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Monday, Feb. 18, 2002 / 10:53 p.m. ~Red Font Indicates Anger~ I've just been fighting with Nelson, on ICQ. How very 21st Century. ! Look, calling someone late at night, just before bed, chitchatting about the day, what's new, how's the weather, then having phone sex, it's a booty call. It's obvious. If it were anything other it would happen early in the day. It might happen at 6:30 in the evening, or on a Saturday afternoon at 2:00. No, it's late, it's serving its purpose. I know what it is. Do you really think I am that stupid?! Yes, we all know I'm childlike and naive, at once mature and exceedingly immature, we know I hate people, in general, but I want to love someone, and be loved, we know I trust no one, I come with an immense amount of baggage, a whole matching set, monogrammed and all, maybe tapestry soft-sided. We know this. It's clear. Why should anyone think anything less and get defensive in the process? Yes, there is a bullshit detector, it's built in, I can't turn it off. And yes, Nelson, it goes off when you call, when you've called and left me a message on my answering machine, when you say you've been "thinking about" me, I know. I know what you've been thinking. I know you want to hear me have an orgasm again, and you want to tell me to do it again, hear me say, "I can't! It's too much!". I'm not that stupid. I'm not a child, There is more to me than you think, and yes, to you, but you are only showing me this one side of you, we have history, and it's bad. Switching from green font to red to indicate anger, that was good! Very good! Arguing on ICQ, classic moment in the Nelson/Me saga. And I think of him, hear his voice in my head, picture him ironing his clothes at night, laying them out for the day ahead. I've pictured him lying in his bed, seen the hair on his chest, his legs, I've seen him get up to open the window, I've seen him reach out to touch me, though I've seen nothing. I've wanted, I've dreamed, I even planned. A phone call is not good enough, it hasn't been good enough, not for a long time. He knows this, yet he pushes that button, says it's a joke, how can he say that? "I'll give you a call some time, for phone sex. Just kidding, it's only a joke". No, I know it's not, you know it's not, why even bother? Why even start that? It's like picking off someone else's scab! Leave it the fuck alone, it was just healed over, you asshole. That's just rude. He's reluctant to defend himself further, says he shouldn't have to, I can believe what I want, I don't give people a chance, etc. He could be right. I expect you to fuck up, therefore you DO fuck up. And you have fucked up already, don't you remember? Oh, yes, that's right. How did we leave it? Him, with the red font, replies coming faster and faster, well, "maybe we'll talk again some time", says he. "i have to go", says he. He'd said that if I'd only pick up my phone some time I'd see that I'm all wrong. Call me before 11:00, maybe on a weekend, not a weeknight, and then we'll see. I know a booty call when my phone rings. It has that "I'm calling to fuck you" ring to it. Me, naive? Not when it comes to men. Grrrrrr.......yeah, nice cap to a fucked up day. And I can't even watch ice dancing, it's boring me now. I can't sit still to watch anything. I'm restless, emotional, fragile, vulnerable, angry, frustrated, unfulfilled, tired. Know what? I feel bad, like I fucked up. Like I want to call him and smooth things over, take my hand and press down hard over the wrinkles, push together the chasms. Close it, make it like new again. Apologize, yes, it's me, it's not you, you're right, we are friends, I know it's more than sex, yes, yes, Nelson, you are always right. I want to submit. What is that? I want to keep up the charade, assure future late night calls, in case there is a night wherein I want it too, a night when the window is open, a soft breeze blows inside, I feel it, I want it, I want his voice in my ear. Maybe I want to know that it's not over, that it never will be, this thing with us, two years, three years, and I lose track of the time we've "known" each other. Sick. I don't know how to be healthy. Cost of the War in Iraq
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