I Suppose I'm Back

What a delightful evening! (typed with all the sarcasm this font can muster) I played an enjoyable game of scrabble with some friends. I feigned tiredness to get rid of my guests and then wished them back again, cursing my momentary panic of a need for solitude. Then I did nothing until 3 in the morning, perusing pictures and blogs and emails.... Well, tonight was actually a disappointment. Dinner was delicious, which was rewarding in itself, but A) I ate too much... which I did end up taking care of but B) Others didn't eat enough (leaving me to wonder what they really thought of the meal...) C) I lost the scrabble game D) I did not even feel any vibes from the incisor man--I was so hoping for a summer fling, and the summer's nearly gone now. There was a possibility in Israel, but somehow, I respected him/our friendship too much to let petty immorality sneak in. Really, one of the most admirable men I've ever met. Oh, to continue, E) I was not a very good conversationalist, F) I had to show incisor man my messy garage G) I forgot to borrow something from my friend Becky H) I talked with/saw photos of a friend from high school who is a beautiful man now, and somehow that discouraged me. I suppose because I wish I had such a transformation... I) I heard about a friend getting some unwanted action, which, although it was from what sounds like a complete trombone, I envy. Perhaps what this all boils down to is dissatisfaction with my current dating situation, and denial in the face of the realization that my self-esteem correlates in large measure to the amount of attention I receive from that opposite sex--even the boys and the bozos. And what a disheartening dependence! It should end. And anyone reading this (though I don't think anyone will--in the foggy bleakness of my current outlook--, which is why this post is among the least circuitous and oblique on here...), know that I am just wallowing in 3:44am self-depreciating thoughts, and when I wake up in the morning, I'll be back to normal, though with a throat more sore than usual, if you know what I mean.

So I suppose I'm back, anyway.

I was sitting on the tiles that were warmed and like extra-large pieces of candy-coated white mint gum. My finger traced and scraped the grout lines in between, absent habit stroking chalky pebble residue along the systematic paths--the depressions marking strict grids, the shallow valleys between fresh, squared brilliance. The sun was more intense there, more intimate--licking with its boiled tongue and breathing heavily--fogging the air just where skin touched. The plastic binder lay in my lap, limp, molding around my thighs. I pretended to read. Depressing poetry, she said. Try not to cry, she laughed and jumped in the pool. A yell: It will ruin your day. I'm serious! And I gave that sun-bather's smile, the tired, contented one. It's irresistible and exhausting--a deep smile that grows slowly but dies slowly as well--it feels good on the lips, a comfortable weight. I glanced down and turned the pages, pretending to read. She splashed around, laughing, but between every splash glanced backward, heightened instinct, a mother animal. I turned pages, with well-timed nods and sniffles. She picked red and pink sprays and blew them across the water, a small wake behind their skimming. She wouldn't wait much longer. Measured sigh and I slapped the the book shut, a gust of hot plastic and chlorine toward my face. She rocketed out, big splash on the concrete, and I said Come here, She, Did you like it? I silent, hugged her; the wet limbs gripped me, shocked and comforted me--her arms slick bones, her hair heavy, chemical coarse, her heart drumming and warm. They're hug worthy, she gasped a big quick, laughed and jumped back in. I resumed my seat on the tiles, wet drops on my front side almost dry by then.

And now it's past 4. Wow, Ang, what are you doing today? You need to sleep now, chillun.