"I think i'm getting too old for this," I tell her. Frantically she digs through her purse, never taking her focused eye from it, and asks, "Too old? For what?". "I think I'm getting to old for the chase...".
She doesn't verbalize her anxiety. She doesn't need to, and never does anyway. Now shaking the tacky pink bag, she asks, "The car that I'm renting, y'know, while I'm up here, isn't it just great?". I was hesitant about driving the car that she was renting all the way to Baltimore, but when she's here, all judgement flies out of the window anyway, along with any sense of reason as well as self respect. I was pissed that she wasn't listening yet again, but that's her for ya. Her scattered thoughts take helm of the wheel that is her brain, and she becomes this robot, programmed on only one thing, that being her. Everything else is static, and overwhelming to her.
She brings the gauge back, and clicks the trigger, igniting the cigarette. The fifth one in 20 minutes. Good thing she's into the whole acrylic nail fad. "I've got this wheeze, y'know, when I breathe, I think it's because I'm smoking too much tonight..." I think that maybe it's just because she smokes, but of course I don't tell her that. I just "Hmmmm..." to myself and nod.
The plan had been finalized and promises of an attendance were made earlier in the day, but wrecked no more than 5 hours later. Afterall, how often does she come into town? And, can't I see this particular band anytime, anyway? C'mon, we HAD to, just HAD to go to the club. Fine. We'll go to some shitty, cramped club where the music is less than poor, the drinks would certainly be watered down and the people would be overly tanned, bleached and toned. The guilt set in faster than I thought it would and my stomach did a summersault, two back flips and then there I was, trying to find Guilford Street.
HA! The damn place had been closed by the city, due to some violation of some code. So there, what now? We had two options. Suprisingly, she opted for mine, but only if I compromised to check out her spot as well. Fine. Deal.
The place that I chose had a very laid back environment, something that I needed after making that hour long trek- couldn't she at least understand that? We stayed through one drink, and then her anxiety set right back in. She shot up and declared, "OK, next spot! I'm so bored, these aren't my 'kind' of people".
In the car, on the ride there, before we'd even reached the city, she was, "going to make out with SOMEbody!". Of course, I say nothing, even though she's left her live-in boyfreind to watch 'junior' for the week while she party's it up in Maryland, for mother's day, no less. This is insane, I think, but still, say nothing.
We end the night with my getting totally plastered, becasue that is truely the only way that I can deal with her. Sometimes, well, MOST of the time, she is just too much. Her semi-schitzo behavior and alarming, almost dangerous spontinaeity kills me, but thank god not literally. Well, not yet anyway. There have been nights when I really didn't think we would make it home alive. It certainly is a rush, I will not deny that, but sometimes her recklessness has put us right on the edge.
We take two guys home that she's met. Just met that night. I thought that we were smarter than that, thought that we knew better than to take strangers home. Luckily, they were 'cool' and smokers, too. Invited us in for a quick buzz, but I made it clear, in my drunk slush, that I needed to be up promptly at seven in the morning, though, I'm not sure it came out pieced in a cohearant structure like that. Oh, well, she got her make out session, so I suppose the night was complete. However, even though I was on the brink of passing out in the back seat, something was still not sitting just right with me. Somehting unsettling was looming. I still wanted to talk about what I tried to convey to her after the seat belts were buckled fours hours earlier. At this point, though, I knew it would never come out right anyway, so I let my head sloppily roll back and I said a quick, silent prayer that she knew the way home (of course she didn't, and at one point woke me up from my drunken stuper to have me call people for directions. Idiot, couldn't you tell by the drool beading up around the corners of my mouth that I was about to have a dream? Dammit...)
So, that was my weekend, in a nut shell. Yeah, I got manipulated, BIG time. AND I didn't even go into work on saturday. Dammit. I'm so glad this girl only comes to town everyso often....
She doesn't verbalize her anxiety. She doesn't need to, and never does anyway. Now shaking the tacky pink bag, she asks, "The car that I'm renting, y'know, while I'm up here, isn't it just great?". I was hesitant about driving the car that she was renting all the way to Baltimore, but when she's here, all judgement flies out of the window anyway, along with any sense of reason as well as self respect. I was pissed that she wasn't listening yet again, but that's her for ya. Her scattered thoughts take helm of the wheel that is her brain, and she becomes this robot, programmed on only one thing, that being her. Everything else is static, and overwhelming to her.
She brings the gauge back, and clicks the trigger, igniting the cigarette. The fifth one in 20 minutes. Good thing she's into the whole acrylic nail fad. "I've got this wheeze, y'know, when I breathe, I think it's because I'm smoking too much tonight..." I think that maybe it's just because she smokes, but of course I don't tell her that. I just "Hmmmm..." to myself and nod.
The plan had been finalized and promises of an attendance were made earlier in the day, but wrecked no more than 5 hours later. Afterall, how often does she come into town? And, can't I see this particular band anytime, anyway? C'mon, we HAD to, just HAD to go to the club. Fine. We'll go to some shitty, cramped club where the music is less than poor, the drinks would certainly be watered down and the people would be overly tanned, bleached and toned. The guilt set in faster than I thought it would and my stomach did a summersault, two back flips and then there I was, trying to find Guilford Street.
HA! The damn place had been closed by the city, due to some violation of some code. So there, what now? We had two options. Suprisingly, she opted for mine, but only if I compromised to check out her spot as well. Fine. Deal.
The place that I chose had a very laid back environment, something that I needed after making that hour long trek- couldn't she at least understand that? We stayed through one drink, and then her anxiety set right back in. She shot up and declared, "OK, next spot! I'm so bored, these aren't my 'kind' of people".
In the car, on the ride there, before we'd even reached the city, she was, "going to make out with SOMEbody!". Of course, I say nothing, even though she's left her live-in boyfreind to watch 'junior' for the week while she party's it up in Maryland, for mother's day, no less. This is insane, I think, but still, say nothing.
We end the night with my getting totally plastered, becasue that is truely the only way that I can deal with her. Sometimes, well, MOST of the time, she is just too much. Her semi-schitzo behavior and alarming, almost dangerous spontinaeity kills me, but thank god not literally. Well, not yet anyway. There have been nights when I really didn't think we would make it home alive. It certainly is a rush, I will not deny that, but sometimes her recklessness has put us right on the edge.
We take two guys home that she's met. Just met that night. I thought that we were smarter than that, thought that we knew better than to take strangers home. Luckily, they were 'cool' and smokers, too. Invited us in for a quick buzz, but I made it clear, in my drunk slush, that I needed to be up promptly at seven in the morning, though, I'm not sure it came out pieced in a cohearant structure like that. Oh, well, she got her make out session, so I suppose the night was complete. However, even though I was on the brink of passing out in the back seat, something was still not sitting just right with me. Somehting unsettling was looming. I still wanted to talk about what I tried to convey to her after the seat belts were buckled fours hours earlier. At this point, though, I knew it would never come out right anyway, so I let my head sloppily roll back and I said a quick, silent prayer that she knew the way home (of course she didn't, and at one point woke me up from my drunken stuper to have me call people for directions. Idiot, couldn't you tell by the drool beading up around the corners of my mouth that I was about to have a dream? Dammit...)
So, that was my weekend, in a nut shell. Yeah, I got manipulated, BIG time. AND I didn't even go into work on saturday. Dammit. I'm so glad this girl only comes to town everyso often....
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It was a graffiti artist friend of mine.