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