December 23, 2002
Cape and Capability
At ten after five this morning I gave my brother a hug for the first time in six months and watched my Mom burst into tears. Despite protestation, I went back to bed at seven with the aid of white noise to block out their voices. I couldn't help but fixate on Justin's, not having heard it in so long.
We went to Skyline, and he insisted on eating five cheese coneys. And making me pick up the tab.
But it was okay. I insisted that he drink water as a soda costs as much as a cheese coney, a penny more, in fact.
I brought Mike lunch (a four way with onions), and gave him an awkward kiss on the cheek through my hair, even though, technically, when both of us are on Argosy property we aren't supposed to touch eachother at all. I put on that badge and my identity just fades away.
I always hear my mother's voice in the back of my head when I do nice things for him. Something about how I'm the girl, he's supposed to do this and that and the other for me, and I'm supposed to sit there and smile and subtly demand the treatment that I deserve.
Since when are women forbidden to actively care? Isn't that a more than peculiar and archaic behavior?
I also hear my own voice, the cynical and scathing one, muttering nonsense that I'd rather not include here. I don't want to be a silly girl. Part of being an independent woman (however dependent) is growing up and bothering not with trivial irrationalities like phone calls. I learned from my last relationship that the phone ringing is not the key to true love.
Mike and I had chicken noodle soup and watched FOTR when I was sick.
I feel better now.
I think I want to take advantage of him tonight.
I put two hundred and thirty-eight dollars in the Europe savings account, and signed up for seventy-five to be automatically withdrawn from each check.
We're going to have coffee in that cafe in Switzerland, we're going to overlook the snow-capped mountains and the lake and the quaint streets; we're going to ride the train to Germany and go out to a club.
I wonder... do I make him want to be more than he is as he so often seems to do for me? He makes me feel capable, which is, contrary to popular belief, not quite the same as confident. I've always been confident.
That doesn't mean I've ever been capable of anything.
astera at 2:44 p.m.