fryerworks

Before I start writing, I need to get high. I’ll be right back.

During the first bit of work, I was banking on the idea that I’d give Alyssa a ride home and she’d already alerted me of the “bomb-ass hash” she had for us later. I only drove because it was so hot outside I figured saving the planet wasn’t worth the sweat and exhaustion of biking across town. Since it was pretty much freezing outside after work, I’m looking back on that choice as the correct one, even if Alyssa wound up getting a ride with someone else and I got stuck driving Rosa. It was nearly 12:45 AM by the time we got done, anyway, and I have to get up at 8:00 AM tomorrow to get to work at 9:00 AM. So I figured it was a good thing disguising itself as another disappointment among the crowd of unwanted disappointments that invited themselves into my life today. Because I really should be asleep right now. I don’t usually work Saturday nights. It’s a big difference to close at midnight instead of eleven. You know that cheated feeling you get from daylight savings time? It was like that. By then, though, I was already in a bad mood.

<<< Rewind.

I went to bed around 5:00 AM last night and woke up at 9:30 AM today. Bryce was up and active, getting ready to go to work, and I woke up with an unnecessary urge to get out of bed. I should have just stayed in bed. I should have rested. Maybe that’s why the day turned out so poorly, being unrested and all. So Bryce is up and we get a little time to talk or whatever. Then he goes to work. Around this time, I begin to check my phone for missed calls about once every half-hour. I’m checking to see if Amy has called or sent a text message. Most of me dreads the idea of communicating with her, but the part of me that anticipates it and knows it will happen eventually–if not today–is the part that keeps me checking. A lot of me wants to not care so much. I could just never talk to her again. But there’s that goddamn strand that feels prime for cutting, but neither of us will pick up the scissors. So I don’t call her. I just keep checking to make sure she’s not calling me.

Today I had plans to do some homework for finals. And I did that. Congratulations to me–I finished my English 401 final and turned that shit in, just to get it off my chest. I hardly proof-read my essays, caring only that I show an effort and complete the assignment. Of course, I didn’t get that all done until nearly three o’clock in the afternoon, just before Bryce got home from work early. At around eleven or twelve, I smoked a little to ease my wandering mind and tried to just relax, but the thoughts kept coming. I kept checking my phone. Nope, no calls. Nope, no calls. I spent a depressing amount of time just surfing the internet when I wasn’t doing homework. I learned nothing. I achieved nothing. I didn’t even do laundry. Being high for part of that time was helpful. If anything I got some strange enjoyment out of the feeling that I had no obligation to talk to Amy today if I didn’t want to. I thought a lot about what she might be thinking or doing.

In all honesty, today was a shitty day. This wasn’t depression. I have yet to feel remorse or sadness, other than regretting the break-up wasn’t smoother. That’s what dragged me down today. I knew she was going to call. I knew she would. I mean–sure–she had a reason to call. I just eventually looked down at my phone around 5:00 PM and she’d called and left a message. Habit made me erase the message after listening to it, and I wish I hadn’t, but I remember her saying, “I’m sorry if you’re mad at me about something” and “I really need that bag I left at your house.” Her apology made me angry. I don’t think she has any idea of how distanced I put myself from her. I feel like she expects me to come see her tomorrow night, no questions asked, because that’s the normal routine. I think she’s going to call me tomorrow, around 1:30 PM after I get off work, and she’s going to ask me what I want to have for dinner–or at least ask me if I’m coming over. This is why I probably won’t answer the phone. Fuck it. No. I WON’T answer the phone. I managed to get Bryce to bring the bag with him when he went to be with Nancy, Amy’s roommate. When I got home from work today, Bryce and the bag were gone. I felt releived.

During the day I moved my TV downstairs so I could play the Xbox or watch a movie without feeling like my flesh was boiling in the concentrated heat of the loft. Now there’s a big disorganized mess downstairs that I don’t want to deal with. I should really just be going to bed. I’m surprised I’m allowing myself to write tonight. But I said I would. Bad or good, I feel like writing this down. Maybe it’s so I can get these thoughts out of my head. People are good listeners, but no one really understands your situation exactly. I think this is just a chance for me to have a dialogue with myself. Today was shitty day, though, and even I can tell that I’m lacking the enthusiasm that I felt yesterday. It’s like–if I use Bryce’s metaphors–I’ve still got that band-aid stuck on the hairy part of my arm and I’m unwilling to just rip it the rest of the way off. And how can the wound heal if it doesn’t get any air? So I’m just lumping around most of the day–thank God I finished some of my finals work otherwise I’d feel really useless–before work, constantly checking my phone and thinking about how nuts it is that I’m actually in this experience right now. Who would have thought this would actually happen? It’s like I’d been in line for this event for so long that I forgot what I was waiting for when I got there.

Michelle came by A’romas oday, too, with her boyfriend and maybe some other people. I couldn’t look at her. Even when she was standing on the other side of the espresso machine, behind the bean grinders, I couldn’t get myself to actively talk with her. I asked her what she was up to and I couldn’t listen because new-girl Karen was telling me something about a drink tag she’d written. So I barely talked to Michelle. I’d say that it’s ridiculous for me to feel hurt by someone like Michelle, who probably has no idea that I’m interested in her, who was doing nothing wrong. But I can’t help it. It happens sometimes. I kept telling myself to have patience. That if anything was meant to be, it would happen on its own. I think I did the right thing by just pretending she wasn’t there with her boyfriend.

During my break at work I sent this text message to Amy: If Bryce goes over tonight, he should have it. We will talk soon. i want time to figure out if i want to be in a relationship after what we talked about.

This was after her voicemail message. This was maybe three hours later. After that, she never sent back a message or called. I’m walking a thin line between being that bastard jackass that I never want to become, and cushioning the truth to be as painless as possible. At least I’m trying my best not to give hints toward salvation of the relationship. I’m already neck-deep in this disaster and I need to just dunk my head under and get it over with. But not now. Not today–I guess. Maybe tomorrow.

And the name of the band that played tonight was Solid Air. What does that shit even mean?

Kayla made me feel better. She sent me a text that said: Epic. i cant believe she sent you that text. is this for real? i’m happy you shared that with me, and i hope you’re okay. stick to your guns, friend. Then I said: Crazy huh! I think we might have to get breakfast at that place by aromas like last time or its not official. To which she replied: Absolutely! im so excited for you. ashley wants to play pool with us thursday after 4 sometime. how bout it? maybe we could do thursday brunch? im done by 10.

I’m having deja vu of Spring ‘06 when Amy and I first broke up. It was random that I’d consider meeting up with Kayla at that same restaurant I went to with her and Emma when I told them I had broken up with Amy. Then we went and saw Final Destination 3. That feels like a long fucking time ago, now. I can’t believe I’m back in that same spot again.

So there’s not much else to say. Amy called that once and asked for her bag and wanted to apologize. I don’t think she knows what she was apologizing for, even if there was something to apologize for in the first place. We’re done. I didn’t say it directly, I guess, and we never agreed on anything (a lot of me had wondered if we had to have break-up sex before it was official, but I’m not so sure about that anymore), but I feel it on my end of the relationship and I’m just tormenting myself by not finishing the job. When I said this could go on for a long time, I wasn’t kidding. My expectation about tomorrow is that part of her expects I’ll come over, like I said, and part of her has no idea why I’d choose otherwise. I can’t decide if she’s ignorant or uninformed, and that’s why her tone carries so little of the defeated sound that mine does, because she still really wants to work on it.

Today sucked. Plain and simple. Nothing was accomplished other than me piling all of Amy’s pots and pans and other kitchen utensils on the table in the dining room. When the time comes, I’ll be ready to bring all of her stuff to her, or to let her inside to grab it–whichever is more convenient for the moment. I’m betting that might happen next weekend. I don’t know. Right now that topic hasn’t been discussed. I think today sucked also because I’d slept so little. And here I am again, pushing the limits of my well-being by avoiding sleep, just to write all of this down. It feels good, though. If anything, it lets me rant and it lets me complain and it lets me clear my head. I’m sure that no matter what happens, the universe will correct itself from this hiccup and a new path will light up. It usually does.