August 26, 2003
Impromptu Bowler
Well, tonight I am lonely. Was it just yesterday that I had a brief visit in his bed and arms? If he is a booty call, then you can just call me Madame Buccanneer.
I've got headphones suctioned to my ears pumping trance into my sluggish brain, and I've got three hundred plus dollars worth of schoolbooks lying about that I don't have to read yet. My notebook is propped before me with bits of In Another's Footsteps scrawled across it, and an impromptu drawing of a bowler in blue and red. There are useless things on my new desk, like action figures, and picture frames; there are useful things, like a lamp hung with thrift scarves, and a computer monitor be-stickered, and my hands, ragged nailed and slow on this unfamiliar/familiar keyboard.
I'm propping my feet on the computer tower, next to the sub-woofer of my speakers. I don't feel the pulse of the music because of the headphones. And I think that's the problem with tonight. There's no pulse, just quite and ill-occupation.
Tomorrow I try out for the women's ensemble on campus, the Choraliers. I think I have a decent shot of getting in, though I'm sure my sight reading skills are more than rusty. It's a small committment: Monday nights and Thursday afternoons between classes. I'm still thinking of him, of every moment I can set aside for him.
Isn't it sad that I have to force myself to set aside time for me?
He called today to let me know that he was having some of our mutual friends over, and invited me to drive down. I was in Wal-Mart, trying on sandals to wear with the tank tops that I had to buy (it's been over 100 degrees here with the heat index, and I'm living in a stuffy dorm). I declined immediately, the very idea almost ludicrous. A beat before I realized that six months ago I would have been there anyway, having left campus at the end of my last class. Another before I realize that I do want to see him, but can't.
Would? Won't?
But now? Now what am I doing? Feigning interest in my own, separate life? We can't share everything. I know that. And it isn't that I don't love doing things that have nothing to do with him.
I just think about all of the things that I could be doing with him instead.
I don't like being a girl. True statement.
astera at 11:19 p.m.