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(continued [yes, again])
psycho guest entry (Page three)...
I spent the day pouring out my heart to A. and obsessing over
what I should do. Really,
there was nothing I could do except wait out the week, but that
simply wasn't acceptable. I'm
an action-oriented kind of girl, I am.
To relieve my stress, I went out for a nice long walk in
the Memphis sun and got a sunburn all down the front of my thighs
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.
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.
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
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.
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
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
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."
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.
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
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."
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.
There's a very good reason for having
this picture here. I just can't think of it right off.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
and if anyone has meningitis right now and would be willing to
send me some germies, please write to me care of Omar. Thanks!
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