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( Tuesday, Jun. 22, 2004 11:15 am )

>An unfunny clownery

Currently I am listening to the Smiths and "apartment hunting." I'm not too good at it really, but luckily I still have the hope of discovering a spacious and cheap studio with big windows, hardwood floors, no vermin, and, like, a turret.

Lately I've been cursing my youth, because my heart still feels broken, my job's lame, my cable is out again, and I live in a vicious city which makes me wait for crowded buses and won't house me or provide me with lifelong loves. It's really the love thing that colors everything else. I'm definitely regressing, thinking about Call more rather than less often. I spotted him from the bus for the first time two nights ago after two months of obsessively pressing my face to the glass when we pass his block. He was busily employed in the business of being Call, about to head into his apartment building alone with a plastic bag of (undoubtedly) candy, and it filled me with a nameless pain. Basically, there's this ache I live with daily that is tolerable, but it oppresses me to think of carrying it along day after day. Thank god I will be old someday, and there will be no more need to be this pained jovial idiot.

So that guy David alarmed me last week by leaving a scary love letter for me on the front porch. I can't really be surprised; I knew he was stalker material, or at least much too into me much too soon. I'm sure he's well-meaning, but it was this long missive, half typewritten, half handwritten. It repeated my name frequently, some of it rhymed, some of it speculated on our idyllic future relationship, going so far as to assign nicknames (!), and concluded with many pleas to me to call him. Ohhhh my. I was alarmed. So anyway, I've been blowing him off since then, although eventually I'll have to tell him it's not gonna work out here. The only trouble is that he is kind of irresistable to me as well. It's not like I'm any less desperate and lonely, and if he's all, like, staring into my eyes and saying "you're so pretty," I get all girlish and aw shucks, really??? I am?? However. Must work on that. Call NEVER told me I was pretty or adorable and certainly never WROTE OUT A MOTHERF-N LIST OF POSSIBLE NICKNAMES FOR ME.

Oh, life. Why.

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