Sunday, May 15, 2005
I may have to make this short, because I am so completely beat I feel like passing out.
I really don't know what's wrong with me. Everything was going swimmingly and work was great and life was promising and then I have one day off and BOOM! I feel like all hell again. Going to bed at 3:00 am on Friday night was a very bad idea. Instead of shaking off this cold the Boy left me with I have simply gotten worse and worse. Getting up early every day doesn't help either. It's going to turn into pneumonia if I'm not careful.
The other thing is that I'm not eating very much, because I don't much feel like it, and I'm losing a lot of weight. The week before last I was complaining because I had gained five pounds. Now I've lost 6 pounds in a week and L.P.'s mom even commented on it today. She said "You're looking a lot slimmer. You look good, but don't lose any more weight." I was like "uh....it's not as though I've been trying!"
Yesterday was kind of miserable. I spent the first part of the day working on my damned template, and didn't eat and felt really crappy. Then I got an email from the Boy telling me that he had decided to throw me a bone and tell Kun about the break-up, thereby saving me the trouble of doing it myself. Except he didn't tell her. He simply directed her to this blog. And this blog is, well, incredibly biased to my point of view. It is, after all, the world according to me, and not an objective view of the way things are. So I'm not sure that that was a smashingly great idea, but it's happened so whatever.
Later on I got a call from Kun informing me that she knew that we had split up and that she was worried about the Boy and thought he was doing really poorly. So I got really upset, felt even crappier, and called him. I think he is in the not-okay-but-no-regrets stage, which is not disastrous. I just didn't want him to be thinking that we'd made a big mistake but feeling unsure about how to tell me. He also admitted that he didn't think I wanted to talk to him on the phone. Not true, of course.
It has always really, really hurt me to know that he's hurting. I always wanted him to be more sensitive and open up to me and all that, but now I just want to take all the pain away for him. I want him to continue being stoic, despite the fact that that always bugged me, and I don't want him to cry, and feel sad, and miss me all the time.
Actually, cancel the last thought. I do want him to miss me. I guess I just expected he would continue to be himself and basically supress all emotion, or at least any visible demonstration of it. He would miss me, I thought, but only in the deepest crevices of his heart, the places I could only get to on the rarest of occasions.
Anyway he is sad and misses me, but he doesn't regret anything. He didn't have some sudden flash the moment he knew I was really gone, and he didn't suddenly realise that he couldn't live without me or anything terribly Gone With The Wind like that. My life would make a poor melodrama. And a poor romance, for that matter.
At least he's not having trouble eating. Lucky bastard.
Work was a bit hellish today because it was hugely busy but we were extremely understaffed. Apparently the best and most experienced booksellers get the day off on Sundays, and they leave the hoardes of gift-wrap-needing customers to the newbies and the high schoolers. There were two high school girls there today, a Grade 12 and a Grade 9. They were sweet, but I dare say a bit clueless. The little Grade 9 girl was like a tiny little elf flitting about shelving books and wrapping things and putting books in bags. She meant well, but she didn't even have the training to run a transaction through the computer.
Then I went to tutor L.P., more of the same, and finally got to come home. Argh.
My immune system is just shot to hell. Misery breeds succeptibility I suppose.
I'm not really miserable. If I was Scarlett O'Hara I might be miserable, or resolute, or a spoiled little brat, for that matter. But since I am me I am really just sickly and tired.
I still can't help feeling that everyone just takes and takes, and soon there will be little of me left to give. One of these days perhaps someone will say "I'm glad you're here. I want you to stay."
But until then it is pure transience, and my stubborn desire to be wanted -- even if just for a little while.
It is 9:30. A child's bedtime. Sounds about right to me.