zach Braff at the end of Garden State. I just keep wishing I’d turned right around in Austin last week and not come back.

So… I broke a date with Sarah last night. I knew she’d want to have sex and I just couldn’t face that.

I went out with Dawn on Wednesday. FTW, huh? She was stressed out and bitchy as hell. I kept looking across the table at her and wishing she were Burckey. Then I challenged her, asking her if she was passionate about anything but her work and her literature. Then I asked if there were any room in her life for a guy like me.

She apologized at the end of the night “for being bitchy and distant” — after I’d so nicely massaged her despite my urge to just get the hell out of there.

Quite a disconcerting change from last week when I thought she was the one. Instead of a sophisticated, brilliant woman who was focused and driven, I saw a bitchy, judgmental, self-centered woman who was lacking depth and hunger. I’ve been asking myself if it was me sabotaging things for my real desire to be Lauren, or her just showing her true colors. I think it was more about the latter than the former — especially combined with my newfound joy at being really appreciated by someone (god, I love that about her).

So much for Future Trophy Wife. Sigh. I called her the next day in an effort to reassure and got her voice mail. She hasn’t called back yet, and I don’t think she will. C’est la vie.

Then tonight I saw Alison. We went to sushi, had a great time, and she came back to my place and wanted to have sex. I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t have the desire at all. As she was sitting there next to me hinting at it, I just kept wishing I were with Lauren.

So I told her. Not the whole truth, although “you know the movie Garden State? Well, I found my Natalie Portman back in Austin” certainly crossed my mind. I told her I was confused and that I wasn’t ready for anything serious, and that I was reticent to get into anything, especially with someone like her, who deserves to be treated well. Of course, I verified first that she was looking for a relationship, because that was my out.

I figured that was nicer than, “I’m not into you, I never will be, and I just want to fly 1800 miles right now to spend the night with the girl I am enamored with.” Ya think?

Goddamn it I miss Lauren. I did NOT expect to feel this way. I look at her picture every day, she’s the first thing I think of when I wake up, the last thing I think about before I fall asleep, and I want to call her 10 times a day just to hear her voice.

If Thanksgiving goes well, I’m going to take her seriously. Commit to her seriously. Move across the country seriously.

I can’t believe I’m talking this way, but I don’t care. It’s nuts and crazy, but it feels so good.

FTW

Aii yaye yaye yah yaye.

I'm in a whirlwind right now. I have three women that I'm torn between -- for now anyway.

Dawn is the one. I feel it, I know it, I'm afraid of it, I'm excited about it. I can't wait to get home and see her.

Rasha is amazing. She would be fun and wonderful and upbuilding and supportive and challenging. She's intelligent and pretty, she's cool and spunky, she's... invited me to San Diego next weekend.

And Lauren. Ahhhh, Lauren. So young, so sweet, so full of life, so in to me in a way that only a 20 year old can be. It feels sooo good. I love how she looks at me, with pureness and joy, with the kind of love only someone so young could offer.

I live for that look, but Dawn is so smart and pretty. And Rasha is so good for me.

Waaah. Why is it always feast or famine? Why am I always faced with hard decisions or no love at all?

Dating and such

I'm always reticent to speak about this topic in such an open forum, because I'm single, and single guys, by the very definition, are always looking, even if it's only a little.

The thing is, the very status of "single" has been on my mind a lot over the past week or so. I've got a crush, and it's placed a heavy burden on my normally cool, laid back self. It's easy to date often when there's not a lot of emotional involvement, but what do you do when you actually might want to buy the cow (see previous post, it's not a negative analogy)?

So, yeah, I'm feeling like a little bitch (as opposed to my normal smooth, or, at least, charmingly all-business, self).

I guess the reason I'm feeling like a little bitch is because I'm hoping again, so it's not all bad. It's pretty damn scary, though. I mean, I don't like being bitter and jaded, nor angry and cynical, but it sure is a safe place to be. Women can't hurt you if you never really expose yourself to them.

I'm not sure how to proceed. Writing off whatever hopefulness I have as childish or immature would be really easy and safe, but leaving myself open could carry such a prize.

There's also that nagging little problem that "leaving myself open" means I'm having trouble following the pimpin' rulebook. I mean, I wrote the damn thing (ok, we got "don't call for two days" from Swingers, but other than that, Alfie definitely deserves a byline), but I want to break those damn rules 10 times a day!

Someone told me not too long ago that if I'm not open, that if I just let myself be jaded, then my cheating ex wins. I remember responding with something like "since when is it a competition", which is totally valid, but perhaps I missed the point.

Maybe having a crush is just a visible sign that I'm "over it"?

Aha! There's the internal debate. Is my crush a symptom of growth, like the above would imply, or is it me slipping back into immature habits? Is this crush based on the fact that this chick is friggin' cool, or is it because deep down I know she'll treat me like shit? Or, at least, be emotionally unavailable and unappreciative?

I guess I already have my answer. Be myself, which means following most of the rulebook still and keeping my options open, but give her a fair shot. Aside from be ing completely present with her (I always am, that's part of "charming") and cherishing the hope that I thought was gone forever, let my guard down (and rip pages out of the rulebook) slowly. Oh, and it's ok to place some hope in her. I can handle it if she dismisses me.

(Am I killing my game if I admit I really hope this works out? Arrrrrgh!)

--

It's weird. In re-reading what I've just written, it is striking how much self-doubt I have about my own feelings. Shouldn't I just KNOW that I'm into someone for the right reasons? Or not?

But mostly I thought about Jenny

I haven’t written in a long time, and I really need to. Or do a good Forrest-style run, perhaps.

Laura Laura Laura. I miss her so much, yet hate the thought of her. I want to call her up and… scream at her, ask for her back, and tell her she’s a slutbag all at once. I want to hate hate hate, yet then I think less of myself for hating.

A little part of me hates all women now, classifying them as either slutty bitches with education or dumb sweethearts without it. Or slutty dummies, I guess. They exist too.

There’s so little forgiveness left in my heart, and so little love in my soul.

I sought out Lauren R this past weekend, because she’s raw and her rough edges, while perhaps more exaggerated, aren’t really all that different from my own. And I like that rawness, that bluntness, the acknowledgement of anger, the free expression of distrust, the acceptance of the evil in the world and the sometime-daily struggle that is getting up in the morning and simply making good decisions.

We talked about Laura cheating on me, and Lauren’s CEO dad calling me, and both wondered aloud how our two weeks of bliss two years ago went to so much shit so fast.

I miss her — Laura. And I think less of myself for that very emotion. How dare such a vile form of life be given so much of my energy, how foolish am I to have squandered my now-scarce affections so freely.

I wish I were a better person. I wish I could constantly be beat up by love and somehow still not be bitter.

Secrets

I missed (Slutbag) a lot this morning. I don't know why. I even went and checked her myspace profile to see about any updates... I guess she went to Vegas last weekend.

She's a slutbag and a whore, and not worthy of my affection or appreciation.

But I still miss her.

Today

I erased her number. I couldn't quite bring myself to erase her photos, but I'm getting a new phone soon anyway, and that will be that.

Something I don't think I'll admit to anyone, though? Even Spencer?

I still miss her a lot. I feel a tiny little bit teary just now as I write that.

I'm still glad she's gone. Sorta.

Private postings

Ok, so I went out eating/pubbing/clubbing and danced my ass off with a very pretty young lady only to find that she had a boyfriend. I don't know what I wanted... certainly I wasn't up for a one night stand... she didn't give that vibe at all, and there were lots of girls who would've [probably] been up for that.

I guess i just wanted approval from a girl. It's both sweet/endearing and pathetic at the same time. I wanted it because it makes me feel good, because sometimes I look externally for that "good enough" feeling, because I just want so badly to be loved and held and cherished and appreciated.

Ah crap. I had the inclination, just now, to call my ex. Then I had the inclination to listen to some Cold Play so I could cry. Then I thought that, maybe, it would be a good idea to call one of the new girls in my life -- so pretty, so sweet, so perfect in the bliss that is the potential before the reality of selfishness (hers) sets in.

You know what? Fuck that. I deserve a good girl who can make me feel that way -- appreciated, cherished, and loved. I give it back tenfold. Hell yeah. That's not even that much to ask. Someone who can't give that to me, well, just isn't that into me. Fuck that shite.

A girl named Robin

It looks like I'm getting the brush-off... while I'm inclined to wait a couple of days and see for sure, it's just not my way. The pattern of talking every day abruptly ended yesterday, and I've done the standard two attempts... I'm pretty sure that if you were still interested in me, I'd have heard from you at least lightly... a text message or an email, for instance.

Of course, if you're just really sick, or had to fly to Romania to rescue a long lost cousin, then... well, this will still seem really endearing. :-) And if you're sick, you shoulda called me so I could've come made some vegetable soup for you, damn it!

Anyway. I normally wouldn't bother writing something like this to someone I went out with twice, but I must admit I'm really confused. I like you a lot, and I thought that we had a lot of potential. I'm very disappointed that you didn't share my optimism. I found you beautiful, spunky, smart, graceful, and witty. I noted the similarities in how we experienced the socioeconomic chasm in our early years, the methods we've discovered to get ahead (my financial dodge-the-question routine was to avoid telling you I own ## houses, btw -- I could teach you a lot on that particular subject -- it's sorta my gold-digger avoidance policy), the shock of being on our own as a teenager, and the absence of a solid father figure. I saw how we're both sensitive people, scared of real intimacy because of our growing cynicism, yet wanting it so badly. And I saw that we both like the world around us and value the contributions we can make to it.

Most of all, I believed that we might (time would have told) be emotionally, intellectually, physically (wasn't making out heavenly? sigh...), and even financially compatible. The spiritual side... well, we never got that far, but 4 outta 5 was enough for me to have a lot of optimism. I know it's easy to dismiss the possibility after 10 hours on the phone and couple of dates, but what if? Seriously... the kind of connection we found just on the phone is not something that happens every day.

Now, in typical fashion, I've of course overanalyzed my behavior. Now, I certainly should have left Friday night... that's obvious at this point. But I didn't know any better, and I didn't actually hear from you that it was me... anyway. I felt really bad, but I didn't know what to do. Getting up and leaving might have offended you just as much as staying for all I knew... bleah. After Saturday I sorta just assumed that sleeping over would not be something we tried again for awhile. I guess I was right! (insert pouty, sarcastic face here -- the kind that breaks into a chuckle in half a second)

And then I thought about being late, but I think I'm ok with that... the golden rule applies, right, and I'd have been perfectly ok with that scenario if the roles were reversed.

What I'm finally left with is that I must've seemed too intense. The whole routine of spoiling you (food + massage = spoiling ;-) and calling you affectionate names so quickly... sigh. What can I say, I'm a driven, ambitious person, and when I see something I want, I go after it. I like you a lot... and I thought that you had similar feelings, so I didn't see any harm in it. (Ironically, if I wasn't that into you, we'd probably be chatting on the phone right now, since there'd have been no intensity. Bleah!)

I guess... the basic question I have is "what's the deal?" Did my intensity scare you? Did you like me too much, as in, if you let yourself, we'd move way to fast to the point of possibnly being unhealthy (that thought crossed my mind)? If so, are you still somewhat interested and just not sure?

Or, if you've decided with certainty to pass on exploring our potential as a couple, why? Was it something I said or did? Even if you never want to talk to me again, I would find your reasoning really helpful for my own personal growth.

I hope this isn't goodbye, but if it is, good luck in your travels, in your quest for love, and your financial success. I wish you only the best.

PS You know I'd have spoiled you rotten. In every way. ;-) We could have had an awful lot of fun together even if it didn't work out long-term.

Small Victories

Sometimes it seems like i forget to record the good things I do, the moments of triumph when I get over something or demonstrate growth.

Last night Slutbag text messaged me a hello. I texted her back, saying I wouldn't be calling her for another hour because I was out drinking with my UK buddies. When I did call her, she was watching Spanglish and wishing I was there. "I'd really like to be in your arms right now," she said. I didn't get an emotional high off of it. I let it be, telling her that I'd be happy to snuggle with her when I got back next week. No sentiments of missing her, no reminding her that she chose this path, and no internal rejoicing at her "need" of me.

"What are we going to do?" she asked at one point.

"I don't know," I responded, and for once I didn't wonder if we might get back together. I didn't long for some feeling of belonging long since past and ever elusive.

I felt a little bad, but I reminded myself that she is seldom there for me. That she deserves to feel this way, that she chose this, that I am not at her beck and call.

Then I got off the phone with her and called Robin. :-) For a girl I haven't even met yet, I sure am excited about her.

Lonely weekend

I went out with Sarah Sperry Friday night. The date was great -- she came to my place, we had sushi, shared some alcohol, and made out on my couch. After she left, I dreamt about Lolo. I woke up a wreck, not wanting to face the world or myself. I was forced into action by duty and professionalism, meeting a client midday. Then I went to the gym, met Shane for basketball, and proceeded to stay for two hours after he left. Talk about channeling your passion. I got invited to courtside Warriors seats by Tony, the Raiders trainer from Houston. I declined. Then I got invited to a holiday party with Corban. He told me I needed a date, so I called every girl in my phone, hit on the weekend receptionist at the gym, and even called Rachel. She invited me out with her friends, which is where I ended up. Basically, I kept myself busy. A multitude of invitations, a dozen rooms full of people, and I still went through the entire weekend feeling alone. Today I woke up the same way. I don't think my dreams were so vivid, because I missed her less, but I still didn't want to face the world. I tried to go back to sleep twice. I suppose the good thing about sleeping on the floor is that your bed isn't comfortable enough to keep swallowing you into it. When I finally emerged from the cocoon that would no longer accept me, I did business and called back a girl or two out of duty. I made a date for tonight, only to break it two hours later. I made a date for Tuesday night, too, which I'm breaking tomorrow morning if I still feel this way. I cried today. Twice. Once after my shower, as I stood in front of my closet and wondered what shirt to wear. (Yesterday SUCKED on the clothing tip, btw. I put on two shirts on two different occasions and pulled Burckey hair off of my shoulders. Who knew that it would stick even through the dryer?) The second time was just a moment ago -- some sappy song turned up on iTunes and had to go scream into my pillow for a minute. Rachel reminded me last night that Lauren did exactly what I predicted she would do -- change her mind about me the moment I committed. Just like she'll call the moment I stop missing her. You know the biggest secret? A little tiny part of me likes crying. I'm not sure if it's because it's familiar and comfortable. The psychoanalyst would probably say so. But maybe it's just because it makes me feel human -- fallible, hopeful (wouldn't be here without that wager of hope), still able to love. The Killers' "Smile Like You Mean It" just spun up on iTunes. Damn you, Burckey. Damn you. I'm gonna go cry again for a little while.