tallisker

After weeks of a self-imposed seclusion, I ventured out determined to experience my weekend to the fullest. A school event provided an open bar, as well as every ex and admirer of lovely-boy. For the most part they are all exceptional women, but I I was on his turf, and resolved not to shrink into the corner as my sober self desired to do. So I stayed near the bar, talking, laughing, dancing with these women, making friends out of acquaintances, and generally having a rollicking good time, pleased with my outgoing nature and complete lack of jealousy.

Am I justifying the massive amounts of alcohol I consumed? Not exactly. Because after my social victory at the event, special-boy walked off with my wallet intending to do me a favor. Mutually drunken miscommunication reigned, and I thought he was preventing me from moving from his domain to my own, to see a friend he's always been jealous of. His actions DID in fact prevent me from doing so, until I biked all the damn way to the bar he was at after wasting an hour looking for the wallet he had all along. I was mad, and he was caught completely off guard, never having seen this odd side of me before. We cleared things up quickly, and once I realized that I was being ridiculous I sank down onto the sidewalk in a fit of sobs. Weird. Really, really weird.
He had never seen me cry in the 6 months we'd been dating; most people haven't. Eventually the mood subsided and I biked off to grab a beer with the friends I'd been trying to see this whole time. I realize now that I probably stumbled in with a tear-streaked face. Jesus. At least I don't wear makeup, so perhaps my state could have been attributed to the cold wind I biked through.

The rest of my time with them was excellent. I scrambled up a good bit of a slippery telephone pole, wearing rainboots and a skirt. I couldn't bike straight, but I could climb poles. That's just me. Then we mowed on cheap Mexican food and by 4 AM we parted ways. Out of nowhere I can remember, I started to cry again, and didn't stop until I fell asleep. Has that happened to any of you? Bits of the night are fuzzy, but I have the distinct memory of curling up beside my heater, finishing the take-out, reading a trashy novel I found in an alley, and just sobbing. Like it was perfectly normal. I don't even think I was terribly sad. I am still perplexed.

The next morning there was SNOW on the ground, which melted under a vicious afternoon of sun, and all appeared to be strangely, surrreally, normal.
Here's to climbing shit.