Thursday, August 25, 2005
Beat Down
I am a mess! A total mess! I'm smack in the middle of about a million different crises. A friend is going through a weird stalker situation, so I'm staying with her for a few days. I'm smack in the middle of a major financial disaster thanks to major errors by my bank and my landlord. Awesome. Work is kicking my ass. Royally. At the end of every day, I feel as though a very large vacuum has attached itself to an orifice on my body and sucked every single drop of energy out. And all I've wanted is someone, a bad-for-me-in-every-way someone, to just put his arms around me and make all the bad stuff go away. If even for a few minutes.
Last night I was at a friend's house, exhausted, beat, praying for death. I hate her stairs. Last night on my way out, I fell down them, again. Seriously banged up my right arm. I picked up my phone to call my best friend to tell her of my stair woes, on the long haul to the subway, and there was a text message. From him. Mr. Wrong-but-so-wishing-he-were-right. Don't be confused. I'm in love with 2 men. One is great and wonderful and respectful and will never date me. The other is none of the above and is constantly trying to get in my pants. Mr. Wrong wanted to know where I was, what I was doing and if he could come. I didn't answer. I went down into the subway. By the time I got out, he had given up and gone home to Brooklyn. I needed to say no. I've never wanted to say yes more. Did I mention that he has really nice arms? Fantastic arms. I've seen him do push-ups. I think I orgasmed on the spot. I honestly thought that everything in life would be better if I could have just spent 10 minutes in those arms. I went to my friends house, waited for her to get home from work, watched Love Actually, ate french fries and cried. I blame the tears on The Pill. But the french fries? All him.
Last night I was at a friend's house, exhausted, beat, praying for death. I hate her stairs. Last night on my way out, I fell down them, again. Seriously banged up my right arm. I picked up my phone to call my best friend to tell her of my stair woes, on the long haul to the subway, and there was a text message. From him. Mr. Wrong-but-so-wishing-he-were-right. Don't be confused. I'm in love with 2 men. One is great and wonderful and respectful and will never date me. The other is none of the above and is constantly trying to get in my pants. Mr. Wrong wanted to know where I was, what I was doing and if he could come. I didn't answer. I went down into the subway. By the time I got out, he had given up and gone home to Brooklyn. I needed to say no. I've never wanted to say yes more. Did I mention that he has really nice arms? Fantastic arms. I've seen him do push-ups. I think I orgasmed on the spot. I honestly thought that everything in life would be better if I could have just spent 10 minutes in those arms. I went to my friends house, waited for her to get home from work, watched Love Actually, ate french fries and cried. I blame the tears on The Pill. But the french fries? All him.
Labels: Mr. Wrong
