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April 10, 2001

It's two in the morning, and I can't sleep.  Why don't I just write it all down and maybe writing it out will make it go away.  Because yes, we're entering that oh so unsteady realm of Drunk Bad Ideas.  Very treacherous terrain here.  Brilliant notions that positively wither in the cold sober light of day.  Because I don't wanna scare him.  I'm trying to give him space, to not scare him by wanting to, you know, breathe every single second of his air.  I just figured out I'm in love with him.  Now is not the time to fuck this up.

But I just figured out I love him!  I have to let him know, right?  I mean, I'm giddy about it, I wanna pass the giddiness on!  Obviously he'll know I REALLY love him if call him at 2am and tell him.  (Let's call him.)  Let's not.  (It's 2am, I bet he'll be up.)  No, no, let's just fantasize about him instead, shall we? 

 

Let's just spin ourselves a nice little dream where we fantasize about doing something really crazy like calling him at 2am and telling him we love him and he says he loves me back and comes right over and gathers me up in his arms and the orchestra strikes up and everything's perfect! 

(Let's send him an e-mail)  Let's go shave our legs.  In the bathroom, away from the phone and the computer.  Maybe it'll pass.  (Let's send him a blank e-mail, so he'll write back and see if we meant to write something or not)  Tell you what, if any of these ideas sound like a good thing at 10am tomorrow, I'm all for it.  (Let's go park the car outside his house and sit there until he just happens to glance out the window and see us.)  We're twenty-five years old, dammit!  We're supposed to be better than that!  (Let's call and hang up when he answers the phone)  Ooh, I know, why don't we wax off my eyebrows?  How bout sticking a fork in my eye instead?  How bout listing all the various ways I'm pathetic, stupid, and obsessed?