03.19.07

Went over to D's Saturday morning to take my motorcyce for a ride. I needed it. D wasn't home, but said I could break into his house to get my keys and leathers and stuff.

So I did. When I got inside, his cat was curled up on the artificial lap that I'd made for her. (Just an old sleeping bag, rolled up on the sofa.) She mewled at me, and I succumbed. Sat on his sofa for a while with his cat making ecstatic purring noises on my lap. Finally got up, and tried to start my bike.

He wouldn't start. Fuck.

Despondent, I stomped back into the house. Found myself, face down, in his bed and sobbing. I had to get out of there, but I couldn't go home. Called up J and begged for some human contact on his answering machine. He called me right back, and asked for my help in setting up for a birthday party that evening.

Oh good. Something to do. Something to do for someone else--perfect.

That's what I did Saturday afternoon. In the early evening, J went to pick up his girlfriend. He asked if I needed to go home and change. I said I didn't, because I didn't really care about how I looked. I held down the fort while he was gone.

About 20 minutes after he left, D drove up. How can my heart both sink and fly at the same time? He came in, and we sat in the living room--uncomfortably. We talked, I cried.

Fucking hell, I'm tired of this.

The party guests started arriving. Every last one of them was a couple. I stood on the outskirts of the party. D stood on the outskirts on the other side of the party. I tried to chat, but felt heavy and sad the entire time. Finally escaped into the house, only to find D already in the living room. "Oh," I brilliantly said, "I had to get away. Too many couples." He agreed, and we sat in miserable silence.

After a while, we talked about the problem with my motorcycle. Ah. Safe subject. The conversation gradually meandered into dangerous ground, but it was okay.

Oh gads. I've got to get ready for work.

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