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The Wolf and the Owl
Jul. 29th, 2001 09:30 amI'm not sure why it is I seek solitude just after drinking -- I never drink alone and generally enjoy company. (Stops me from thinking too much.) I suppose it is the overriding sense of detachment, the futility of pretending I'm not walled away behind a pleasant buzz.
Or maybe it's nothing to do with people at all. Maybe it's just the need for silence, or the soft embrace of the night air. For that is inevitably where I find myself -- outside, on the porch, fishing for a notebook.
It's been hard today. I didn't realize just how true that was until I wrote down the words. Don't mistake me -- it's been a Good Day. Church with Greg, discussion of the drama club; writing with Val and sesame chicken for lunch. A game of speed Scrabble before Karen's party -- a twenty-first birthday with an exotic cast.
It's. . . The ghosts overtake me, sometimes -- I'm beginning to think this will be a monthly ritual. It's especially hard while staying at Val's, knowing the old house is two blocks away. I caught myself suggesting we borrow a movie; it's getting bad. I half expect him to walk up behind me, throw his arms around my waist and rest his chin on my shoulder. The anticipation so strong I can feel his warmth behind me. I don't want to turn around to find him gone; I won't make Orpheus's mistake.
Last night, I tried to call him. Impossible since he has no phone, but he left me the number of a friend -- which I promptly lost. That was two months ago, and I was housesitting. I was supposed to visit him then, but he overslept. I waited two hours before making the long drive home.
So I called his sister instead, but she was working. Ten at night, but McDonald's never closes. I always feel guilty -- I'm supposed to be her friend, too, but it seems I always use her to get to him. Not that she minds -- she encourages it, talks about him without my asking. She wants us together for reasons I don't understand.
(Val used to think I adored her, adored Alice. Commended me for being such a good friend, always taking her out and careful to schedule private excursions -- just her and me. In truth, it was because I knew I'd desert her for him if given the chance. So I kept us both away, to stop myself from making that decision. Some friend I am.)
I sound obsessed, and perhaps I am. It's remarkably self-indulgent, one of the few weaknesses I allow myself. I probably shouldn't -- it hurts me in the end. Not that it ever truly ends. But I've always been a massochist.
Val is entreating me to come inside. And Karen, and Katie, and Robespierre. Trivial Pursuit.
How apt.
Or maybe it's nothing to do with people at all. Maybe it's just the need for silence, or the soft embrace of the night air. For that is inevitably where I find myself -- outside, on the porch, fishing for a notebook.
It's been hard today. I didn't realize just how true that was until I wrote down the words. Don't mistake me -- it's been a Good Day. Church with Greg, discussion of the drama club; writing with Val and sesame chicken for lunch. A game of speed Scrabble before Karen's party -- a twenty-first birthday with an exotic cast.
It's. . . The ghosts overtake me, sometimes -- I'm beginning to think this will be a monthly ritual. It's especially hard while staying at Val's, knowing the old house is two blocks away. I caught myself suggesting we borrow a movie; it's getting bad. I half expect him to walk up behind me, throw his arms around my waist and rest his chin on my shoulder. The anticipation so strong I can feel his warmth behind me. I don't want to turn around to find him gone; I won't make Orpheus's mistake.
Last night, I tried to call him. Impossible since he has no phone, but he left me the number of a friend -- which I promptly lost. That was two months ago, and I was housesitting. I was supposed to visit him then, but he overslept. I waited two hours before making the long drive home.
So I called his sister instead, but she was working. Ten at night, but McDonald's never closes. I always feel guilty -- I'm supposed to be her friend, too, but it seems I always use her to get to him. Not that she minds -- she encourages it, talks about him without my asking. She wants us together for reasons I don't understand.
(Val used to think I adored her, adored Alice. Commended me for being such a good friend, always taking her out and careful to schedule private excursions -- just her and me. In truth, it was because I knew I'd desert her for him if given the chance. So I kept us both away, to stop myself from making that decision. Some friend I am.)
I sound obsessed, and perhaps I am. It's remarkably self-indulgent, one of the few weaknesses I allow myself. I probably shouldn't -- it hurts me in the end. Not that it ever truly ends. But I've always been a massochist.
Val is entreating me to come inside. And Karen, and Katie, and Robespierre. Trivial Pursuit.
How apt.
