been over twenty-four hours, and yes, Iím doing that stupid counting
hours thing. Itís been
twelve hours, itís been seventeen hours.
At this time yesterday you were still with him.
Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
Ohhhhh GOD Iíve gotta get over him.
I gotta find something else to take my mind off it.
Iíve gotta get back and be a normal person again.
I canít stop seeing his smile.
His smile in the dark. STOP IT! I donít
WANNA stop! Look, letís
just wrap ourselves in the fishy cold wet blanket of reality, okay? Heís not gonna call because he didnít get your number.
Therefore, stop staring at the phone.
And he doesnít know where you live.
Therefore stop staring out the window every time a car goes by.
Just start channel flipping, read a book, get out of the house
andÖ. NO, do NOT go by his place!
Well, you know,
thereís a lot of errands I need to run, and they just happen to be
near his house in VeniceÖ
grocery shopping, need to get my oil changed, need to go buy a sewing
kit, and if I just happen to swing by his house, so what?
I wouldnít go in. I
wouldnít get out of the car. Iíd
just drive by. To prove to
myself that he does exist. That
it wasnít a figment of my romantically deprived brain. My God, just call Stalkers Anonymous and get it over with?
HE DIDNíT ASK FOR YOUR NUMBER!
But thatÖthat doesnítÖthat doesnít mean he didnít want
to, right? Oh GOD!
Youíre just not gonna be happy unless you completely self
destruct, are you? You just
wonít rest until you make an utter idiot out of yourself.
One nightís not enough, the beautiful shining memory of that
moment isnít enough, no no, you have to completely wreck it by
stomping every possible bit of what ifs to death.
If I can, I will totally and completely make an ass out of myself
if given the SLIGHTEST open door.
second. Little bits of the
evening come flitting back into my brain.
I thinkÖI think I told him where I lived.
Only in the broadest terms.
South of Melrose, three blocks east of Fairfax.