So I've been writing something else. My thoughts shall remain here for only the entire internet world to see.
I made dinner for Noah last night, and we got so drunk. I had decided before he came over that there was to be no sex. No sex this evening, was what I decided. Truthfully, Noah is very attractive to me on some level, but not a level where ending up dating him is something I need.
But the weirdest thing happened. First, I drank three glasses of wine, and then I remembered a story I wanted to tell him, that starts with me cleaning the apartment from top to bottom all night Friday and all day Saturday. See, I found this shirt of mine in a pile of dirty clothes that hasn't been touched since I moved on May 31st, May 31st being the day after I got home from the journey to see the air force guy I had fallen madly in love with over the internet.
I looked the shirt over and noticed a giant black oil stain on the sleeve and was understandably pissed off at myself for allowing it to lie around and get fucked up over the last four months. I was scrutizing this stain and the place where I found the shirt to try to figure out how in the fuck oil got on the sleeve when I realized from the shape of the stain, which looked like a centipede, that it was not oil, but mascara. Two centipede-like stains, eye width apart from each other, black as fucking night.
I sat down on my bed and had a moment, remembering how I had laid in a pile of bedding on the floor of my old apartment the day after I got home. My mom came up from Munster and she packed all of my things while I laid there on the floor in that shirt and cried. I would cry for a few minutes, then become exhausted, then start crying again. I cried for almost a week straight, I think, pausing only to think and sleep.
It's been a long time since I have thought about him. That's out of necessity. I think the pain was just too much for me and at some point, my heart and mind just said "enough." I knew he wasn't going to appear on my doorstep and that no giant bouquet of roses was on its way and that basically it was over. And just like that, within a matter of a week or two I stopped thinking of him. When he would enter my mind, he would just leave it a few seconds later.
And so when I found my shirt with the stain on the sleeve from wiping my eyes that day- I remember my mom telling me she had never seen me so upset over somebody, and she was right; I never cried so much for someone in my life- my heart sank a little, and I had a few weird minutes, and then tossed the shirt into the washer. I thought, "I'm going to tell Noah about this moment tomorrow night. This is the sort of thing he'd appreciate."
So I did. He actually brought it up somehow; I think he was saying something about how he didn't have the attention span to talk to someone on the internet for that long. Oh yes. I was telling him about Justin and his new girlfriend, and he was amazed that Justin had been able to stay interested for how long they talked before meeting.
So that was when I said, with a sheepish smile, "wanna hear my internet story? Oh wait; I'm going to tell you the end [the mascara stained shirt sleeve the night before] before I tell you the beginning."
Noah clapped and said something about how that was such a writer thing to say.
So I started at the beginning and told him the whole story, and his interest just egged me on. I went into this story in great detail.
But instead of being able to tell it the way I would have thought I could, had I thought about it beforehand, I just got sadder and sadder, and so did the story, and Noah kept saying "oh," in this really sympathetic voice. I told him how I had sat in the airport for two hours, waiting alone for my flight, calling my voicemail to see if Justin was picking me up from the airport and hearing the old messages saying "I love you" and "I can't wait to see you" and deleting them. I told him how he never spoke to me again after that trip. And I could barely keep my voicing from cracking and falling in pieces to the ground when I said those words.
Being drunk is not a good state if you want to hide your emotions. I had no idea I still felt so sad about all that; in fact I had been thinking lately how I couldn't believe I was so over it. But I could barely keep my lip from trembling, and Noah said so many great philosophical things, and so many sad things, and I just sat there in silence, frowning, now putting food in my mouth since dinner was done. It was so sad.
Just when I thought I was feeling better Noah said something, something too poignant to actually say again, something that made me realize in an instant how much I still love him. I put my head down on the table and tried to pretend I wasn't crying. Noah kept making these sympathetic noises, and tried to hug me. It was fucking humiliating, or should have been. He seemed to be liking me more and more by the second. I got up and went in the bathroom and shut the door and just fucking bawled.
I guess it was good, because I guess I had been deluding myself for the last few months, and all these guys lately have just been a distraction. It seems obvious now, but I swear it wasn't before. Noah and I got much much drunker after that, and I think maybe we'll end up being friends. I'm not sure how realizing that I still love somebody so fucking much who isn't mine, and taking comfort in someone else, ended up with me waking up this morning, alone, feeling like ten thousand weights had been lifted. Somehow, understanding that I still love him makes me feel better. Or as Noah said yesterday, "Four months is nothing."
So that's Noah.
Yamil? He called me last Wednesday. He wants to go out with me again, but I'm skeptical about why. I'll leave it at that. He has won an Emmy. I think that is worth a second date.
I have been going out with the most impressive people lately.
© beotch at
12:22 a.m.
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