November 18, 1998
*Someone* Sees

Working on it. The second half of my little missive is proving to be every bit as difficult to write as the first part ... but I'm gonna stick with it tonight, barring interruptions or earthquakes or unexpected visits from grumpy ex-*Someones* wanting their Rush Limbaugh book back ... check back later. (And you know the drill: click here to relive the wonder and splendor of that last entry)...

Later That Evening:

Deeply tired. I've been running on four hours of "sleep" and gallons of double-brewed Fast Lane Tea for the past four or five weeks, and tonight I feel like it's all catching up with me finally.

*Someone* gave me a ride home from The Knife Factory tonight ... an unexpected break from the leaky/creaky TriMet bus. Fact is, these days he and I don't see each other very much. He's busy with his new job and his new cats and his new Michael Tomlinson CD, and I'm very busy with MY stuff.  We talk on the phone occasionally, usually about computer stuff ... and he i.m.'s me once in awhile, usually about computer stuff  ...  but basically things ended between us, once and for all, the moment I got off the airplane in California. And we both know it.

I still owed him money for a portable TV he bought for me last year, though, and in lieu of cash he decided to take it out in trade ... for a shiny new Benchmade 830SBT. (That's right. I'm giving my ex-boyfriend a KNIFE.  And yes, I'm going to remember to deadbolt my door tonight.)  So he gave me a ride home from work, and I gave him his new knife, and we had an amazingly cordial conversation as he drove me back to my Tree House. He told me about his new girlfriend, and I told him I was happy for him (and I meant it), and in a moment of amazing cheekiness I asked him if he was at all happy for me, and he said "Well, it seems to me that you're doing the same thing with this guy that you did with me: expecting someone to rescue you from whatever it is you think you need rescuing from," and I nodded and said "In this instance it was death, actually," and he nodded like he understood what I was saying, even though it was clear he thinks I'm nuts as usual, and then he followed me into the Tree House so he could pick up some of his personal belongings, which I've been collecting in an old Nordstrom shopping bag, and we said "goodnight" and he left and I locked the door and collapsed in front of the 'puter with another cup of double-brewed Fast Lane Tea ...

... and here I am.


Interestingly enough, *Someone* saw the romance happening between David and me before I did. I never made a secret of the fact that I was talking to this person  --  this guy in California  -- in an intense, nightly fashion. Nor did I hide the fact that we were mostly discussing my drinking problem.

"I tried to call you last night," *Someone* would say, "but your line was busy again."

"Yeah, I was on the phone until midnight again," I would offhandedly reply. "It was one of those really shaky nights."  

"Oh," he would say, in that smarmy/smirky/snarky/snirky tone of his. "Did you have phone sex?"

One afternoon when *Someone* was helping me cart groceries into the Tree House  --  for which I paid him five bucks gas money, btw  --  my phone rang and it was David. He hadn't heard from me the night before, and he wanted to make sure I was OK. At that point I was more concerned with getting my mandarin orange sorbet and my Healthy Choice entrees into the freezer  --  and with getting *Someone* the hell OUT of my apartment   --  so I said to David, "Call me later tonight, OK?" and we hung up.  *Someone* thought this was hysterically funny, of course. He thought I was attempting to be deliberately mysterious and evasive, when all I actually wanted to do was get $78.41 worth of badly-needed groceries into the freezer ASAP. (And yes, there was also the fact that I didn't want to carry on a phone conversation whilst *Someone* stood there taking notes ... but that wasn't the most important consideration at the time.)

"You got a 'date' tonight or something?" *Someone* said, and when I said "No, that was just my friend who's helping me get sober," he gave me this sneering, "Now-tell-me-the-one-about-airborne-pigs" expression. I told him he was being a 'boob,' and he said that I was 'delusional,' and then we dropped the subject.

He didn't even blink when I told him that I was going to California to meet my friend. It was like he'd seen it coming. "You gonna move there?" he said, and when I sputtered indignantly about how this was just a friendly visit, and how he was reading way more into this friendlationship than actually existed, and how it was possible for men and women to be FRIENDS without any of that extraneous romantic/sexual stuff   --   I mean, just look at *Someone* and I, forcryingoutloud   -- *Someone* just gave me this fishy look and asked me to bring him back an In & Out Burger when I came home. 

"IF you come home, that is," he smirked.



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