C: You’re staying at J’s house for the holiday?
H: Yeah.
C: Don’t you DARE do him in his childhood bed!
H: *gasp!* I’m not going to do anything!
C: I’m just sayin’

J: Shucks…
H: Did you just say ‘shucks?’
J: Oh, I did!
H: (laughing) Shucks? Hey, Opie, are you wearing pajamas with feet in them?
J: I’m not wearing anything.
H: Must be warm in your office.

Am beginning to think Ms. Hearst is something of a figment of the imagination. Like the Tooth Fairy, Polkaroo or Snuffalupagus (in the early years of the Children’s Television Workshop).

Patty has yet to show and am certain that the moment yours truly should step out to grab much-needed bite to eat, will miss her altogether. The higher-ups will swear she was, indeed, here in this office and well, am simply going to refuse to believe it. Seeing is believing. No one ever bought Big Bird’s story, either. And who’s more trustworthy than a six-foot tall, perpetually 5-year-old canary?

V. funny guy-pal, N, in strange moment of sincerity, tried to offer his own bit of unsolicited J advice. As Concerned Roommate once said, “I hate meddling friends. Anything that’s for my own good just sucks.” Indeed.

N: Having J’s babies yet?
H: Oh, stop it. It’s not like that.
N: Right. You’re just… “friends.”
H: Friends without quotation marks, thank you.
N: Maybe you should take some time off being friends-without-quotation-marks. Two or three weeks. You know, put some distance between you. Distance can be a really great aphrodisiac.
H: Two or three weeks? I’d be crazy-lonely.
N: So? Worst-case scenario, you’d be lonely for a couple of weeks. Best case, he gets lonely, too and wakes his ass up…
H: I’m not going to play some silly game hoping he’ll miss me and then fall madly in love with me. I’m not that silly.
N: You? Silly? Never.
H: Shut up. Besides, the best I can hope for is a good drunken roll in the hay. My plan is to get knocked up and trap him in a loveless marriage. It’s very Jerry Springer, I know, but so much more realistic than Happily Ever After.
N: Good luck with that.
H: Thanks.

Also discussed mutual J/Fish Thanksgiving plans with N. Said J and I were one step away from getting hitched and producing offspring.

J: What are you doing for Turkey Day?
H: I have an open holiday invite at E’s folks’ house in CT. But I haven’t really decided.
J: You’re coming home with me, then.
H: Um, that’s really nice, but shouldn’t you be asking your mother before bringing home strays?
J: They would LOVE to have you. You know that! And I just called my dad and he insists you come. It’ll be fun. You can meet the rest of my family. And the night before, we all meet up at this pub and get silly drunk. You’ll love it!
H: Well…alright then. That sounds great.
J: Done and done!

Oh God. Perhaps am really headed for psychiatric facility as result of the Almighty playing cruel joke on silly Fish. Please, let me meet the rest of your family so I can find just one more reason why I can never get rid of you. Not that have any desire to forget J. Am inclined not to worry about it, thinking perhaps will occur naturally over time. Like v. sad way in which have lost lovely summer tan. One day will wake up and realize J adoration has faded and will think to self,

Self, didn’t you used to be tan?
Don’t you mean, didn’t I use to love J ever-so-desperately?
Oh, yes. That, too. I got distracted by my glowing white skin.
You’re over it.
Over what?
Exactly.

Twelve hours later, and have still not left work. Am certain this type of schedule must be illegal or at least immoral. Who cares about overtime pay when one has NO time to spend it?

Huge deadline crunch is only compounded by the fact that newest client is the quite famous and aforementioned Ms. Hearst of black-beret-wearing, semi-automatic-weapon-slinging newspaper-fortune fame. Thus the recent obsession that have had with violent outbursts and being kidnapped by vigilantes-with-a-cause. Indeed. Am actually v. v. excited to meet Ms. H tomorrow morning. Though am not inclined to wear hat in office, wonder if would be appropriate to don a black beret for said occasion.

Had movie night with J last night. Watched newly acquired super-hero DVD with J in his sleepy, THC-enhanced fog.

J: (mumbling something unintelligible)
H: You’re so very high.
J: Fuck you. (Going silent and looking suddenly very serious) Why do you put up with me? I mean who says that to you?
H: Ah, I know a good ‘Fuck you” from you means, “I love you.”
J: Yeah, it does. But if I knew me, I probably wouldn’t be friends with me. I mean, why would anyone hang out someone so stupid?
H: A good sense of humor and pity for those less fortunate?
J: You’re funny.
H: I know. If I knew me, I’d definitely be friends with me.
J: Yeah you would. But that’s cause you’re cool as shit.
H: Cool as shit?
J: You know what I mean. Watch the movie.

Is not even 7:45 AM and having been at work now already for over an hour (at least have had breakfast). Delirium seems to be setting in. Bonus is, am beginning to have v. meaningful conversations with self.

Self?
Yes.
Didn’t you want to be a writer when you grew up?
Yes.
And here you are, at 7:45 in the morning, pushing a 60-hour week, NOT writing for a living. What is it you do again?
Well, I uh… I make pretty pictures for architects who like to yell at me and look down my shirt.
And that was in your life plan…WHERE?
Listen, Self… May I call you Self?
Yes, but I prefer Inner Goddess.
Ok, Inner Goddess, I don’t like where this is going.
Then quit.
No, I mean this conversation. Maybe it’s NOT what I wanted to be when I grew up. But maybe I haven’t grown up yet. Thought of that?
Fair enough.
Ha! Teach you to argue with yourself! I’m a rhetorical master.
Don’t get carried away.
Oh, shut up. I have to go fix the printer. I hear it making strange noises.
Fine. But one more thing…
Yeah?
Who are you dating these days?
Fuck off.

Am going absolutely crazy.

And not in boy-isn’t-this-fun-to-be-delirious sense.

If work situation does not improve, think am going to end up faking own kidnapping and learning love for automatic weaponry a la Patty Hearst.

Immediately.

Think perhaps that yours truly works for the most unprofessional set of fuckwits in architectural world. Is simply not right to have to go to ladies room and cry after getting yelled at by Mr. Burns (of Simpson’s fame) clone who — when discovers he was dead wrong and yours truly was… ahem… correct as usual, King Friday — does not apologize. Asshole.

Come on, Patty. Teach me some skills.

Was brazen hussy at party on Saturday night.

Alcohol-FREE brazen hussy. Flirted, teased and charmed and when was time to leave, had male acquaintance in tow. And when arrived at my apartment with case of beer, had no intentions of it being anymore than an after party cocktail hour and was hoping that said male acquaintance was of the same mindset. Luckily, he was, indeed. Somehow, though, cocktail hour turned into chilling on comfy couch, talking-for-hours-until-sun-came-up marathon. And when finally pried self from couch to figure out the time, kitchen clock said half past eleven. So, made waffles, took nap on couch with male acquaintance and finally shooed him out the door by late afternoon when J was supposed to stop by. (And actually have no idea if J did stop by as finished off pint of Ben and Jerry’s and fell asleep. )

Was all v. bizarre as have known said boy for nearly two years and never really more than passed few moments of party-related chat with him. And as sun rose thought to self, “Self, this is v. strange.” Nice, of course, though, to spend entire night with boy who had no ulterior motives.

V. nice indeed.

Spent the night last night with Prince Valium.

Not that am in the habit of downing illegally-acquired pills, but well, could not think of anything more appealing than 12 solid hours of sleeping. Besides, the valium was a gift, and only ill-bred girls turn down perfectly lovely gifts, right? Right.

Have been feeling quite at odds with self for S-related activities. Sure, am aware it was only kissing and could have been much worse, but… well, S has a significant other. Mmm hhhm. She happens to live in another state and of course S was full of “we’re seeing other people now” explanations… but am not stupid. Am fairly certain Out of State significant other is not seeing other people. And so, feel scummy. V. scummy indeed.

Am avoiding going into kitchen as roommate’s pint of Ben and Jerry’s seems to be beckoning from freezer. Am not falling for it! Not this time! Have ordered lovely black number for company holiday party, and as luck would have it, did so in a size too small. Must immediately cease to consume high-calorie food products. Simple solution would be to get dress in proper size. But does not EXIST in proper size at hugely discounted price. And, as am v. poor at current moment, starvation and half-price dress in taunting tiny size seem to be money-saving options.

Brilliant!

In history of UnBoyfriends, S is perhaps the most infamous.

Moderately good kisser. Huge challenge for Fishy psyche. Was mutual though. S will agree that butting of heads was strange brand of foreplay. Will admit there is something quite hot about sharp-tongued arguments that lead to well, other tongue related activities. Ahem. S was UnBoyfriend filler between initial J date-a-thon and the reappearance of J three months later. S was also good friend of J. And of J’s ex-girlfriend, K. How classy am I? Was fine and dandy arrangement while it lasted, but did not end well. Not well at all. And six months later, was sitting across from S at swanky jazz bar, mending proverbial fence and reminiscing. And five hours later, was standing on street corner, with idling cab waiting, and um… reminiscing.

Best part was that not only was yours truly kissing arch enemy, but in middle of said activity, who should happen down the street but J’s roommate, W. Brilliant! As W is good, kind sort, did not report uncomfortable meeting to J. Though doesn’t so much matter, as have already launched into horrid mid-morning argument with J.

H: S asked if we were sleeping together. I told him no. He asked if were still hooking up.
J: What did you tell him?
H: I think I changed the subject.
J: So he thinks we hook up?!
H: No. He doesn’t. Don’t worry.
J: I’m not worried. I just don’t want it to get back to K. You know how S blabs.
H: Mmmm hmmm.
J: It’s nothing against you! I just know how she is.
H: Gotcha.
J: I didn’t MEAN it like that.
H: You never do.
J: Come on. I’m sorry. Did you hook up with him?
H: You’re direct.
J: I’ll take that as a yes.

First, am v. glad he’s so worried about what his ex thinks. Fuckwit. And second, am astounded that J thinks he has the right to ask about my midnight escapades. Does J really want the answer??

Yes! Yes, I hooked up with the person you hate most in the world. How’s that?!

Am v. v. drunk.

But if have done what I indeed think to be true, have just stood on corner kissing ex-friends-with-benefits boy, S, after six months of silent treatment exile.

Oh dear god, what is wrong with me?!?

What is this? Good cop/Bad cop?

Cop Who Thinks Am Funny and Charming called first. Answered said cop’s questions with witty replies, and tone that says, “I’m carefree even though someone took my entire life savings and I don’t even have enough money to wash my clothes,” as had v. sexy voice and sexy voiced men generally like peppy gals. Gooood morning! After conversation ended and was feeling v. satisfied, Cop Who Thinks Am Stinking Liar called. THAT conversation did not leave satisfied feeling. Left icky residue, like furry sugar sweater on teeth after drinking Coke.

Am such trollop! Roommate says am in need of therapy. Am in need of something, for certain, though am not sure it’s therapy. Had inappropriate-for-work email conversation with J, resulting in inability to concentrate on task at hand.

H: We have to start talking about something else. Now.
J: So how bout them Red Sox?
H: Yes. Baseball. Baseball is so very unsexy. Baseball players have bad bodies. Nothing hot about baseball.
J: Bats and balls…..
H: Damn. Ivory soap. 99.4% pure. Nothing sexy there.
J: Lets face it, I’m so perverted, I could make anything have to do with sex.
H: Yeah, so could I.
J: I can make Church Sexy.
H: What are you doing on Sunday?
J: Probably having sex in church.
H: Wanna share a hymn book?

Yes… I KNOW is v. bad and detrimental to mental health to exchange such communications with J. Especially when resulted in dinner invite. And yes, DID accept invite. And no, did not share metaphorical hymn book. Did go back to Js place after dinner, but made hummous and played violent video games. Knew that J had band practice and wondered why he did not hurry to take me home. Suddenly, were rushing out the door, late to practice.

J: Do you want to come with?
H: Sure. You know I love band camp.
J: Good. (grinning)
H: What?
J: Nothing.

Wasn’t nothing. At band practice, learned that in collaboration, J and V. attractive lead singer had finally named tracks for soon-to-be made CD. Was v. surprised to find one named after yours truly. Spent entire song in half-daze trying to pick out lyrics from rest of sounds with v. noisy guitar amp too close to my head.

I have a song.

How v. sad, and v. funny is that?

Spent good part of morning chatting with UMF and explaining status of current financial crisis, wondering whether to dodge issue of anniversary entirely.

UMF: He’s talking about killing himself again.
H: Jesus! I thought we were talking about me. Let’s get back to me. I can do that v. well. I’m not surprised. He used to tell us kids things like that all the time when we lived at home.
UMF: That’s really unfair of him.
H: Hello, Pot. I’m Kettle. You’re looking v. black today. Yes, it was. Is he seeing anyone for help?
UMF: Yes. They think he’s just being manipulative because he’s freaked out.
H: Manipulative? He’s not often that clever.
UMF: Well, he’s afraid that I’m leaving him.
H: That you’re leaving him or that you might leave him?
UMF: I can’t stay with him just because I feel sorry for him.
H: I know, Mom. I know. Happy Anniversary.

Feel like have driven through four states and back in under 12 hours. Oh, wait. Have indeed driven through four states and back in under 12 hours.

J got oil change and picked up yours truly and headed down to meet the Big City Galpal for meeting with New York’s finest. If am being honest, will admit that was v. apprehensive about impending collision between safely separated worlds of J and understandably anti-J Galpal. But all went v. smoothly.

Even Police Officer of Ambiguous Gender was v. helpful after realizing that was not silly ditz who had misplaced small plastic lifelines in whirlwind-shopping-spree-turned-tragedy.

POAG: They were used?
H: Yeah. Something like five grand so far.
P: (mouth open) That’s grand larceny.
H: Yes ma’am.
Ma’am? Oh, god, please tell me you’re a woman. I mean, you kinda have boobs right? Oh shit, don’t look at me funny please, sir/ma’am.
P: Well, you are at the wrong precinct (seeing fish send helpless glances to J and GalPal and sensing was about to cry hiccupy tears onto non-descript police station counter) but I’ll fill out the report and fax it over to the right one.
H: Thank you.

Passed remainder of chilly day eating at favorite Indian Food restaurant and laughing with two companions. Even saw much-adored pop star in Times Square. Two pop stars, if am keeping correct tally. Wooop-deee-doo. Dropped off GalPal and were ready to hit the proverbial road when:

J: Bye. It was nice seeing you again.
(hug exchanged)
GalPal: Bye. I promise I don’t hate you.
H: Oh my god. Did she really just say that? Where did I pick up the sassiest GalPal in the universe? Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.
J: (as soon as rounded corner from GalPal apartment) She hates me.
H: She does not! She doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean.
J: Yeah, but she hates me.
H: No, I think today was good. For both of you.

So, now am back at home with $32 in the bank and full inbox thinking to self that MUST not give in to urge to run to corner store for M&Ms. Sleek, black work pants feeling slightly less sleek on generously-sized fishy ass.

Credit Card Thief got not only nearly-paid-off VISA card (used at Bvlgari), but also debit card… which was used in credit-like fashion at Bloomingdale’s… emptying the checking account of yours truly AND over-drawing said account which then emptied the nicely-padded savings account.

Stupid Bank Bastards can do nothing until they have a police report, which, when got the Phone that Rings Forever at the 37th precinct, did not end up filing. So, called the fine, fine NYPD who now informs me, am not able to file police reports by phone. Must do so in person.

H: They tell me I have to go back to NY, but I don’t have any god damned money to back! I don’t even have a credit card anymore.
J: When do you want to go? I’ll drive you any day you need. I can take a sick day anytime.
H: What? I hadn’t even thought… (stunned) Thank you so much for even offering. You don’t know how much that means right now.
J: Yeah, I can imagine. Just let me know what day you wanna go.
H: You’re wonderful.
J: I know.
H: I mean it. I don’t even know how to say thanks.
J: I can think of a few ways….
H: (laughing out loud) It was a nice moment….

Is clear that have had successful results from morning Getting-Ready Ritual when find self being check out, head-to-toe, elevator-eye style… by other women. One even grinned in the, “I’d totally take you home with me, but you probably like boys” way that makes me chuckle into current reading selection and sing silent praises to new Lexington Ave Hair-Dressing Genius.

Realized at 19 that is not necessary to be beautiful if can be well put-together. Thus, the Getting Ready Ritual.
Eyebrows? Plucked.
Blemishes? Concealed.
Clothing? Carefully chosen and strategically placed.

Objective being to appear like ultimate outcome, though planned down to last detail (where, near tragically-absent cleavage, shiny silver and turquoise necklace will fall, and just so tossled hair), are instead happy accidents of frantically rushing off to place of employment.

Call yours truly detail-oriented. Say that am well-groomed or dressed to kill. But do not say am beautiful. Will only tell you to look closer.

If God is in the details, as they say, am going to die one v. holy individual.

Should bite tongue when making blanket statements such as, “I only have good memories associated with New York City.”

One individual spent this afternoon making v. good New York memories on a Bloomingdale’s shopping spree. WITH MY CREDIT CARDS. While yours truly spent afternoon canceling cards and mentally accusing strange people in quirky East Village bar, Shopping Spree Sally was racking up total of $1350 in purchasing fun at Bloomingdale’s, the MTA and some cheap accessory depot-type store (God knows THAT wasn’t a Fish purchase!).

Am in shock. Fine, fine folks at VISA have assure that after 30-45 day investigation, said money will be returned to checking account. THIRTY DAYS? Was ENTIRE paycheck gone in a blink.

Am realizing that should have said was Shopping Spree Sally getting coifed on Lexington Avenue yesterday afternoon. Damn. Maybe next time am robbed, will think more quickly. Could have had free $200 hair-do on said fine, fine folks at VISA. Indeed.

One two-hundred dollar hair-do later (Mrs. Clinton? I’m sorry, Senator, I do not recall that…) and still having refrained from Want-to-Put-My-Brain-to-Sleep drinking, am feeling well-rested and healthy, if not one step closer to glamorous.
Am only missing dark sunglasses and four-hundred dollar shoes.

Spent leisurely dinner with GalPal, eating entire contents of one Italian Restaurant’s galley, and discussing current J situation and Fishy pathetic, irrational need to cling to said debilitated fuckwit. Only result was frustrating poor GalPal. Will have to sit and think up better explanations to satisfy concerned friends. Or self.
Indeed

Strange holiday, Halloween.

Lovely though, as is Pagan holiday and do not have to remember anything significant or feel guilty for having not remembered said significance during rest of selfish year. Indeed. Guiltless holidays are too few.

Do not work in office where costuming is appropriate, and yet one of Higher Ups/Closet Sexual Predators brought in box full of plastic animal noses. Yours truly was handed elephant trunk with wink from suddenly holiday-friendly HU/CSP. Mmm… thanks? Think will stick with plastic spider rings and consuming large amounts of v. tiny chocolate bars as way of celebrating beloved holiday.

Spoke with UMF and NACF last night. Was difficult conversation. Father said how proud he was of yours truly. Now, am not completely heartless and found self feeling v. terrible for having been so hard on the man.

H: Did you hear that?!
NACF: Yeah, who was that?
H: Some strange man on the street. He said, “I’d call ya, too, baby!” You weren’t even here to give him a dirty look for me.
NACF: Oh, I think you can take care of yourself. You know I’m proud of you, kiddo.
H: Thanks, Daddy.

And UMF was in rare form… excited, in June Cleaver kind of way, about making special dinner for Smart Assed Sibling and friend who would be coming home at any time.

UMF: And how are you, honey? Anything new? Any plans for the weekend?
H: It’s all just swell, Ma! Wally, Lumpy and I are going to go play stickball with Eddie Haskell. It’s just keen. I’m Fine. Not much new. Heading to New York tomorrow night.
UMF: I’m glad I asked then!
H: Why’s that? And stop sounding so chipper, for God’s sake.
UMF: Oh, in case I needed to call you and you weren’t at home.
H: Mmm hmmm. I’m not at home now and we’re talking. The cell-phone miracle! Praise Jesus!
UMF: Anyway, your sister wants to go to New York for Thanksgiving and she’s just being so difficult and… here we go again… blah blah blah.
H: Hey, I’m getting on a bus now, so it’s going to be noisy. I’ll talk to you later?

6:00-6:45 Three fifteen-minute blocks passed in hitting snooze button wondering why had stayed up so late on a school night. Got icecream cones, stood in freezing cold and went to see v. dark, but v. good movie with roommate. Called in late yesterday… had to get up finally.

6:45-7:00 Shower. Not long enough or hot enough. To shave or not to shave? What’s the point? Yesterday was easier.

7:00-7:15 Oatmeal (am out of slimfast shakes) and playing fetch with Reluctant Kitten. Ok, is not really fetch, as yours truly does the throwing and retrieving while RK pounces dramatically and makes game look more exciting. Heard roommate get up and go to shower so put on new, appropriate-for-break-up CD on stereo and turned up volume to not quite appropriate for morning hours level. And the neighbors? Forget them. Responsible folks are all up anyway.

7:15-7:45 Black dress, black shoes, black pantyhose. Am fairly certain Mr.-Edwards-Went-to-Architecture-School will make his standard Morticia Addams comments. Am v. sorry, but all my flannel shirts and dirty jeans were busy today. Can’t leave hair down. The whole Morticia thing.

7:45-8:30 In transit. Please stop looking at legs, strange boy. Hmmm… strange yes, but also cute. Alright. Proceed. Am glad decided to shave legs after all. Song in headphones feeling v. familiar

Buried deep as you can dig inside yourself,
and hidden in the public eye.
Such a stellar monument to loneliness.
Laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes
and perfect makeup
but you’re barely scraping by

8:30-10:00 How many is that? A bazillion fifteen minute periods? Spent ‘breaking up’ with Js roommate. While refraining from criticizing best friend, says am worth more than Js proverbial shit. Indeed. Also offered to meet in cereal aisle at supermarket — recurring inside joke about sex in public places. Thanks, B. How about another limerick?

Am looking forward to Big City weekend. No drinking, no over-eating, no nothing that would make self feel worse than currently do. Long walks outside with supportive GalPal, cold air on face without makeup. Not usual fishy therapy session. Which is why am certain will be beneficial. Changing things up. Making plans. Without J. Changing things up. Indeed.

Decided have been working too much.

First clue was Mountain O’ Laundry in bedroom. Have had to discourage passing climbing enthusiasts from attempting to reach her summit. Would not want anyone to get hurt. After calling in and leaving v. vague message for boss, spent morning in v. soft pink pajamas going about getting-ready ritual in extremely lazy fashion. Put on nearly-as-comfortable, yet suitable-for-work pants and thick turtleneck sweater and lugged parts of Mt. Fish to laundromat.
Concerned Roommate said that had survived worst of J fiasco.

H: Worst? How can that have been the worst? See, from where I stand (throwing Js fleece mourning shroud into industrial size dryer), the worst part is going to be waking up every morning and trying to come up with a reason to get out of bed.
CR: That’s recovery.
H: Well, fuck recovery. Saturday night was like ripping off a band-aid. This is…
CR: I know.

Thing is, am v. well aware that CR knows of which she speaks. And was pleasantly surprised to wake this morning with gnawing achy feeling in stomach temporarily absent. Feel good for the moment. But am taking day in 15 minute intervals. Is bizarre carnival ride. Am fighting any inclinations to climb back into bed and spend day in coma. Alarmed self by passing entire weekend in said manner. Am so far succeeding and debating about whether to shirk work duties over weekend and head to city for much needed GalPal time. Might be just the thing. Grouchy employer couldn’t begrudge yours truly time off to have decent mental breakdown. Indeed

Have just had first out-of-body experience…in coffee room.

Was stirring sorry-excuse-for-hot-chocolate into foamy lather when in walked D, coworker/ex-boyfriend (mmm hmmm — Fish is, indeed, well versed in the uncomfortable and extremely bizarre dating situations). Must have looked at him strangely, am sure. Felt v. strongly compelled to forget that absolutely loathe the man and imagined, quite clearly, throwing self into arms and burying face in v. nice wool sweater.

Is same D who used to say that yours truly was incapable of loving someone else; that was most selfish and unfeeling girlfriend, handicapped when it came to sharing anything real. Wanted to clutch at sweater and yell, “See?! This is what happens! I believed you and you were wrong! Now look at me!” Instead, suffered through the “How’s the family” questions and escaped with hot chocolate.

J did call back last night. Ended up staring at cell phone in disbelief once again.

J: Hey.
H: Hi.
J: blah blah blah… got new fish in saltwater tank… blah blah… helped bass player move… huge king sized bed… blah blah
H: About Friday night… I’m sorry that I came so unglued.
J: Don’t be.
H: But…there are a lot of blanks for me. It’s embarrassing, but I don’t remember what happened between leaving A’s neighborhood and getting to my house.
J: (sounding v. surprised) Really? You couldn’t walk… I had to carry you up the stairs. You were really drunk; couldn’t even stand up.
H: That’s not because I was drunk. That’s because I was crying. V. long silence.
J: You’re really embarrassed, aren’t you?
H: Mortified.
J: Don’t be. It’s all fine. Let’s not have things get weird. Listen, you around later this week? (uh, huh) Let’s get together. I’ll email you tomorrow.

Of course J doesn’t want it to be weird. J has it v. easy if yours truly simply lets go of humiliation and things go back to where have always been in Land of Everything Remains Unspoken. Am not v. good at being mad. But now, am feeling little bit angry and am not quite certain what to do with said emotion. J crossed line that had kept happily unblurred for so long… line that existed to keep us in safety zone, the crossing of which resulted in complete and utter breakdown for Fish. Want v. much for J to apologize. For starting v. steamy car escapade. For causing Fish crawl from car to stand on v. cold sidewalk, sobbing into mittens. And then, for watching as she, in utter shame, stands there sobbing, trying to pull suddenly-insufficient black, lacy bra back into place with same cold, soggy mittens. Yes. Want him to be sorry. Want him to be sorry and shameful and embarrassed and exposed, and standing on sidewalk, drunk and cold, without any idea of what to think or feel.

God damn him.

Finally swallowed pride, fear and throat full of burning bile and called J.

J: Hey.
H: Hi. Um… you ok? You sound funny.
J: Yeah, I’ve just been sleeping.
H: Oh, well, we can do this later.
J: Okay.
H: Okay? (Are you fucking serious? I’ve been bouncing between dry heaving, despondent crying and coma-like sleeping for the last 48 hours and you’re seriously going to go back to sleep?)
J: Talk to you later.

Am still staring at cell phone in disbelief. Have tried cleaning room, watching television and taking walk. Want more than anything to call sister… but as she is off in wilderness rehabilitating large mammals, and therefore unreachable by phone, will have to resort to other methods of therapy. Perhaps hot bath. And two or three Tylenol PM.

Oh God. What have I done?

Spent evening in v. crowded bar, being pinball bounced off Js friends and coworkers, downing pretty-colored cocktails and flirting with nice smelling boys. J was perfect, making introductions, even being v. affectionate. Was as close to perfection as could have asked for. As was v. drunk, J took my hand and somehow, though don’t remember getting there, ended up in a cab and back where J had parked his car. Was laughing and enjoying v. on-top-of-world drunk feeling when somehow ended up on receiving end of J kiss. Had missed that so much that didn’t let self think about how horrible of a mistake it was. Until,

J: What are you thinking?
H: Two things.
J: (laughing between kisses) What two things?
H: That I’ve missed kissing you. And,
J: And?
H: And that I don’t want to be your Fucking Accident.
J: Ouch.

And that ended that. J sat back and suddenly looked v. serious. Didn’t feel it yet, but on-top-of-world drunk feeling was slipping into panicky must-get-out-of-car-and-breathe feeling. What goes up, must come down. Yours truly is no exception, clearly.

J: I love you.
H: I know you do.
J: I am so sorry that I don’t love you.
H: I know that, too. (starting to cry)
J: Please don’t cry. I’ve never seen you cry…
H: I’m drunk. I can’t help it. Just please don’t feel bad. This isn’t your fault. And please don’t say you’re sorry for not wanting me. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.
J: I don’t. I swear. I know I’ll probably never find anyone who loves me as much as you do.

By this time, was not only crying, was sobbing and had to get out of car and lean against chain-link fence. Is all v. fuzzy, but do think there were other people out on sidewalk across street. Am hoping never to run into them. Ever. Also do not remember all of what was said, except parts here and there, begging J not to feel sorry.

H: I’m so embarrassed… (wiping face with mittens)
J: Don’t be! This is the most real we’ve ever been. I am so sorry.
H: But I chose this. Back when we just kind of dissolved… I chose to keep you as a friend instead of giving you up altogether. I tried to be the friend that you needed. I really only ever wanted you to be happy.
J: (looking as though had kicked him in the balls) I love you.
H: I know. But this is not going to end well. It can’t.

Do not remember much more after that, except know v. well that told J everything that had ever thought. May as well have given him this entire site to read. Don’t remember getting home except for J helping to take off my boots and making me promise to call him. Spent next few hours throwing up not-so-pretty cocktails and woke with massive hangover. Spent afternoon recovering with soda and toast, and periodic bursts of crying. Needed to call someone, but then realized that did not have anyone to call. Cried some more. Never did call J. Am consumed with enormous hopeless feeling that am not quite certain what to do with. Am afraid that must give J up altogether. Will only be more of the same if do not. But feel dark, empty hole when think about not seeing him. Is most miserable situation without satisfactory solution. Roommate says is most healthy thing that has happened between self and J. Don’t feel healthy though. Feel lost. And alone. And v. v. tired.

Am so exhausted! By Wednesday had already put in my 40 hours and it will be sheer luck if have not alienated all loved ones by the time week is up.

Went to Finally Complete Band practice again last night and finally met new lead singer. V. cute. Do so love going to band practice as am only girl in middle of hyped up, super charged, super talented men who incidentally, like to flirt. As only girl, role consists of sitting cross-legged on chair in v. cold practice space, winking at said musicians and saying things like, “I think track four should come after the ballad.” To which will get response, “Listen to the girl, A. Someone’s paying attention.” Indeed. Am always paying attention.

Am wearing slightly-too small jeans today, and are not too small in the least. Amazing invention, crash dieting. Ok, realize is not smart, but well, don’t care. Is of some satisfaction when R, friend of Concerned Roommate says that fish has the perfect figure (obviously not a boob girl) or when J says my ass is a ‘distraction.’ Don’t mind being a distraction! But am having M&Ms this afternoon. Try to stop me.

Fish’s Freak Out Diet update:

4 down. 6 to go. Not bad, must say. Will reward myself with something pretty.
Am missing my M&Ms, though.

Long bus rides to office with same CD in discman result in feeling like broody, badly mixed cocktail of country music. One song for pining, one for complete misery, and cannot forget the one song that is melodic Fuck-You to men. Cannot decide which one to feel sympathetic with. Not surprising, though, as cannot hardly find presence of mind to decide what to wear. Had v. compelling conversation with J yesterday, in which surprised self by getting foggy-eyed at work.

H: It just occurred to me that it’s gonna be pretty stinky when one of us starts dating someone we like for more than three weeks at at time. I’m not going to like being replaced as ‘the girl’ and I’m probably going to hate her for a while. And I’d miss all the stuff we do. It’s unavoidable, though… one of the hazards of being us in our bizarre situation, I guess.
J: I hear you. But any girl I date or, any guy you date is just going to have to share. And if it’s a problem with them, then they are a problem with me.
H: Though, explaining our mysterious lunch dates might become a problem. (per continuing inside joke about meeting for lunchtime quickies)
J: ‘Why are you always so happy after lunch?‘ Um, I don’t know….. (head bobbing from side to side).

Had heart-stopping moment on bus, mid ultra despondent ballad, that realized have indeed, at least temporarily, lost optimism. Perhaps somewhere in huge laundry pile growing on bedroom floor. Felt, for first time in entire romantic life, that am done with love. That there is no one and will never find bicycle suitable to replace one for which had such profound feelings. Had teacher in high school with whom was v. close. She confided once that her husband was not the man she had loved most. She had a soulmate. Teacher and soulmate did not marry. When asked why, teacher simply shrugged.

somebody tell my head to try and tell my heart
that i’m better off without you
’cause, baby I can’t live…

Is not going to end well, Concerned Roommate says. Do realize this. Have been trying to replace J since first time we parted. Even after the first round of getting back togethers. Now, am thinking is pointless. Was invited to dinner by v. cute foreign fellow at work. Thanks, but no thanks. Has even appealed to v. essence of Fish and asked if would like to go shopping at lunch. Is v. persistent bicycle. Funny, though. Thought he was gay.

hole in my head
hole in my head
i need a boy like you
like a hole in my head

Still feel strange residue of bus-ride pessimism that can’t seem to shake. Hopefully, won’t last long. Am certain is phase and this fish will not be able to sit bench long before time-out period of mourning ends, and feel inclined to jump back into same, horrifying tournament of love.

let the games begin
here i go again
i’m never gonna win….

depressing lyrics courtesy of dixie chicks album, Fly.