Ultimately, I loved him more than he could ever love me.
I finally re-ordered my bookcases. I left them all wonky and falling over for a while, hoping that his books would be back there soon. But it’s time to move on.
I arranged them sort of by color, because if I arranged them by genre, the sheer volume of books about Nazi Germany and Hitler would have been too overwhelming — and way too much like my Grandma’s bookcases.
Last night, I met up with Jessie at NK for some beers. We talked, drank, bitched about A., you know, the usual. Unfortunately, A. showed up a few beers into the evening. We steadfastly held our positions, and so Jessie and I ended up at a table, while A. and his friend were at another one right behind us. I could feel A. staring at me as I talked, flirted with the waiter, took a shot of whiskey. I don’t remember when he left, but I do remember thinking it was really awkward.
Jessie and I tried to take some pictures of the whole situation so I could upload them, but we didn’t want to cause a stir with the flash because we thought it might not be appropriate to alert him to the fact that I’ve been blogging about him breaking up with me. This is the shot of him coming inside from having a cigarette:
Totally works, right? Ok, well the next picture is of me hiding from him:
As you can plainly see, I’m a master of disguise.
Tonight is Twin Peaks Tuesday, I don’t want to miss it, I promised I’d go, but I don’t know if I can handle another awkward run-in and subsequent hangover.
Actually, I take that back. I can handle anything. He’s the one that left, he’s the one that has to deal with what that means — and if that means that I go to the ONLY bar in the neighborhood with friends and he happens to show up while I’m in mid get-drunk-and-flirt-mode, well then, his problem.
After my post last night and the crying and hysterics that went along with my mood, I took some NyQuil to calm down and try to go to bed. Maybe because it was only 8 pm it didn’t really work, maybe I’ve just taken too much the past week so it’s not that effective, but I ended up awake, and “drunk dialing.”
Is there a different term for that when you’re hopped up on NyQuil?
Anyway, yes, I called A. and asked him to come over. We hung out for a while, snuggled on the couch together, had sex, giggled. He left, I stayed up late watching 30 Rock.
Maybe tonight I’ll try Tylenol PM instead.
