Sunday, Mar. 09, 2003 / 2:11 a.m.

~No Me~

Washing my hands, there's a pain in my thumb, I see a small cut, an opening, but I have no memory of it happening.

I drove by the club where I like to dance, but I imagined it would only be open another hour or two, I could see that last hour, I could see the crowd, I could smell the smoke, in my head, I convinced myself it was not the night.

Driving through Midtown, seeing the men see the men, seeing the ones who didn't get lucky leaving with friends, more of the opposite sex just down the street, thinking if only they could see each other they could hook up, last resort.

And I wanted to walk in and call him, I wanted to tell him I was thinking of him, that I mentioned him, but not by name, that I keep thinking of New York now, that I really want to go, but instead we talked about next weekend, about getting on the fucking bus again.

And I talked to the CNN producer, or he talked to me, and I remembered on the drive home that everyone merely talked to me, I was the audience, all night, I wasn't even there, there was no me.

I hate it when there is no ME, when I'm in a crowd, when I'm 'socializing', when I find I'm nodding, I'm paying attention, but I start to wander, and if I speak, he or she just stares, dumbfounded, then starts back in, "I I I Me Me Me Me", I'm not even there.

When Anne and Sandy were talking, finally, she asking him question after question, and she didn't know about Kesey's connection with the Dead, and oh yes, I know, I read Wolfe's book, I know all about the Sixties, but it wasn't me, I wasn't there, it was the two of them, I stared at the artificial log burning in the fireplace, I looked at the dreamy, foggy painting above the mantle, I was in Oregon, I was on the freshwater lake, on the deck looking out past the pines, and I got up slowly to go urinate, they didn't stop.

So we discuss the fact that he didn't go back in to pee, but peed outside, and is that wrong, and why, and we're not in the country, it's the city, there is a sewer system, and it's not your backyard, it's someone's bushes, and he's agreeing with me, "You're right" and I say, "I'm not trying to be right", and I wanted to get back on the bus, I wanted to go next weekend, but now I just want to be alone.

I said I'm an ENFJ, that I never knew, quite factually, before that I was an extrovert, that I feed off social interaction, but I take it with me, and if it's not good, it drains me. I feel neither now, I feel numb.

I couldn't relate to any of them. All in their 50s and 60s, old white activists, people all proud for protesting in the '60s, white, so white, so very white. But the one with the wide set eyes, the bone structure that could cut you, and I said, "Excuse me, but you're striking, are you on TV or something?", when I really wanted to say, "My god, look at you! Who the hell are you?", and she told me how amazing Bali is, I joked she must work for their board of tourism, and she forces her daughter to politely, to genteel-y meet me.

Everyone sitting for a while to talk at me, to tell me whatever is on his/her mind, and who runs CNN now, and isn't it racist, and there are no Chicanos, and no Eurasians unless you tune to the International Division, and Bali is so beautiful and the people so spiritual, and Skipper was drunk and told me I am a C-U-N-T, and he spelled it, like that.

And I'm a bitch, and he tried to wrest my wine from me, but I held fast. I let him get it out, how we could've been something, I could've been the one, but I'm a bitch, or something, and he licked my armband tattoo and it was wild, but he was drunk, and Sandy drove him home on our way there because he wouldn't have him in his vehicle, Skipper the alcoholic, Skipper the one who is going to kill himself one day, and he admits it, and I simply let him say whatever he wanted, called him a misogynist dick.

But I was thinking of the one who told me what I mean to him, the one who calls us, 'our relationship', the one who wants me to call him when I get to New York, the one who makes me wet.

And Sandy asks me, again, don't I miss 'intimacy', and after last night, no. I have it if I need it. I seldom miss it, I have my girls, I love, I'm loved, not by humans, but I don't care for humans, in general.

There was no me, and this is what I'm used to, this is what I know, sitting back and listening, asking questions when there are pauses, drawing people out, talking, receiving odd glances, glares, listening more, but he remembers everything, I mean something to him, he never let me go. I made an 'impact', it was hours of conversations, hours.

I don't know the rest.

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