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2001-11-01 / 1:38 p.m. ~Emergency Contact~ I had a long talk with H. this morning - our phones were down again here at work, that's the toll-free line, the outside call-center line - I realized something I've always known, if that makes sense, I was right, I am only someone she knows, a friend of sorts, but by no means her only friend, as she is mine. She was surprised to hear it, from me, said that surely I must have more friends, someone as "charismatic" as I am�sorry. Not true. I told her I alienate people, and she knows that too. I'm not sure why I do it, if it's a test of sorts, but I suppose I do. My high standards keep me from accepting people as they are, filled with flaws, like myself. Maybe I want them to be the perfect person I'm not. Either way, it feels horrible to know that she is leaving, that her husband, S., is leaving Saturday. Saturday! We spoke briefly too, and I asked him how horrible it will be to be alone, living in the basement at his in-laws' house, for the time that H. and the baby stay here to finish packing. He's not thrilled, but he joked about it, which is good. I've always thought of them as people I could turn to, if I was in trouble, if I ended up in jail, or if my car broke down on the Interstate, or if I wanted to kill myself, if I needed someone to talk me down, or up, or whatever, emergency people (in fact, H. is listed as my Emergency Contact, here at work, and in general), intimates, people who know me, who really come closest to knowing me. I love the way I keep writing that I'll be okay, as if I write it enough it will become truth. Yes, I'll be okay. I've survived everything so far, I'll keep going until I die. Things are bound to get better, right? I've already met some new people, Anna and Guenter for example, and we can hang out�until they move too. Who knows, maybe I'll move one day, or maybe I'll meet someone who is here to stay, someone who doesn't have some keen desire to go away, live someplace else, find something better. It's just after noon here at work, I'm going to see if my photos are ready when I go to lunch. And�I'll pay my rent, and try not to complain about the tree. It's done, there's nothing I can do. I told H. that if I'd been home I would've run out there and made them stop cutting�but I was at work. Same as last time they butchered. Ironic too because I was home Monday and Tuesday, but they waited 'til Wednesday. Of course, it's all a vast conspiracy to make me miserable, but we'll let that slide. Cost of the War in Iraq
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