2001-04-22
Bad Dreams
Well, today has been a rather unfulfilling time warp. Like one of those dreams you used to have all of the time but then you stopped having it (and moved on to a different-but-equally-stupid recurring dream), and then all of a sudden, six months later, you start having it again, and you remember it all too well, and you think "ha, this can't be nearly as awful as it was the first eight times," but you're wrong, it's just the same, only different and more annoying because you can't escape it like you thought you had a half-year previous. Well, that was what today was like. Only I'm more bemused than anything.
I went to help my mother at my previous place of employment (and still hers, obviously), Kreimer's abode of alcoholic beverages; or, as it is known to the common man, Kreimer's Bier Haus (note the swanky German spelling). This endeavor should only have lasted until for two hours, one to three, but it was nearly quarter-to-four before my father rescued me. I was also promised that the Bastard Prince, my ex-whatever-the-hell-he-was for that bizzare two weeks of my life, would not be working. But, predictably with my luck, he strolled in at two-thirty and I suffered breathing the same air as him for over an hour. I feel contaminated.
At any rate, it was mind boggling to be back. I don't cringe anymore when I walk in (that's a good sign, right? I mean, it's not like the place is the absolute hell that Dairy Queen was), and as aforementioned, I am not pissed. Bemused is as accurate as it comes.
And that was okay, I guess. Face your fears and all that, right? But I'm never going back into Dairy Queen again. Not without an armed escort or a deadly craving for an M & M's blizzard.
Ryan and I played twenty questions on the phone. I asked about thirty questions and I still lost. He had a butterknife, for Christ's sake. I mean, who plays twenty questions and chooses a butter knife? What does this say about my taste in men?
I chose something truly difficult, I thought: a picture frame. Ryan guessed it in about six questions. How did he know my thoughts would turn automatically to that? Then I told him I should have chosen something obscure, like underwear, and he informed me that that was his next line of questioning. Maybe he just knows me too well.
Sometimes I don't think I know him at all. The severity of my relationship with him is elusive for me...sometimes I do not doubt it, it is as tangible to me as his hands. Other times...I just don't know. I'm scared about next autumn. I know we'll be leaving, and that whole promise about not giving up on eachother is looming over me now more as an obligation instead of a desire. See, I want it, but I don't know if it is right. I don't want to get married. And I don't know if that is what he is thinking, but it is my fear. I haven't gotten to be independent yet. I don't want to lose him...but if that is part of keeping him, at least for now and the six or so years, I don't know what choice I will make.
astera at 8:51 p.m.