05/30/01 -- Page three of Tracy's craziness...

This upset me a little as it really friggin' hurt, but I brightened up enormously when I realized that this could be my excuse to call P! I mean, he loves me and darn it, he deserves to know about things that affect my health and well being. It would be selfish of me to hide this to protect him from worry. My tragedy would bring us closer together and all would be right in the world again.

But — that darn stubborn pride thing had to pop up and say "Hey, Tracy, what are you talking about? You're gonna look like a real bonkers wuss if you call him after just twelve hours. We can't be having that!" I gotta admit, ol' stubborn pride had a good point there.

However, I still couldn't shake the feeling that P. was entitled to know the terrible truth about my current situation; what's more he would want to know. He's all sweet and concerned like that, and I'm considerate enough to realize his need and indulge it. No problem is too small for me to share with my sweetie!

The question was, what to do, what to do? I couldn't call him or email him, and my friends were all too gosh-darn "mature" to pass messages on to him. Bastids. I was all like, hey could you write P. and tell him that you're worried about me because I've got this sunburn that's really red and you think it's best he rushes to my bedside before it's too late? And they were all like, um, NO. Don't get me wrong, I love my friends, but sometimes I think they are just a wee bit too "reasonable" for my taste.

I didn't let that stop me, oh no I did not! Instead, I came up with a brilliant plan. P. and I post to the same message board, so all I had to do was post each and every little detail of my life and he'd know that I was alive and bravely struggling along, despite my deep and profound suffering. I think that's one of the things P. loves about me; my spunky way of looking life's mishaps right in the face and saying "Ha! Think that will stop me? Think again: I am a survivor! I shall overcome!"

Well, I posted and I updated my Live Journal, which I know he knows about and just generally made myself conspicuous around the Internet. Kind of like the long distance relationship equivalent of hanging out in front of his office right around the time he goes out for lunch. In fact, I did briefly consider asking my good friend J. in Dublin to do just that for me, but he'd probably want gas money to get out to P's office and I'm a little broke right now.

I assume P. read all of that, but he never did get in touch. This depressed me enormously — dammit, how could he not know that me telling the world that my pap smear came back normal was a signal to him to call? Could I have been any clearer about my intentions? I love P. to the ends of the earth, but sometimes I just want to shake him and say "What do you mean you can't read my mind? I took off the tinfoil hat just for you, baby! My thoughts are all floating around there just waiting for you to receive them."

Obviously, my plan was not working — it was time to sit and do some more thinking. I decided that I should try and see things from P.'s point of view, radical, I know, but at times like this I like to think "outside the box." In order to facilitate thinking like P., I put on his pants to try and absorb some of his aura, and went to the park which is a really good place to think. Plus, I have to say, I look pretty darn adorable sitting on the bleachers with my knees tucked under my chin looking wistfully off into the distance. It satisfies my need to commune with nature and make my life as movie-like as possible.

As soon as I got into the proper wistful position it all became clear to me: The reason P. wasn't calling was that *I* told him that we shouldn't talk to each other. Talk about your startling realizations! And maybe he was reading all of my posts and thinking "Whew, she's okay, so I don't have to worry and I don't have to violate her wishes by calling." And that was where I should have stopped thinking, because —

There's a very good reason for having this picture here. I just can't think of it right off.

I then went on to think that perhaps he was reading my "I'm okay" messages and thinking "Dang, she's all fine and happy without me, perhaps I should do the noble thing and back out of her life." I could see him doing this and then calling up his best friend to go out and help him drown his sorrows in strippers and beer. I imagine it would take a lot of strippers and beer to get over me. My only consolation is that I can't imagine Irish strippers as being able to hold a candle to me, but maybe they import them from Trinidad or Thailand or something. Very distressing, either way.
So, I'm really not sure what to do at this point. I considered calling and panting in the phone and at about his third hello saying "Ack, you naughty dogs why are you playing with the phone? Hello? Is anyone there?" and playing it off like the dogs hit the redial. The only problem with that plan is that P. would think that I was a total no-friends having loser if the last time I dialed was three days ago. Maybe if I said "speed dial" instead? I don't think he'd buy that though because I'm staying at my Aunt's and houseguests usually don't get to change the speed dial thingy.

What I really need is to fall into a deep coma (pref. As a result of meningitis, that seems more romantic than a concussion) and one of my family members can call P. and tell him to hurry up and get here if he wants to say goodbye, and I bet he would. He's a bit melodramatic, P. is, and he would just eat this up. Probably buy a new outfit for the occasion and everything. Anyhoo, he'd rush into my hospital room, looking all wrinkled and disheveled like he came straight from the airport, and the nurse would be all like "Sir, sir, you'll have to come back during visiting hours. SIR!" and he'd ignore her and come sit in the chair by my bed and grab one of my hands and say something really poignant and romantic.

And I'd be nice and not wake up right away, so he can do the walking down the halls punching coffee machine thing and the backing my doctor up in the corner and saying "Listen damn you, I don't care what it takes, cure her!" He would totally get into doing that, I swear the boy is a drama queen. So, I'd wait a day or two so he could have the whole "girlfriend in a coma" experience, then I'd wait until my parents and husband got there (it would take them longer because they love me less) and tried to kick P. out of my room. Everyone would be shouting and I'd whisper "I love him." Everyone would be like she's awake, and crowd around the bed and say "what did you say?" and I'd say "I love him, let him stay." And then P. would come and take my hands and stroke my hair away from my face and it would be so damn beautiful that everyone would start to cry. Except my ex-husband, he'd just get pissed off and it would be his turn to punch a coffee machine just like P., only when he does it, Swiss Chocolate Cappuccino would spray out all over him.

The more I think of it, the more I like that plan. It's a win-win situation for everyone: I don't have to injure my stupid stubborn pride, P. gets to be all manly and dramatic, my parents would finally meet him and they'd have to like him because I woke up from my coma just for him, and the ex-husband would get lots of free cappuccino.

You know, I feel much better now that I have a plan — I'll let you know how it goes. Actually, I'm sure Omie will be rushing to my deathbed, too, so he'll probably keep you up-to-date. Come to think of it, I'm sure that he can get tons of great journal material from my (nearly) tragically dying young. Wow. This is a good plan; something in it for everyone.

Oh, and if anyone has meningitis right now and would be willing to send me some germies, please write to me care of Omar. Thanks!