There are some news that you just don’t give over electronic means of conversation. Sure, you can notify a friend over e-mail that one of his relatives died, or phone in to a girlfriend and break up, but doing it leaves a bad aftertaste that simply spending a couple of bucks in a cab would have saved you.
With that in mind, I tried to meet personally with as many friends as possible to notify them that, as I obliquely hinted at on a recent post (the online equivalent of mumbling bad news while at the same time chewing a big piece of stake and taking gulp of a beer), Hellen left me. Three months ago to the day, to be exact.
Trying to put a picture together from what she told me (it’s OK to sacrifice yourself for love, but not to commit suicide and I have to find out if I can live without you or if I need you, no matter how bad you treat me being choice lines that will stick with me for a while), it seems that I’m some sort of feelingless golem and she made the right decision. It’s all my fault, of course: when she goes to “see the bull runs” three days a week, including my birthday, and I just let it pass (another line: I’d rather you threw a jealous fit than not care about my going) then I had it coming.
Hey, at least I’ve thrown some killer parties after she left, including the official Manumission Party in which I was so intoxicated with joy playing the host - and not a little bit drunk - that I barely remember seeing an old friend with whom I meet regularly and who stopped by late, when the party had already been raging for hours. When I spoke with her again a couple of days later, I apologized for having been jumping around all over the place and not paying enough attention to her. You see, I told her, by that point that wasn’t even me at the party.
Sweetheart, that was you, she replied, and I hadn’t seen you in almost eight years. It’s good to have you back.
Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.