Ever since leaving home over a year ago, the concept of home has become more of an idea than an actual place. This upcoming weekend I’ll be venturing back there to greet head on the family drama, the friendships I’ve never really left behind, and the landscape that intrinsically holds my own self-identity.
It couldn’t have come at a more perfect time.
Let's go BUFF-A-LO!
Monday, May 26, 2008
the blow off
We were supposed to meet at 8pm on Memorial Day. Although I hadn’t heard from him all day, I had hoped that with each passing hour I’d get a call, a text, a smoke signal… something. I was naïve enough to still shower and get dressed but for some reason I held off putting makeup on. I somehow knew the blow off was coming and subconsciously decided that without the effort of makeup, just a sliver of dignity remained.
At 8:15 the shoes came off and I poured myself a second glass of wine. I tried calling the only friend I had told about the pseudo-date, but it was only fitting she didn’t answer. I fought every urge to call or text him and instead thought about what I would tell a friend in the same situation. I imagine I would tell her not to bother texting or calling and the next time she saw him to pretend as if she didn’t even care or remember, to laugh a little too loud at other people’s jokes, to dress just slightly inappropriately. Then inevitably when his next call or text comes, don’t respond.
My best advice tends to be the advice I give to other people. The hard part is following it for myself.
In the end I can only hope he's dead in a ditch somewhere. But you know, no hard feelings or anything.
At 8:15 the shoes came off and I poured myself a second glass of wine. I tried calling the only friend I had told about the pseudo-date, but it was only fitting she didn’t answer. I fought every urge to call or text him and instead thought about what I would tell a friend in the same situation. I imagine I would tell her not to bother texting or calling and the next time she saw him to pretend as if she didn’t even care or remember, to laugh a little too loud at other people’s jokes, to dress just slightly inappropriately. Then inevitably when his next call or text comes, don’t respond.
My best advice tends to be the advice I give to other people. The hard part is following it for myself.
In the end I can only hope he's dead in a ditch somewhere. But you know, no hard feelings or anything.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
