|
|
|
- So Kevin's last day is tomorrow and I was crying on the bus back to Ballard tonight after helping him clean out his desk. I'll still know him, I'm staying with him again next week, but, you know, things end. Mostly what I've been upset about is something I don't want to discuss but you know all about it anyway. Kevin and I went out for drinks after work because Kevin couldn't cope and oh, Kevin gets a text message from guess who, so guess who shows up at the bar we're at, and guess who wouldn't couldn't ever send me a text message asking where I am, guess who can't hang out with me outside of working hours, but guess who acts all superfriendly at work, let's go to Bartell's, let's go to lunch, come stop by, let's chat on gmail chat all day long, etc. etc. etc. but 4:30 or 5:00 rolls around and guess who's out the door without even saying goodbye. Guess who can hang out with Kate after work. Yeah, there it is, there it is, all green red spiteful juvenile envy. Guess who I'm just dying to pick a fight with, but instead I'm just trying to avoid. Guess who I can't be friends with, you see, because a friend, a real friend, just a friend, would be fine and wouldn't be jealous. Kevin and I went to a showing of rock art in Pioneer Square for First Thursday and it was fucking rad and guess who I was wishing were there, guess who I was wishing I could look at these posters and beautiful fucking guitars with. Not that Kevin doesn't appreciate things, oh no, he does, but I was pointing to posters: I was at that show, I didn't go to that show but could have, I hate that band, damn I wish I could have seen that. Etc. etc. etc. And guess who is my musical partner, guess who knows all about these bands, guess who likes to find out new music and share music and make discoveries and stuff like that. My grandma had to have surgery again last weekend and she got pneumonia. She is 92 and is the sweetest grandma. The world is full of bullshit and that's fine, people are full of bullshit and that's fine, but me I've been fighting against it, yeah in myself as well, don't think I'm saying I'm not full of shit because I am, but I fight against it, and I wish so much that I had someone who was an ally in that. And why do I always fixate on the fuckers who won't? Because guess who is full of shit, guess who knows he's full of shit but has "gotten used to bullshit". My first friend in Seattle is leaving tomorrow as well. I'm back in Ballard which is beautiful and which I miss, which I will leave soon because I'm only here for the week. The rain is warm and humid and volatile and sentimental. I need new clothes but I'm a terrible shopper and don't even know where to go other than Value Village. I wish I could cry in places other than the bus and my desk at work but I have no place to be. If everyone is lonely why don't we say these things to each other? The tenuous homeostasis that we created is so fragile and what exactly is my goal? Do I want to break it? Do I want to cause this drama? My bad mood is my bad mood, why pass it on? But, at the same time, this fucking homestasis is built on stupid fucking bullshit and I'm sick of it. Didn't I say that I just wanted to make it through the summer without fucking things up? And here I am trying and wanting to fuck things up. There's nothing I'd rather do than pick a fight with guess who. So tomorrow is a party for Kevin and I'm expecting the social situation to be terrible and upsetting and awkward. I will probably leave early and cry, drunken, on the bus. The other day on a bus there was a girl, trying not to look like she was crying, checking her phone, her eyes puffy. "Oh honey," I thought to her, "don't cry about that fucker." And the other day a woman drove by in her car, kleenex wiping her eyes. "Oh honey," I thought, "don't cry." These girls, they're me, and I tell them not to cry, I tell them that fucker isn't worth it, but what do I do myself?
|