Monday, April 12, 2004


there's no good way to say this, but . . .

It does get scary closing at night. Hearing strange noises and the like, as a woman, alone, with money, makes me a little anxious. It was slow tonight, which was nice, so I closed early and finished early. This was an entirely pleasant Easter, Jesus is Risen, etc, Day. Brunch and adult egg hunt at Tin Shed, then lazing about in the sunshine at Laurelhurst with Amanda and Andrea and Cynthia, ritualistic burning of Andrea's ex's artifacts, talking to Chris, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes: those things were nice. Joe asked for my number today so that we could get a drink sometime. Medium. I think that it would be good for me to go out on a date. I can't tell because I'm still a bit hung up despite my best intentions.

Why does it have to feel like this? It's not the worst thing in the world, it's a low-grade ache, just like the ankle. I walk along and everything's fine, but then I slip on the mopped floor and--yup, there it is again. There it always is. Is it love? I firmly believe that it is not. How could it be, when it's one-sided? Besides, I know better than that. And I've had crushes before, and they go away, once the person is out of the picture. This is better than high school, though. That was rough, the series of crushes I had: Wayne Jin, Jeremy Robbins, Tom (I forget his last name), Teddy Bailey (who turned out to be, surprise surprise, gay). There were more, I forget.

Tomorrow I'll make a delicious dinner for some friends. That's something to look forward to. Right?

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