*yawn*
i’m so. tired.
really fucking tired. and at the same time really jittery and twitchy or jumpy and anxious and all that. i can’t fucking help it. part of me wants to just lose consciousness and the other part of me wants to bounce around like crazy and be all laughing and shit like that…
i suppose the events of last night finally got to me…catching up and the like.
so i asked mike to buy me a bottle of jack daniels. (so fucking close to 21 i can taste it, yo) for wednesday night. but he forgot, or whatevercakes. but THEN he got it yesterday, thursday…and i went and professed my thanks and whatnot and took a couple of mighty swigs from my bee-yoo-ti-ful full litre bottle of jack. ah jack, the only man that will ever love me as much as i loves him.
*sigh*
so after a couple of hard, warm, straight up from-the-bottle hits, i decide to be a little less uncouth and make a jack and coke. easy on the coke, as i’m not big on pop. (that’s right, pop…give in midget!) so it was like jack on the rocks with a splash of coke, not even a splash…a “spla”. and finished that off right quick. of course, 1/2 way through i get depressed because johnboy very condescendingly was all ‘it won’t fix anything’ blah blah disapproval blah. and i was thinking fuck you, mr. it’s-ok-if-i-drink-and-not-you. so i call up hassan. and hassan is all ‘come over.’ and for a while i was all saying how i had work the next day (today) and stuff like that and how i had my jack to tend to.
‘i’ve got scotch.’ hassan says.
i’m nothing if not a girl who is rapidly falling for scotch. heh.
so i change clothes, dust myself off, fix another jack and coke in a mug for the road…and i’m off. mike is being exceptionally pleasant and nice these days. which is odd, but we’ve gotten over our rift with eachother and are amiable. johnboy was utterly indifferent to me leaving or staying. i wanted to throw my drink on him and scream and shout…just to get a reaction, ya know. just a fucking reaction. bah. so i put on my shades and head out. men be damned! but a block away i start to falter and doubt. so i try to call sabrina. no answer. no answer @ the house of mr. bob either. so i try jetta. no answer. so i try my parents. not that i have any intention of telling a damn thing to my moms, but because i’m lonely and scared and heartbroken and really just want to talk to someone who loves me. because i’m feeling very unloved these days. no answer. but when i’m on the bus again i get ahold of jetta. and we talk. and talk and talk. they’re thrilled i’m heading out to nyc to visit them (jetta & coral) and i am too, matter of fact. i am too. but i lost jetta when the bus went into harvard station. damned cellphone signals. hassan tried calling when i was talking to jetta, but i never can work the call waiting quite right. anyway…i go to get up and get on the subway and when i stand up in the bus i’m like ‘whoooaaaa….’. pineapple was tipsy, yo. fuck tipsy, i was toasted, nicely toasted indeed. the fuzzies were all over and i felt…i don’t know exactly how i felt, but lets just say that jack kicked in.
and so i manage to not fall on my ass and make it all the way to kendal square. yippee. but i wasn’t supposed to go to kendall. i was supposed to get on another bus that drops you off right outside where hassan is staying. and if i hadn’t been such a fucking wasted little pineapple i would’ve answered my phone and figure that out. instead i leave a decidedly drunken message on hassan’s voicemail and when he finally calls me back he’s all ‘take a cab here.’ so i do. and i have since finished my jack and coke on wheels. *sigh*
hassan cut his hair. i notice that first. and little else. everything is fuzzy and hazy and i am sad but also slowly becoming quite numb. we go up to his room. ah, the college life. i had forgotten how craptacular dorm rooms can be. and of course since he just.got.there he hadn’t unpacked or anything and i felt like a total reeree for even being there all intrude-y like. bah. but we chilled, he puttered with his computer, we drank scotch, we talked. i tried super hard not to cry.
the first time hassan walked out of the room, i called john. i’m weak, i’m desperate, i’m hurting and i miss the fuck out of him…of course i called him. it lasted all of like 2 minutes because he was leaving to ‘get pizza’ — wtfe. i hated myself for being that weak. he said he’d call me back…but he never did.
and so went through a fair amount of scotch. somewhere in the night hassan ordered pizza…and made me eat some. and we played drunken pool. i sucked that one, hard. i mean, i suck at pool anyway, but drunk? forgetaboutit. but it was fun anyway.
you know, sometimes you find the bestest people in the most unlikely of places. looking at hassan and myself frosh year, at ua startup, you never would’ve thunk that we’d be friends. for a variety of reasons. but i have to say i find him to be absolutely spelunktacular and am grateful for at least one friendly face in this icky, harsh new england town. grateful as all hell.
and i got decidedly and pleasantly drunk. mind you, there were times where i got morose and weepy and just wanted to call up john and scream ‘look how this is making me feel! look what it’s making me do! do you even care!?’ god how i want him to care. and he doesn’t. he fucking doesn’t.
hassan says he does. that there has to be a reason i don’t know about. that there has to be more to this than he’s telling me and that he does care. he says he understands, and hell, i know he’s been through a ton of shit too…i just wallow in my pain. it’s mine…it’s unique…it’s tortuous. but we talked at length about all of this. and while on the one hand part of me accepts what’s going on…the other part does not. it questions and asks ‘why?’ and makes a fuss.
i called him. he called me. i’m so weak. he’s killing me. he apparently did notice that i was out all night. at first i wouldn’t tell him, and then he harped on me for drinking again and then he said that what he thought didn’t matter…and i — being the supreme idiot that i am — go ‘why? what?’ and he goes ‘because i’m just a friend.’ and i started crying…at. work. and hung up. then i called back eventually…all ‘how can you be just a friend? how can that be all i am to you?’ and he tells me he was happy with me he just wasn’t happy enough. and that he needed to be happier. and that when i did things he didn’t like, he’d just overlook them or never bring it up until it got to ‘the point of no return’ *sob* and that’s why he wanted out…but like, he didn’t even give me a chance…just one fucking chance. it’s over. it’s really really over. really. oh god.
and i go ‘don’t i at least get a chance?’ nothing. he mumbles something incoherent and when i ask what he’s telling me about his pedometer and how he’s trying to reset it and how he’s going to run here and there and here today. and also, spend time with graham. i’m coming to loathe graham, because i suspect him of putting horrible thoughts about me into his head. was being with me really that awful? really? ‘we’re just not compatible people’ he says. and my heart breaks a little more. the one person in the world who supposedly loved me more than anything doesn’t want to be with me. and it’s killing me.
there isn’t enough jack daniels in the world to make this pain go away.
