The Thirtieth Post
When I think of you, I can’t help but think of them. A wish. A fantasy out of nowhere. Our unborn children, holding hands, in the night of the abandoned playgrounds, theme parks, places forgotten a long time ago and left to the wind, weeds, and rust. Then, irrationally, I’m angry with you for not feeling the same way. Then I’m angry at myself for being irrationally angry. It goes on like this.
*
“Good morning, SUNSHINE!” It is a text from Lana, who sends me one every morning. It’s become a joke between us, my hatred of the mornings to a person who gets out of bed at 6 every day. Usually by the time I’m up to get it, it’s been hours, since.
“Ugh.” My usual response. Usually around noon.
“Do you like traveling?”
Alarms. Alarms. Alarms.
“No. You?”
Long pause.
“Yes. Why do you hate traveling?”
“I’m claustrophobic.”
“Why are you claustrophobic?”
“Because my mother had a late term twin abortion and I spent nine months in the same womb my brothers were murdered in, with their pain screaming in my brain.”
“WTF?????”
“Oh. Sorry. Forgot I was supposed to be funny all the time. Um, I’m claustrophobic because I had a babysitter with huge tits who liked to suffocate me with them! Waka waka.”
“Thank god! You scared me!!”
“My material is dark.”
“Do you like horse riding?”
“Hate it.”
“Fine!”
“FINE.”
“Make out with me when you get better, ok?”
“Sure.”
*
I’m going to the gym early in the morning, everyday for a burst of cardio in addition to my evening training sessions, and a Pilates reformer class asap. It won’t be long before I’ll be able to blow myself, people.
Also, soon to come, conversations with my brand new, $200/hr Beverly Hills psychotherapist.
That first part, you could almost have stolen it from my head. Except the fantasy is travelling, going to all the places we saw in films we watched together.
The children come later, with green eyes like mine and his beautiful curly hair.
And he knows nothing of my dreams.
I hate that I love reading your panic when the warning bells start ringing in your head- I know the feeling. There are a few men in the past that I’ve had (supposedly) no-strings-attached flings with… that will start talking about their desire to settle down in the afterglow of our violent, violent fucking. You learn what to say to them quite quickly to fend off the china patterns conversation.
Yes, I know you’re eager to find the one. I’m far too emotionally damaging (note, not damaged- not always) for you, sweetheart.
Also, welcome to wordpress. It is the way of the future.
And it makes it so much easier for me to leave comments, so I’m in full support of the change.
i’ve been contemplating a move to wordpress. how is it treating you so far?
@miss f: do you think you’ll ever tell him?
@narratophile: not particularly eager, to be honest. i’m open to the possibility but i’m not in partner selection mode. and you’re fending me off before i’ve even propositioned you. a pre-emptive fending off! that can’t be a good sign.
@allegra: do it. the post+comment import worked beautifully. everything is easy to manage. it’s “smrter” than blogger. and much, much more featured. it also handles text a little better, to my eye.
Hah! Oh dear, dear. I was only recapping my usual song and dance with the men that cling. The “my ma can’t wait to meet you-” “oh my, look at the time!” samba. Trust me, you’ll have no fending-off from me, preemptive or otherwise.
(See what I did there? That was *almost* propositioning you. Almost.)
No. Its not a conversation I can see happening.
@narratophile: that was pretty funny.
@miss f: believe me, i understand.