Straight No Chaser

Rather Desensitized to Being Shat Upon

not surprisingly, "something came up." or didn't, rather. that pesky cell phone charger, the one that got left behind in atlanta and singlehandedly determined the extent of our communication this week, it wouldn't let him call today, not even to tell me he didn't plan on coming or calling to tell me he wasn't coming.

i told my family i didn't feel like talking about it, and we played gang of four and listened to wynton marsalis instead. chad is mad enough to punch somebody, on my behalf, which is nice but unnecessary. these things happen.

or so i'm telling myself, because i don't need my awesome summer mood blown to smithereens just yet. which makes me feel good, mature, because at this time last year, i would have ridden this horse as far as it would go. and it's not just because i'm still technically in the red, with brownie points (or whatever unit we use to mark relationship owings). novels always describe whiny, hypochondriac characters as "the type who's actually happier when sick," but that's sort of deceptive. it's not about the being sick, it's about the attention and sympathy that comes with it.

like me, this week, even when i was just sort of sniffling and hacking up mucus periodically, for the first half of every morning, it turned into sort of a conversation piece, which, in an office complex consisting of me and four hundred thirty-plusses, could not have held more value. every time i coughed or blew my nose, somebody stopped by the cube to ask how i was doing, tell me about their own allergies, whatever. it was almost, almost bordering on meaningful conversation.

i've totally lost track of the point i was trying to make, which had something to do with marcus, so i'll drop this. marcus didn't come, period. still might, tomorrow or the next day, period. i'm withholding my judgments, exclamation point.

ernie and i were bored as the dickens and feeling a little bitchy, today, so we came up with a pretty nasty list of writing.com superlatives. if you're reading this, you were probably on it. it's interesting, because we have completely different tics--he doesn't like people who obnoxiously overwield their power or persist in pursuits that are obviously fruitless; i pretty much sneer at arrogant intellectuals and bush-supporters--but we agreed, for the most part. boredom and bitchiness are, i guess, the great unifiers.

but, yeah, i am upset about marcus not coming, and not succeeding at withholding my judgments. i think he will call, probably tomorrow, with some excellent excuse for not being able to borrow the same auxiliary charger he borrowed wednesday night from tony, and he'll tell me we can still have our sleepover if i can get to bowie in thirty seconds after midnight, or something, and i'll go. it's not really a big deal and these things happen all the time, with him. but there comes a point, and i'm just going to say that point comes maybe the second time around, when it just becomes exhausting to keep going, "no, but you love me. you should find a way."

honestly, you probably weren't on the list of superlatives, whether or not you're reading this. i don't know why i said that. i'm still feeling bitchy, and being a bitch, because my feelings are hurt. again.