2003-02-23 || 9:58 p.m.

|| somehow sophia's always workin her way into my entries. ||

in the spirit of mid to late february and spring making a little progress and plum blossoms and singing birds and all that i am acting as good will ambassador to boyfriends past. well. just one. that one. and i don't know what it was but i called him on a lark and now we are going to hang out friendly-like for the first time in eh four months. friendly-like with no possibility of make-out for the first time ever, matter of fact.

and there are a few issues at hand, but i feel they have been reduced to manageable levels. and besides, if i let them keep me from acting in the name of good friendiness, then the terrorists have won. so i swallow them all like chalky white pills. i pretend to be incredibly righteous. i hold steadfastly to the ideas that there are no hard feelings and it is most important that we are friends.

because he got to be one of my best friends.

although the truth of the matter is these chalky white pills so sweetly sitting around in my stomach pack quite a punch, illuminating this incredibly violent fauvish backdrop in my mind when i think of them. and being the mathy type, i try to break it all down into nice formulas and equations and graphs. as in. at this point in time, my motivations for seeing boyfriend past are 92% completely-on-the-level-it-is-important-to-be-his-friend in nature. because i hate that whole thing about not being able to have someone whom you loved deeply with all your heart (although therein lies the problem) in your life after you (or he) realize it's not going to work out. i like to think i can get past the hurty part, granted it has taken your heart and pulverized it, and realize this person is too important to push away completely.

but there's that dark 8% that still has dreams about what it feels like to have my face close enough to his neck to get dizzy. that remembers all the times in the car and all the times in his bed and that one time i came home and there was grape soda in a bucket of ice waiting at the doorstep. but nevermind that. i like to think of it as quite an accomplishment, narrowing this painful piece of pie to a powerless 8%, when there was a time not too long ago when that very pie piece had the shape and voracity of pac-man.

but regardless of dwindling size, that insignificat pie piece is what makes me nervous when talking to him on the telephone. that is what, at times, makes me nauseous at the thought of him with someone else in bed on sunday mornings.

so i believe the course of action is to gussy up the remaining 92% with all devices available. project self esteem and keeping busy and counting my blessings and believing that voice, that sounds much like sophia from the golden girls by the way, that is saying 'good things are in store for jenny hand.'

but whoever thought an impotent 8% could take over and shut up someone like sophia from the effing golden girls.

previous || next || random

guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land