Today was one of those wonderful subourben Martha Stewert days, where wonderful smart and funny couples come over with their wonderful smart children. A person from Tanzania keeps calling my cell phone. I really want to talk to him but his English is sooo bad that I feel guilty for taking up his money on an international call that I keep not answering, telling myself to email his number to a Swahili speaking friend to call him and find out the information I need.
What in gods name am I doing in a well appointed condo in Swampscott, with someone in Tanzania calling me???
Just look back at the beginning of this “blog” (I hate that word, btw) and you’ll see what I mean. Or maybe you won’t.
Is this really my life? How did this happen? Why did it happen to me? It’s all so surreal. It’s also all due to this wonderful, amazing girl. I have to realize I’m not going to just wake up and it’ll be gone.
Saturday was the first snow of the year. I’m used to the first snow also being the last snow. I was in a church (not what you think) in Lexington, listening to Jazz and watching snow accumulate outside of these 360degree windows. I couldn’t help feeling ‘out of body’. Like, this wasn’t actually me, but just some sort dream. I was really sitting in a room hoping some girl would call me when I knew that when she did, she’d just make me feel like shit. So I would sip on my wine out of my dirty coffee cup, the ugly one that I broke but it wasn’t broke anymore. I would be sitting in front of my computer screen trying to come up with creative ways to describe my pointless life, daydreaming about sitting in a church in Lexington, watching the first snow of the year, listening to jazz and dodging phone calls from Tanzania.
This girl that would eventually call wouldn’t really love me. It would be impossible for her to love anyone because she didn’t love herself, so she hated anyone who had talked themselves into loving her. I would take photographs of her, almost exclusively, and label it as “the only way I could love her”. Mainly because it was dramatic, and fed into my self concept of being a victim. And that was what I loved about her.
But I’m still here in this well appointed condo with my fiancé sleeping quietly on the couch, and the nameless indy film winding to a close, and I wonder briefly where that person dreaming this went.
But only briefly.
-G