2001-12-07 || 12:10 p.m.

|| december in siberia ||

i am doing silly things. i am calling him up asking if i can get my cookie sheet back, making up silly stories about how i really need it because my sister is coming and i need to bake cookies. i am hanging up the phone and wishing i could try over again.

i am riding the bus home and rehearsing the next speech i will give to possibly complete the box set of jh's speeches concerning love and heartbreak and unhealthy behavior, at least where this boy is concerned. by the time i have realized i have missed my bus stop i am waffling back and forth do i give the speech? do i stay quiet and see what happens because what if he starts kissing me? what if we fall into bed and don't want to get up again? i deserve kissing and heated apartments. i have been sleeping through all these rainy nights alone.

i close his front door to find him lying in his bed sick and congested, reading a book i have lent him and listening to a kris kristofferson record he found abandoned on the street. i have come to find this boy beautiful and vulnerable and so fucking frustrating. i lie down next to him under covers with my shoes on and he holds me. we both face the wall facing east.

i say 'i am in love with you. i don't want to be in love with you any more. i don't like that being in love with you is not a good thing.'

we kiss.

i say 'we are going to pretend i am going on a top secret expedition to siberia. you will not be able to contact me for the rest of december. no email, no phone calls, no dropping by. in siberia i will collect scientific samples of air and water and try my hardest to cut you out of my head. i can't think of you all the time anymore. this is why i have to do this.'

we kiss.

i say 'and come january we will exchange christmas presents and swap novels and i will be able to sit across from you without the electric urges to take our clothes off. we will be friends and i will not be hot for you anymore. because of the recuperative nature of snow and bleak dark countries i will be cured of you.'

we kiss. he is taking off my shirt.

i say 'because you don't deserve this, you know that? i am fucking charming as hell and you don't appreciate it. i do the most spectacular things for you and you don't deserve it. i want you to start going out with someone else and bring her home and fuck her right here, right where we are about to fuck, and i want you to look at the ceiling afterward and slap your forehead in the dark because you realize what you have lost. you gave me up. you let me go to siberia.'

we kiss. he is unbuckling my belt and protesting in a bedroom way, in the shuffling of clothing and sheets way. 'how about we get to see each other every three days?'

'no.' we kiss.

'how about every weekend?' the record has ended and he is biting my hip, hard. he wants to leave marks. he wants a part of him to travel to siberia with me.

'no.'

i spent the night there. i woke up this morning and put on my shoes and grabbed the cookie sheet and he didn't wish me good luck on my trip.

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