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 fianc� 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