Classic Snivel
July 20, 1997.
Otherwise, I've had a delicious weekend in with my friend Broken. I'm employed yet poor, so we pooled our funds and bought groceries yesterday. It reminded me of when I was a much younger version of myself, and I'd go out grocery shopping with my mother. We didn't have a whole lot of money during my adolescence, at home in Smiths Falls, so the times when there was a little extra available to splurge on junky things was kind of this treat. Anyway, Broken and myself brought a calculator, and picked up the things we needed in the house, that would do until I got paid my disgustingly large amount of money this week, and could afford to indulge myself in full cupboards. I'm probably going to be moving out downtown sometime within the next month or so, and this is an interesting experience to have -- taking care of myself, I mean.
So we bought the essentials, keeping tabs as we went, and just to reward ourselves for being so resourceful, we splurged and bought this big cake that we basically devoured in one shot when we got home. Little things can sometimes make all the difference. It was a cool, beautiful and cloudy day, windy enough to remind me of late October. She wore my trenchcoat, and I paraded around in some dandy duds and my "half-shaved-head-concealing-cap." We had more change than we expected from a total of like $40, so we just took a cab home. It was a decadent little indulgence that I haven't really had the chance to partake in much since school ended. So, I'm depressed, but happy. Lonely but cuddled. There's got to be a happier middle point than this, but certainly life's been worse. And I wouldn't trade this sweet, comfortable weekend with my precious friend Broken for anything...
But dang, I miss me that Charlotte.
Told you so. Only bad people get angry at feelings.
This comes from my friend Mary (as is always the protocol when I introduce one of my friends, I have merely assigned him a poorly-fitting pseudonym). It was the drastic wisdom and thoughtfulness of Mary's insights that really convinced me that telling Charlotte about my feelings would be the right thing to do. I spent over an hour talking to him about this one night, two weeks ago, torn and uncertain as I was. He was of the opinion that I needed to be honest. Charlotte and I have shared an impossible number of personal and surprising truths, above and beyond, I think, the scopes of most friendships, relationships, or marriages. He made me see how central this effortless honesty and trust are to our closeness; and that, based on this, that for me to keep such a large secret from her -- even if my motives were ostensibly to protect her feelings -- betrayed a lot of this mutual confidance. And if we could happily survive everything else that this summer has subjected us to, then by all means she and I could easily resolve my feelings, without consequence.
I'd already decided I needed to tell her about my affection when I spoke to Mary (he always has clever and compelling things to say about my little worries... truly a sweet, caring, and brilliant person, and I do now honestly confess to extreme guilt over often speaking to him only when I have fears... like approaching the wise master of philosophy at great personal peril when the need is most dire. I think I'm just afraid of exposing too much of my unimpressiveness), but he actually helped me understand that it would just be the right choice.
For whatever fears, shame, self-loathing and misery my love was bringing me (does love usually bring a whole lot more than this to people?), I needed to talk to my sweet friend, and tell her the truth.
That morning, of the day I called her from work to ask her if she wanted
to have coffee with me, Charlotte was still upset with me. She was still
feeling caged in after a long and exhausting weekend with her wonderful but
tiring friend, irritated with her sister, and angry at me for being the
one to provoke her sister's mothery side by calling both of them in a
worried state.
By the end of that night, of course, I was supremely delighted with
my understanding of where our friendship stood. Charlotte knew my
feelings, and also accepted them. She didn't return them, but I'd never
expected her to, and that wasn't why I told her. She was, however, still
my dear friend; still the person I confided in, and who confided in me.
We'd both survived yet another mini-crisis, and more melodrama. I fell
asleep with the lingering comfort of her words, and her warm goodbye hug,
and for the first time this week, snoozed with the snoring peace of one
who is out of the shadow of a Degrassi crisis, and now has only to contend
with the cheesy follow up and the roll to credits.
But, much like any Degrassi Junior High character, I'm now trying to live up to those years of minor melodramatic note, looking ahead to a future of uncertainty and more profoundly real-life issues than being a painfully unaccepted nerd, or losing my virginity. While it is true that my shameful half-bald head is, as a testament to my own naturally soft, thick and unstoppably healthy hair, recovering at superrelativistic speeds after years of bleach/ dye/ bleach/ dye/ bleach/ dye abuse, I'd rather shave it all off than deal with Charlotte right now.
Unusually cool words, I admit. But I'm both hurt and upset right now, by what has become two days of extreme curtness that I'm not at all convinced I deserve.
I don't know. Maybe I should have realized that even on
Wednesday, when she and I happily talked about my feelings, and our
friendship, that she still hadn't had any time to be alone yet. My friend
is a wonderful and energetically extroverted person, but the cost of such
drive is a fiercely personal element that regularly asserts itself. It
was manifested heavily last summer, when her well-intentioned roommate
would come into her room and poke around -- configuring her computer for
her, or whatever. She was almost murderous. Or this year, when she found
the naked strangers sleeping in her bed. I think everybody would be upset
by that... but Charlotte is especially sensitive to intrusions, which is a
quality we actually share.
So, it should have been more obvious and
understandable to me that in spite of how supportive, and considerate, she was
being, that she was tired and taxed, and needed some time to be wholly by
herself.
I didn't, though. At least, I called her the next day anyway.
I was at work, it was late in the afternoon, and I wanted to know how she
was doing... with respect to me, but also specifically just how she
felt, with so many other things on her mind. And I could tell
right away that she didn't want to talk. The impression I got was that
she didn't want to talk to anybody, but I nevertheless left her
feeling bitten. I tried to recall how honest and open we'd been just the
night before, and forced myself to understand that she wasn't being curt
with me personally. That I was just a person, and people were an
intrusion for her at the moment.
It didn't really work, though. I
called her yesterday -- convinced that I should just
leave my friend alone while she sorted through things, and enjoyed her
solitude, but the funny thing about my paranoia is its inconsistency. I
knew she wasn't up for conversation, so it made talking to her all the
more important. I knew I would just be an unwelcome voice, so I was
desperate to prove myself wrong.
And I left feeling even more hurt. Fortunately it was late in the day, because I just fussed and toyed with my pictures of bugs, taking deliberate effort just to get anything touched up properly. A pixel here, a pixel there, and then back to more moody gazing out the window. At least we have helicopters at the Experimental Farm. Its always a blast to watch them land.
I spent some time talking to my obsessive internet fan Clorinda
yesterday, though. I told her something of my fears, but this was before
I tried calling Charlotte again, so unfortunately I had new things to
obsess over. Clorinda lives in Washington state -- a whole lot of miles
and three time zones away, and we've spoken all of once before yesterday.
But she's been encouraged to make long-distance calls at work on Fridays,
so it shall likely be a day of regular conversation. It was really
amazing how easily we got along; talking and laughing as if we spoke
everyday, or had just seen one another the night before or something. I
mean, I've never even met her. But she felt close, and I needed
that feeling yesterday. Well, I always need to feel close to someone,
actually. So let's just say I especially needed her to call.
I think I actually helped her feel a little less lonely, too, however,
which also made our conversation all the more special. And hey, someday
we'll meet. I've promised her an ever upwards scaling amount of oral
sex for the CDs she keeps sending me.
To be fair, I understand the way Charlotte feels. I won't discuss her personal thoughts with you, but her boyfriend is coming back tomorrow, after over a month of absence when he was needed at her side the most. She has no idea how she's going to react; she misses him, and resents him, all at once. He makes her happy, and hurts her feelings, and the prospect of his return is a horrific, if welcome, uncertainty to her. And what is she supposed to feel right now? She doesn't even know. All she has is this intense need to be alone, with the only person who in the end can make her happy -- herself. And then there's me, who forcefully intrudes with wretched need and the burden of affection. Trying to help but getting underfoot.
At the same time, my feelings are more than bruised right now. All I feel is vulnerable, and right when I needed the security of her friendship, she became cold and distant. The thing that sticks with me most is a memory of how I nattered on about how sorry I was that she was having a bad and tiresome day, and she just shot back this cold, terse "whatever." to finish my thought. And I just sat there, blown away, feeling completely stupid and unwelcome, ready to cry, but somehow indignant, trying not to take it personally that the only thing she really wanted was for me to get off the phone.
In a couple of days, she'll reach out to me, and I'll be
there for her. The way I always am. And I'm trying to get my hurt
feelings over with now, because she's my friend, and I care about her,
and I still want her to be happy. And when she feels better, or needs
me, or wants me, I don't want to feel depressed, or hurt, or upset.
I
have a roll of film that's
ready today. I made up doubles because there are a lot of great photos
taken by and of the two of us on happy stupid days out and about. But
they'll stay downtown, where they are, for the moment, because nothing
sours those Kodak moments like waiting by the phone.
And now back to the first person.
I'm not sure what I expected to happen at this point. I know I
averted my eyes; mostly just out of shame and an unwillingness to start
gushing tears like an infant, but maybe also I just didn't want the tart
sting of acid in my eyes should Charlotte have opted to throw her drink in
my face. But she didn't, of course, nor would she have. I actually just
sat there for a second, waiting for a reaction. Which meant that she was
sitting there quietly, and I was sitting there quietly, even though
the bombshell most certainly had screamed overhead and levelled a
small town with all kinds of bloody shrapnel wounding journalists left and
right.
Briefly I suspected that maybe she hadn't heard me right, or
I'd gone and fumbled my enunciation once again. Charlotte looked
expectant, but not in a way that suggested she was waiting for
clarification. I think she was just being encouraging. She kind of had a
little helpful smile, as if she knew I were having trouble getting this
out properly. That was probably when I lost my composure and looked at
the floor, the corners of my mouth already on that nasty descent to
blubbering land. For a moment I just couldn't face her. I was so
ashamed of myself for having these feelings, and terrified of what the
consequences might be.
Rationally, I could expect Charlotte not to have a Hollywood outburst of any sort. The number of secret truths, beautiful and ugly, that we've been swapping over the span of our friendship basically guaranteed that she would listen, and understand me. I think ultimately that's why I said anything at all. She and I have this amazing trust in one another, and a candid honesty that is exceedingly rare among people, even close friends. We've learned an awful lot about each other in our endless conversation of a friendship -- more than I think most friends, or lovers, or confessors, care to know or understand.
At the same time, I was telling her something I personally saw
as very ugly and selfish. And how do you react when your best friend
tells you that he's in love with you? What are you supposed to say, or
think? Was I expecting revulsion, or contempt, or pity? I don't know. I
think I was afraid of these things. I was terrified that suddenly
the person she sees when she looks at me was different, smaller, and more
loathsome.
All this time, I'd worried that this might be the end of our
friendship... that she wouldn't want to be friends with me anymore...
because she was upset or creeped out, or hurt or enraged.
There were a lot of silences. Not painful silences though. She still sat there, and still looked at me, and there was no less of that intangible quality called "warmth" in her eyes than I might ever expect to find. In fact, our meeting earlier that day, when she was still feeling somewhat irked towards me, was far more unpleasant and miserable.
She asked me a question. And that question was, "What do you want to happen now?"
I'd been expecting this question, in some form or other, and so
when it came, I was ready to quickly answer it.
"Nothing," I said.
"I don't want anything to happen. I just want us to be friends."
She smiled. "We are friends."
And to that, I could only say how very much I wanted it to stay that way.
It was really that answer that defined what happened next. For just over a week, Charlotte had begun to wonder what my feelings really were. And I think the thing that perplexed her the most was, how could I feel this way, when I knew about all of her hellish experiences with relationships over the past six months? If I did care about her, and also for her, then why would I have these selfish feelings? How could I ignore everything she's said and confided in me just to risk it all in the name of having a Relationship?
She was reassured, and relieved. And it put my feelings into context. Once upon a time, a dear friend of hers developed strong, not-strictly-chummy love for her, and so his decision was to lay down that big ultimatum: "we have to go out, because I can't just be friends with you," and that person, and that incident, has caused her more pain than I've ever seen in my friend, until very recently. But here I was, just saying, "I love you." Not "I think we should go out," or "This is very sexually frustrating," or "it's all or nothing." None of that. Just a confession, with no agenda. A purge of a secret that had been eating away at me, and something I thought she deserved to know. Because it was the truth.
As she put it, without expectations there really were no consequences. She had no difficulty at all living with my feelings, because I wasn't asking for anything. Perhaps the only thing I did want was to be made to feel a little special. I guess, just to be reassured that I mattered, even if it wasn't in "that" way.
We talked about it for hours. I spent a lot of time staring at
the floor, but I did relax, and faced her more and more. She made me feel
quite comfortable; she's an excellent listener, and yet also knows what to
say to encourage me to speak.
Granted, a part of the floor's salvation
for me was caused by the awkward fact that she was wearing kind of a short
skirt and sitting not quite modestly, and I wasn't sure if I should say
anything -- so, with the help of my self-loathing and angst, I could
hide my face in my hands, or peer moodily away, and in doing so avoid
every hint of her underwear. One time we were lying in the grass last
summer, and she stood up and said to me, "Your zipper's down," but it's
not really the same thing. In a lot of ways I'm really quite bashful.
Genuinely, though, she was very sweet and understanding. She
told me that it wasn't her place, or her right, to judge my feelings as
"right," or "wrong." She just said she was flattered I felt that way for
her, but also, and quite evidently, she was very happy that I didn't have
any expectations of this. And while I wasn't certain of her reaction at
all, I was positive of this reality.
I never had any illusions.
I mean, I have a terrible grasp of logic, and my capacity for rational
thinking is great but nevertheless powerless in the face of my tidal
emotions, but never did I think there was going to be magic or
flower-filled glades, or rose petals or anything. And so that's why it
took me so long to say anything. Not because I was shy, but because I was
ashamed of myself. I felt like I was betraying her -- her
friendship, her trust, and her confidence.
I'm still trying to understand my feelings. All I can say is that I've been with Charlotte a lot in this past month, and I've often been with her in a capacity that really belonged to someone else -- her boyfriend. I've spent endless nights worried about her, and so many hours being there for her. It's my complete honour and happiness to be needed, and wanted. I guess that's the most mysterious part of my affection. Love -- especially the love I feel -- is often quite selfish. I mean, I give endlessly in love, but I also as voraciously need. This time, though, my greatest concern is just her happiness. Everytime she gets sad, or upset, it utterly breaks my heart. I've also just been at her side -- as I always have been, and always will be. Somehow, in the midst of all this sharing and devotion, I began to care for her. And very deeply.
I will honestly admit that, of course, I would be happy if we could be more than friends. If we could share everything. But I didn't talk about my love with that in mind, because I know perfectly well how she feels, and how she is capable of feeling. I know how important and special her boyfriend is -- and furthermore, how imminent everything is. One of the things that held this purgation back was the realization that this would only add to her problems. You know -- yippee! Another thing to deal with. Another person wanting something. Another person she couldn't trust.
As I told her... our friendship is one of the most important things in my life. All of my friendships count among the only real treasures I have (yum! Step right up for Rob's musings -- hot and instant treacle for the masses!). I'd never risk that. I'd never risk the amazing amount of trust she's put into me, and the safety I represent. I'm Rob, and that means a lot more than I often consider. I'm one person who can always be trusted, and can always be counted on. I can be told anything, and I never judge. I always think she's right, and I'm always on her side. And I think so long as she sees me this way -- as one of her best friends (sometimes I like to pretend that I'm her best friend) -- I'm happy. Charlotte has never failed to help me when I needed somebody. In spite of myself, all I want to do is help her every bit as much.
We went out for dinner after this immense conversation, which was strange simply for the ease and comfort of it. Even now I feel like this tremendous burden has vanished, and the weight and misery of watching my words, and keeping my feelings inside, hidden away from her, aren't here any more. I can be myself again, and I like that very much. But she asked me -- if I knew there was no way she could return my love, or act on it even if she did, and I really thought it was so wrong, and so terrible, well.. how could I feel it. I wasn't sure how to answer that at the time. I pointed out that it was far more complicated than seeing a slab of cheesecake, and having that internal argument where you waffle back and forth "Oh, it's so bad for me! I really shouldn't... but oh, it looks so yummy.." until finally you dive in face first, and come out happy and dazed with sugar. My rational knowledge just couldn't affect my feelings so easily.
I think I understand my heart just a tiny bit better now, though. I mean, yes I knew, and know, that likely Charlotte can never feel what presently I ache for, and how futile and problematic my feelings really are. But in the end, she inspired my love, and not any particular context or expectation. Charlotte is a wonderful person, and that I think is explanation enough.
My friend Charlotte is my constant delight. When I'm down, she reaches out to me, and goes to extra effort with little things to repair even my impossible spells of misery. She makes me laugh, and makes me feel at ease. I know I never have to impress her, even though I constantly try. I've seen her at her worst, and she's seen me at my worst. But even so, we're both still here, caring about each other, at least on some level.
And she's very beautiful. I think in some sense she knows this, but she's not quite convinced, I suspect. She's soft, and precious, but powerful and filled with strength -- emotional, intellectual, and physical -- far beyond me. But there are times when she seems almost to be begging to be held by somebody, and those are the times I want most to just reach out to her. She's drastically cuddly. I'll never wake up beside her, but somebody will, and good for them. It would be heavenly.
I remember last summer, giving her a prolonged and delicious backrub. I mean, everyone loves backrubs. It was entirely innocent -- there were like six of us giving each other backrubs in this strange massage daisy chain -- but I remember feeling so good, knowing that I was pleasing her in a way that I hadn't ever done before. Her back, and shoulders, and her slender neck, were all cupped and stroked by my fingers, and she just utterly relaxed into my touch. I played with her hair, and stroked her temples, and watched her smile and enjoy herself.
I could spend forever pleasing her like that. And that's not about to happen, and that's fine with me. She's my friend, and I hope always will be, in spite of everything I end up putting her through.
So now you know the rest of the story -- even Charlotte, who herself will read this as well.
Goodnight.
To my extreme inner torture, Charlotte and I were momentarily estranged
this week. I think, for the first time in about four years of
utter-best-friendship and confusing codependency, I managed to piss her
off for a couple of days. Not that I didn't deserve it, of course, but
there were extenuating circumstances all around.
It began kind of oddly.
She had a friend from school up this weekend, which simply
meant that I had more time to myself than usual. It was the beginning of
my first opportunity to actually sleep since work started, though, so you
obviously weren't ever going to hear me whine about it. Charlotte and I,
however, enjoy this vaguely incestuous but utterly platonic friendship
where only rarely do we make exceptions for others. Her daily social life
more or less comprises of myself, her boyfriend, and her sister, and she
likes it that way. There are of course various people living various
distances away, but in Ottawa just myself and her older sister. Now me, I
have a gaggle of freaky freaks to love, but most often my life is
split between the magically smoochlicious company of Broken, and
Charlotte. There is occasionally Burrhus, but as he is as
employed as I am (more accurately, I am for the moment as employed as
he is), so rarely do we have the time for coffee like we used to.
Sigh, sigh, sigh.
And Lilith, well, presently she's in Newfoundland. I'm hoping it will work out differently when she comes back. The going score is that we haven't seen each other since April, and haven't spent any time together since March.
So, anyhow, Charlotte had a blast this weekend. She got
moderately stoned with her friend, which is something that shocks me not
so much because in some naive way I might have actually thought her
inexperienced (and actually, she has way more hash stories than I do, hack
cough.. oh my precious lungs), but because in a lot of ways she's actually
as snobbish in her old age as I am, and somehow I thought the pot days
were behind her.
They got dressed up right purty for the evening on Saturday, whereupon
they went downtown. Charlotte was wearing the classic long black dress I
provided the moral support for the purchase of, with freshly dyed
highlights in her hair, and her friend was positively bedecked in
fishnet stockings, some quantity of PVC, and a solid mop of fresh
rubine hair. Yes -- rubine. Gasp!
You might ask what the big deal about rubine is.
Charlotte did.
It's the colour of choice for my mean ex-girlfriend,
Phil,
which has very little bearing on the really real world, but lots on my
sense of pathetic nostalgia. Lost forever in the shadowy murk of my room
is the tangled remains of our virginity.
"Whee," says Rob. "Memories."
And they got hit on by about twenty different people (including me, but that is a story for later in this Snivel) between them. One of them was a girl, but that is actually (to me) a far neater thing to happen than simply to be approached by beefy manly men with itchy penises. A lot of them insisted on making nuisances of themselves. One was this stoner they met at a club, in their cruising for a fresh supply of the magical THC. Charlotte gave him her address and phone number, and when she returned home after a couple of hours at five in the morning, found him asleep on her front steps. So she let him crash on the couch, but when she was lying in bed, she thought to her horror that basically here was this complete stranger sleeping downstairs, with all of her landlady's possessions ripe for the plucking. As a solution, she climbed downstairs and snoozed on the other side of the couch. Of course, he took this as an overture for some hard lovin', and got frisky.
The conversation went like this, cherubs.
"Look at me."
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to kiss you."
This is the part where Charlotte fought off a mixture of revulsion,
discomfort, and a whole lotta sexual advances.
"No.. look, you don't even know me."
"But I want to."
I kid you not. And he was actually the least creepy of them.
My only complaint ever about my friend is that she is entirely too trusting of people. While she remains an excellent judge of character (in the sense that she likes ME ME ME), she accepts rides from strangers now and again, and generally is just really very sincere and friendly, and hasn't quite the solitary shyness masking as misanthropy so bred into my brain. It causes me no end of worry.
Which actually ties us into the second part of the story. So far as I knew, Charlotte's friend was leaving Sunday evening, so at work on Monday, I was slightly bored with time to kill, and I gave her a call. But I was told she hadn't come to work that day. "Oh well," I thought. "She's tired or sick, had a long weekend, and she's just taking the day off. Good for her!" and other such Ned Flanders rationalizations.
Later that afternoon, though, I tried giving her a call at home, because it started to storm and we both love the rain so. And she wasn't in, so just assuming she was soundly unconscious or out romping, I left a message hoping she was enjoying the sudden storm as much as I was. Then I got on with my day.
After work, I had to drop off some film to be developed (and you
never know, there may be more photos yet to appear on my web page), and I
thought to myself, Gee, coffee with Charlotte would be just spanky!
so I tried calling again. But, no her, so ta ta, I was off for home.
When I got home, I messily devoured dinner (because I'm getting in
touch with my inner conehead), and tried calling again while I sat around
and scratched my belly. It was then I got a little worried, because no
one seemed to know where she was, and usually on the average day we talk a
ridiculous number of times -- and while I have no need at all to know her
whereabouts at all hours, I do confess I was getting concerned. So... I
called a little later on that night, and it was then I gave her sister a
call -- you know, just hoping that at least she might have heard
from Charlotte.
But, no, even her sister hadn't heard from Charlotte all weekend. I mentioned that I'd spoken to her just the day before, but at the same time, I was still kind of worried, and growing more worried all the time.
I went to bed at midnight, and tried calling her house just one more time. She picked up.
Plop Plop Fizz Fizz -- blah blah blah. Oh, the relief!
I felt stupid but happy just knowing she was alive by that point.
I mean, Charlotte works out an awful lot, and has muscles that could tear
my goony self into smaller and more pathetic pieces, but I still had
visions of gutters and thugs. Or crawling on the floor with a ruptured
appendix, trying vainly to reach the phone, wondering Where Oh Where Rob
could be in her time of need?
What I did next was blab on about how relieved I was, and how
so very worried I'd been about her, and how happy I was just to know she
was OK, even though rationally I knew she was OK all along. I'm so
goofy with my paranoia.
After I got off the phone, she had a message from her sister, who called and basically said that, even though Charlotte had a friend over for the weekend, it wasn't like she couldn't call once in awhile and let people know she was OK. She mentioned that I'd called wondering where she was, and that she had been worried too.
And what you have to understand is how in some ways she's just a very solitary person. She'd had a lovely weekend with her friend, but she'd missed her train to Toronto on Monday evening (when she was actually supposed to leave), and so was spending an extra day in Charlotte's company. And Charlotte just thinks the world of her, but after four days of entertaining someone constantly, she really just needed time to herself. To sleep. To relax. To run around nude. I get the same way, which is why this weekend past was so delicious. Just me and my naked bum.
So she was just the tiniest bit grumpy when I called, and on the verge of a headache, and feeling rather caged. When her sister called, then, it was just too much, and she was legitimately pissed off at the both of us. But largely me, worrisome wretch that I am.
Meanwhile, I knew I'd done bad, so I cowered. As I've mentioned, I've been very delicate about where I tread, and I screwed up badly. So she didn't talk to me on Tuesday, and it was only by virtue of my snively loneliness that I called her at work today. And she thought that, yeah, coffee would be fun, but I could hear the dragging heels in her voice, and knew that all was still quite terse between us, two most excellent good friends.
When we met, it was kind of like being part of an old married couple. We only spoke when it was necessary, to break the silence. I babbled nervously while she searched for sports bras in a store, paced fretfully as she tried them on, and pussyfooted when we left. And we just shot back and forth some smalltalk while we walked up Sparks street. I guess the thing about our little dynamic is how well we relate, and how psychologically liberating the presence of the other always is. We relax in each other's company, and soon enough, we were actually bantering, when she started to describe her weekend to me in the technicolour details you've been reading. By the time we got to the Rideau Centre, which was approximately where she mentioned being in Hull, still questing for pot, all was forgiven between us. We were as giddy and smiley as we always are, and we sat down at a cafe for lemonade.
We went to Sips, which is this gallery/cafe place with the world's most laid back counter guy, and cobblestones for flooring. We sat in this overstuffed velvety chairs in the dimly lit cave-like environment of the back, and talked for like two hours. We explained our sides in this whole "Rob is worried" phone call, and felt mutually like chumps for our feelings at the time. As I said, we've never really had difficulties before, and likely won't really ever again (on punishment of cutting out my own tongue). But I explained to her how extra sensitive I've been about our friendship lately, and how worried I've been that she'd end up hating me.
Charlotte naturally asked whatever could I mean by thinking there was anything I could do or say that would make her actually hate her best friend.
That was when I took a big long pull of this really great lemonade, gritted my teeth, stared at the floor...
...and told my dear droog Charlotte that I was in love with her.
Ha. Didn't expect that did you?
Well, you'll just have to wait till Thursday evening to find out what happened next.
The good news is, that I'll probably be wearing my marvelous top hat a lot more. And you can figure out the bad news for yourself. Anyway, I'm off to work where, as happened yesterday, I was introduced to a man who basically pioneers a lot of what they do with scanning electron microscopes (he'll be showing me a couple of things to do with Adobe photoshop that helps to clean the images up, which is one of my duties this week), and after he heard my name, he took a look at me in the darkened room and said, "You're the guy with the purple hair!" and turned on a light so that he could better inspect it. So at least I probably won't be getting into trouble for being half purple-haired. I'll just get talked about more.
Bleah. Shoot me.
I chopped off a huge honking portion of my hair this weekend, after a sense of frustration with its length and semi-purple semi-naturalness. I'm encouraging it to grow back in some healthy manner. Mostly just so I can bleach it out again, continuing with my colourful purple statement in some subtler streaks, but I really am fed up with the roots. The new look can best be described as 'boyish.' Bouncy and stuff. I personally like to think that by uncovering my forehead, long dominated by flouncy bangs (now equally flouncy but shorter), I've given myself this low, heavy brow, like Jacques the Parisian thug.
Unfortunately this means I'll be stealing some of the thunder away from Charlotte, who vowed to violently rearrange her own head this weekend, and dye it no less. Yes, swinging civil servants are we. But I suppose the similar change in appearance will just make us look a lot more like siblings. To go with our platonic yet incestuous friendship.
But anyway, enough about that. I'm feeling inexplicably weird about things lately, so I guess it's back to my mincing.
Brought to you by Jolt Cola, with
the buzzing and mild irritation of
caffeine induced paranoia.
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