2003-10-25 - 8:07 p.m.
It took me about ninety minutes to sing some words to the tune in my head, and then another thirty to finally name that tune that started playing after my huge social faux paus…. “I’m a creep.”
I must have thought of a thousand ways of apologizing to you and no way of making the situation cool.
Today was the perfect example of why I am spending my Saturday night here, writing to my blog, and not out somewhere, thrilled to claim an extra hour to party or sleep.
You have a broken heart, I am in love, and I wouldn’t be interested—and neither would you—even if those weren’t our cases. Since there was absolutely no romance to the equation I could ask you to introduce me to a part of the city that you would be inhabiting anyway. Going out on a limb, I fell; so about an hour later you asked why I wasn’t taking my boyfriend. Somehow in our conversation several days ago you didn’t understand that this is geographically impossible except for every two or four months.
Megan explained why you could be edgier than usual, but I still feel like a fool, and still wish I could apologize for making you uncomfortable.
I came home, emptied the mail box, wrote checks to pay the bills, and opened the letter from home: “Bob [my step-grandfather] had a stroke—it sounds like it was minor.” My grandmother said a while back she wouldn’t want to live once Bob was gone, and I know that they are both a little nearer to the other side of the rainbow. I gave up on coming to know my grandmother when I heard she bragged that I was in DC working for the FBI. She has confused the pursuits and locations of her grand-daughters to such a degree as to have made two fictitious characters. If it makes her happy… but it makes it impossible to write about one’s life; it goes to show that her memory has wandered and I can not ask the questions I wanted to ask too late.
I try not to get mad at myself, or my parents, or at time for being so far away from her. I try not to remember that one of “my” songs is the same one that she wants sung at her funeral. I try not to remember how impossible it was to be her friend. I wracked my poor heart to please her when they came to baby-sit me, but all the things I had learned as an only child were pleasing to adults never were enough. Did you ever know how I wanted to love you?
