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The friend zone, a bottle of wine, and The Dresden Files

January 4, 2014

Disclaimer: I apologize for any repeated information. I do know what I’ve written already, but can’t remember it long enough to prevent me from every so often writing it again as if for the first time, as was the case with me posting multiple pictures of smashed pottery, apparently.

It is getting harder and harder to document my life right now, not because I can’t keep my story straight, but because a) it’s just so goddamn weird, and b) I’m missing entire chunks.

Seriously. I apparently went to see a movie with TLTL last week and I don’t remember a lick of it. I watched the trailer to refresh my memory. Nothing. I do remember buying green boots after the movie, and while out with TLTL tonight for dinner, I wondered aloud what I paid for them.

He looked at me incredulously. “You don’t know how much you paid for them?”

I shrugged. I hope it was under $300, but no, I really don’t know.”

He sighed, and then refused to let me go into the store to look at a fabulous pair of blue leather biker boots with brown, buckled straps on them. “You have serious issues, Twig. You have to get control of yourself.” Tell me something I don’t already know, my love.

And hey, at least I’m not doing fucking HEROIN. I didn’t say that, though, since his own best friend died of an overdose a couple months back and he’s still (understandably) messed up over it.

So yeah, TLTL dragged me out of the house yet AGAIN. I think maybe he’s afraid I’ll kill myself if I’m alone for too long. He’s not a stupid man, and since he’s seen me in the buff more than a few times, I’m sure he’s noticed the scars, particularly the most recent down the inside of my forearm that is still healing. So we went shopping, and I held his jacket while he tried on new jeans and sweaters, and I realized, “Oh shit. This is the friend zone. He hasn’t kissed me in days. He hasn’t held my hand.”

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Isn’t that what I wanted when I was so smitten with MTIA? And, of course, he could always just be trying to be respectful and not proposition me for a blowjob while I’m teetering on the edge of a breakdown. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between the two.

We had planned on going to dinner at one of the ubiquitous ramen shops that keeping popping up, but the queues at each deterred us, and we settled on Thai. It was the very same Thai place I went to with MTIA on his birthday, back when everything was going so well. Big mistake. I started crying into my Thom Kha.

“Shit, Twig, what’s wrong? Don’t you like your soup?” (The day I get a bad bowl of Thom Ka, for the record, I will flip tables in anger, not cry pathetically into the awfulness.)

“Nothing, nothing,” I lied, recomposing myself. “It’s just… I want the fucking painting back.” I’m hung up on the painting I gave MTIA, I suspect, because he was its main inspiration, the only person I told its meaning to, and he was able to see ever nuance and symbol I had placed within it, some even unintentionally. And yet he claims I used him (and then later claimed that he was more or less using me.). If he’s going to be that way, if I mean so little, then the painting can be of no significance to him… and yet… and yet… he had those stupid little napkin sketches I would draw for him hanging with the painting, too.

TLTL had a few suggestions, none of which was better than another, and I poked at the rice on my plate. Earlier in the day, I apologized for him having to watch me go through this bout of insanity without seeming to be able to help. I tried to give him an out, just as I did yesterday. He told me to shut the fuck up, to quit shoveling snow in anger (my activity for the day), and get my ass out to dinner with him. Leave it to me to cry at dinner.

But Christ. My dad told me that my mum is a wreck worrying about me, my brother, and my dad. I’m supposed to be the strong one. What have I lost? Nothing. Well, nothing in comparison to what they have recently. And yet there I was, crying into my dinner.

Later after an argument over whether the blue leather boots were tacky, we approached my parking space, and I nearly lost my mind. Had TLTL not been there, I probably would have put nails under all four tires of the SUV (something I watched my dad do very calmly once when I was young) so badly parked next to me that I couldn’t get in the driver’s side door. I started screaming at the (empty) SUV in the parking lot. “You fucking shithead gas guzzling inept at parking motherfucker!! May you own a hotel with a thousand rooms and be found dead in ever goddamn one of them!” I think I heard TLTL laugh.

I was gearing up to kick one of the SUV’s tires when TLTL reminded me that I was wearing my new green boots of indeterminate (but likely very expensive, given the store at which they were purchased) value.

“I’m a leave that mother fucker a note! That cocksucker needs to learn how to park! If you can’t drive a fucking Navigator, then don’t fucking own one!”

TLTL took my keys without a word, wedged his way between the cars, and sat himself in the driver’s seat. “Get in the passenger side, Twig,” he called. “I’m driving. And don’t be a passive aggressive asshole about a parking spot.”

I conceded, muttering that it wasn’t MY fault that I had to be passive. If the douche who owned the SUV had been there, I would have happily been ACTIVELY aggressive. TLTL was not amused. I scowled at him, even though he had a point.

He drove us back to his place with me blasting The Sisters of Mercy’s Floodland the whole way. Parked at his house, I promised not to turn any of MTIA’s CDs in my car into frisbees (one simply does not does this to the Beastie Boys’ Paul’s Boutique), and he handed me the keys back. I screamed at six different vehicles and two potholes in the road on the 15 minute drive home.

And yet, my doctor tells me I’m not crazy. When I shut my eyes, I hear a sheep bleating in my ears incessantly. But I’m not crazy.

I think about leaving MTIA’s possessions at his door with a dozen roses. He’d probably just give the roses to his girlfriend, though. I can’t believe he has a girlfriend.

And this is where the wine comes in. Having never consumed wine directly from the bottle, I decided to start tonight. I’ll probably make it about 4 ounces in before my anti-anxiety medication kicks in and knocks me the hell unconscious, but it’s worth a shot. Also, I’m determined to make it past the first page of Turn Coat by Jim Butcher tonight, since I fell asleep on the dedication page consisting of exactly two words last night.

MTIA, I love you. I cry every day over you. You were only supposed to be a diversion from TLTL, but instead he became the diversion from you. All I can think to do is make you ANOTHER painting, which is the complete antithesis of my plan to get the first one back. MTIA, I love you, and I am completely and utterly lost without you. You tell me I meant nothing, but I know you’re lying. I tried to keep myself from loving you by hooking up with TLTL again, and instead, I just broke both of our hearts.

I am a seriously, seriously shitty person.

I make my mum cry.
I yell at parked cars.
I threaten to shank anyone who approaches my yard.
I smash artwork given to me.
I fuck my exes to keep from falling in love with anyone again.

My god. How do I even LIVE with myself?

This week, I am not leaving the house except for mandatory errands. I am not returning phone calls. I am not returning texts. It is time to disappear.

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