Wednesday, July 14, 2004

Damage Assessment

* Are you mad at me?

* What do you think?

* I think that sounded like you’re mad at me.

* I just wish you hadn’t said those things to them.  To them, especially.

* What? (.....) You wish I hadn’t said what?

* You really don’t know.

* Are you playing some kind of game here?  No, I really don’t know.  What did I say that you’re so mad about?

* It was hours ago, Peter.  Six goddamn hours ago.  And you didn’t even notice.  Not till now.

* What do you mean?  Of course I noticed.  I love you, honey.

* No.  Fuck that.  Don’t get started with that.  I’ve been sitting next to you on the verge of tears ever since 5:30 - that’s six fucking hours - and you didn’t even notice.  You have no idea whatsoever what’s going on.  You didn’t even know anything was going on. 

* Well, if you’d share these things with me instead of bottling it up for hours and hours and then playing hide-the-ball with your emotions --

* We were sitting with your clients, you shithead!  I wasn’t about to cut my own throat to spite yours!  I couldn’t say or do a fucking thing but sit there with my teeth gritted hoping I’d get through dinner without crying!  I had to bury it tonight - but goddammit, we’ve had this conversation a thousand times.  I can’t believe you’d try to tell me I don’t talk about these things - I talk till I’m blue in the fucking face and you tell me you love me and you don’t want it ever to happen again but do you even hear a fucking word I say?  It’s sure not sticking in there, you’re just making the same mistake over and over and over again and… you know what?  Now I see why.  You just don’t pay attention.  You look like you do but you don’t.  It’s the only way you could fail to notice how badly I’ve been hurting tonight.  And if I can be in this kind of pain sitting right next to you for that long and you don’t even notice, I just can’t feel safe with you.  And I can’t live where I’m not safe.

* Wait a minute.  What are you telling me?

* Goddamn it, Peter.  Why couldn’t you have opened your eyes for fifteen fucking second for once in your life?

This is fiction, people.  FICTION.  Let’s not jump to any crazy conclusions here.  Now, let’s have a happy Wednesday, and stay alert!

Ah, but it’s such a familiar fiction.

so you’re gonna get her flowers right? oh wait. this is ‘fiction.’ okay, get her ‘fictional’ flowers.

:D

i know. lame. booger. head still hurts. sue me.

When do we get part two?

Were you channeling my first marriage? That is a classic example of the conversations we would have, usually on the way home from his parent’s house. Gave me shivers reading it.

Man, was that spot on or what? Only I bet you got make believe make-up sex. Lucky dog. I never got that.

But dude… jumping to conclusions is the only exercise I get these days.