I Feel So Strange Today

Wow, I feel so weird today. A little off, a little sad, a little hungover, a little tearful. Yet strangely light and joyful as well. Peaceful. And oddly, really, really clear.

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Today is my second-to-last-day at my job -- I resigned to move onto a better-paying job in another sector of my industry. While I am so excited to move on, I am feeling so sad about leaving the people here. I don't really like to write about work, as I firmly believe in the old saw, "you are not your job," and this just doesn't feel like the place to write about the people and personalities here in my office.

But -- we're a small office, so you get close with people, no matter how much you try to keep a businesslike distance. When you are working in a 20 x 20 space, with no offices, just cubes in a bullpen, you hear the comings and goings of peoples' lives. I learned that the hard way when my boss commented one day, "You have the BEST life of anyone I've ever met! You are constantly making plans to go out and socialize!" Lesson: Take the cell phone outside to make plans. One of my co-workers asked me to get pot for him because he heard me talking about smoking a couple of times. We know that our receptionist dates married men. I imagine they know all about me and my shenanigans, too.

So -- I'm sad about leaving these people. They are, for all intents and purposes, my dyfunctional 9 to 5 family. Leaving is never easy, even when you are going on to something that will be better for you. Jesus, I hate when I write cliches.

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Last night a text message showed up in my inbox from EVG: "Are you interested in company?"

Finally, EVG gets the Booty Call done right! Spur of the moment, when he is drunk and horny and ready to hop on the L train that second.

Unfortunately, when he showed up, he was well past just a little drunk -- he had been drinking since about 3 o'clock, and though he hid it well, I guess he was pretty well 'faced. Then he had a beer at my house (of which I drank about half), smoked a few bowls, and the makeout session started. It was actually really nice to be kissing someone. Does anyone love to kiss more than I do? I lurrrrrve to kiss. I could go on for paragraphs about the wonder and joy of kissing. People just don't do enough of it anymore!

Then, damn my I-should-never-ever-play-poker face. He stops kissing me, pulls back and gets all serious and says, "What's going on in there? I can see it in those eyes." I am a little freaked, because that is practically verbatim what Bill the Firefighter once said to me. He stops what he is doing (playground activities have progressed to naked at this point), and we start to have A Talk. Feh on talking. Feh feh feh on talking. I'm not in this for The Talking. He needs to get over this Talking shit.

So we proceed with the reindeer games, and um, well, the alcohol has a, well, how you say, negative effect on him. Oh, well, it happens. But, see, when fuckus interruptus occurred, I kinda thought what would follow would be the quick get-dressed and don't let the door hit you in the ass. No, what followed was MORE TALKING. and MORE TALKING.

For the luvva Mike, as my mother would say.

What's with the damn talking?

Unfortunately, what I find happening with all of this freaking talking is that now I'm more than just sexually attracted to this behemoth of a guy. I am finding myself pulled and drawn a little closer (see those heel marks in the dirt behind me? That's from me resisting). I LIKE him. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. And now, having established what we are (People Who Have Sex With Each Other), I can't say anything about it. Because, after all, he is Girlfriend Guy. And Girlfriend Guy is about to get put onto Girlfriend's insurance, which means that he is in THAT and not ever going to be in THIS.

And he looks at me with a strange sad expression.

I think he was just drunk.

I put him into a car and send him away at midnight.

Wake up this morning feeling as if that half beer was a gallon, as if I have a hangover.

This needs to end, clearly. Because all that's going to happen is that it will end in tears (for me).

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So today, I call J and tell him I need to cancel going to dinner tomorrow night, because it is my last day and I am going to have to pack up my shit here and get it home. He proceeds to get all sniffy and says, "Well, why don't you call me when you have time because we've had a lot of canceloni pizza going on here." Oooookay? I've been racking my brain for the past three hours trying to remember the last time I canceled a plan with him. Let's see, was it the twelve times I invited him to come to my apartment for dinner that he kept refusing and finally said he wasn't interested in coming to Brooklyn -- EVER? Hmmmmm... maybe it was the time I GOT OUT OF BED at 10:30 at night to take a car service from brooklyn to attend to Her Majesty in the Emergency Room in Manhattan for a CUT FINGER? Or maybe it was that time I CANCELLED plans with someone else because Her Majesty was sad that he didn't have someone to fuck that week? Jesus, it's exhausting to cater to him.


Maybe this is all supposed to happen as part of all the changes that are taking place.