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Thursday, May. 23, 2002 / 11:50 p.m. ~Another Attempt~ There's more. I can't let it go at that, the previous entry. That was dashed, that was quick, that was initial, and I wanted to add to it, but it's complete. It's just that it's so incomplete. I'm leaving so much out, I know I am. I couldn't find the gallery. I asked strangers on the street. I went into restaurants, and restaurants are everywhere, people, everywhere, families, eating, strolling, this little Andy Hardy neighborhood, some throwback to another decade, another world, some "Twilight Zone" apparition, like it should be in black and white, this town square of all places. I was giving up, again, feeling so obvious, so blatant, a bright object in a pastel field, like too much color, and all of it jumbled together, but I found it, walked in, and there he was. I recognized him from the party, and he's not who I thought he would be, I remembered him, Skipper had said he looked like Moby. I laughed. Yeah, a small white guy with a shaved head, but Moby doesn't have the goatee thing going. Searching, instantly, looking for something, anything. Wondering what he thinks. Of course, vanity....thy name is my own. Nothing. Art. Etchings, wine. Paintings I liked. Talk, easy, but the looking on his part, at me, not like he should. Maybe there isn't more. Maybe I just need to go to bed, and I will, I think I wanted to add that I was really attracted to him. This wasn't me kissing someone because he wanted it, this was me being terribly excited by someone, wanting this person to want me. Wondering why he didn't, then realizing he was mine if I wanted. Leave them wanting more, you heard me say that. I can't keep writing, it's all the same thing, isn't it? Two entries, within minutes. He wanted to know what I wrote to James too. Yes, he pried everything out of me. No probing, prying this time, and I didn't mind at all. He could've sat across from me at that diner, talking on his cell phone, to me on another cell phone, and I don't think I would've minded. I wanted to know all about him. This is the one I've been writing to, this is the one who's already pissed me off, and I told him, and he knows, and he persisted, and I asked why, fishing, fishing, and he said that's the way he is. Evasive as hell too. Now I have fodder for daydreams, now I can function within a haze. Now I can sleep and not dream of the house I grew up in, I'm tired of dreaming I'm there, this week, every morning. I dreamed Listerine and her new bestest friend Quincey were fighting. I thought of it from time to time today. Listerine has an ally, a friend, a comrade in our dept and she is changed. She is making efforts. We talked today. I helped her with her PC, it malfunctioned, needs a new network card I think, and she moved instead of moving her PC. She is not behind me now. But now I am here anyway, not there, it's all just so much change and newness and the rearranging of the chi (see, Mark, see?). And will Mark be able to be my friend, only my friend? Will Mark understand that I want to kiss Jon again, but I won't kiss him? Will this make sense? Am I horrible? I have more questions than answers. I'm going to bed. Cost of the War in Iraq
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