And then I woke up and it was all a dream.

Tired. So tired.

Woke up this morning from an anxiety dream - that I had woken up twenty minutes before I was supposed to be somewhere and there was someone else in the house, using the shower, moving things around. I met her, and she seemed all casual and was a friend of The Smit that I'd never heard of before. It was like there was someone else who'd moved into a prominent position in his house/life without me being aware of it. And all my stuff kept being moved around. And then I went into the living room, which was my parent's living room, and a bunch of folks were there, including The Manajerk, who described me as "the bane of [his] existence". I kept yelling at him to fuck off and calling him names, and then finally I threw him out of the house, since it was my parents' house (or at least living room) and he had no right to be there and he was a horrible waste of space. I found my clothes and was about to run out of the house, at the time when I was supposed to be somewhere, when I woke up. It was six am and I didn't have to get up until seven, but still, better than waking up an hour and a half late.

Aside from that, it was a great day. Studio weekend day 1, I am a terrific group leader/organizer, and I bought two pairs of cheap pants and a new dress, and I got a new cell phone that is not dead.

I have lost all my phone numbers, though, so if you are someone who I call or who calls me, please send me your number.

i am not the kind of grrrl that you don't have to kiss

from Sep. 29th, 2004 @ 12:43 pm

The whole way back, he can't look me in the eye. Or he won't, whichever. At a certain point, it becomes the same thing.

I ask him if he wants to be alone. I ask him if he wants to be distracted. I ask him how he's feeling. He's stressed and overwhelmed and having trouble processing. He can't be distracted. He doesn't want me to go.

But he keeps not looking at me and it's starting to make me feel bad. I mean, I'd understand if he wanted to be alone, but if not, he should act like I'm there. Right? Right.

We get to his apartment and he gives me some juice. We sit on the couch. I sniffle. He puts his arm around me. We snuggle. I cry. I take off my glasses. I blow my nose. We drink our juice.

Snuggling turns into holding, and sitting together turns into lying together. Ah. I know this feeling. We lie in each other's arms, drawing all the comfort we can from our mutual sadness. Suddenly I can feel his erection...either incredibly well or incredibly poorly placed, depending on your perspective and your ideas of appropriateness.

To me, it feels damn good even as I feel horrible.

His breathing grows rougher as I start to plant little kisses on his neck, his cheek, his shoulder. His arms start to explore, tighten around me, pull me closer. Holding becomes groping and I don't know how we get from lying together to me straddling him, my pants undone, my belt removed, his shirt open. I move in to kiss him and he turns his face away ever so slightly. My lips land on his cheek, but I give him a look. He responds with, "I don't want to kiss you right now."

Another look. This time his response is an exaggerated shrug implying that he doesn't quite get it either.

All I can think is, "Who the hell doesn't want to kiss me?" At a time like this, arrogance and sex appeal are all I have.

He starts to kiss my neck and shoulder. I stroke his chest a bit and he sighs. "That makes me feel so relaxed."

Huh. Why do you get to feel relaxed when I'm stressing out, feeling like crap, you couldn't look me in the eye and now you won't kiss me? What exactly do you think is going to happen here? Exactly how cheap do you think I am?

I rest my cheek on his shoulder, facing away from him. I sit like that until he asks me what's wrong.

"I'm feeling kinda shitty right now."

"What happened?" He seems genuinely surprised.

He gets another look. That's three.

"Oh...right."

I cry a bit more. We hold each other a bit more. He starts to talk about her and what he's going to tell her. I don't really want to hear it. It becomes clear that he wants me to go once it's clear to him that we're not gonna have sex.

"Are things always going to be fucked up between us?" I ask him.

"Yeah...pretty fucked up." He sees my face and is quick to hug me. "We'll work it out."

I fasten my pants and find my belt. At least he can look me in the eye now.

"Sorry about your belt," he says. "Conflicting intentions."

I don't ask what the conflict is, exactly. I just need to go.

Our hug goodbye is full of thwarted desire, affection, sweetness and tension. I'm struck by how much we like each other and how that feels so wrong right now. Feeling angry at him is easier right now than dealing with the bigger situation. There'll be time enough for that later.

And still, all I can think is, "Who the hell doesn't want to kiss me?"