Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Last night I did something embarrassing.
Remember that scene in Sideways where Miles gets drunk with Jack and Stephanie and Maya and ends up calling his ex from a phone booth at a restaurant, sounding all depressed because she's gotten remarried and he's still knocking back anti-depressants and stealing money from his mother? And then when he comes back to the table Jack asks him "Did you drink and dial?"
Well, even if that's not just about your favourite movie ever like it is for me, perhaps you're still familiar with the concept.
I wasn't drunk. I wasn't high. I was sleepless in Vancouver, depressed and totally awake from a lukewarm half-cup of Chinese tea. And there was no dialing involved.
Instead I texted Claire, sadly, and gave her a small fraction of my misery to sleep to. Her response? "Go to the spa. Go on vacation. Get a kitten." At some point I said "I realise this really isn't your problem..." and then I realised-- of course it's her fucking problem. She's the one who broke my heart into a zillion pieces and never looked back, except to tell me to seek companionship in a helpless allergenic little creature. "How can you be so bloody unaffected??" I wanted to yell, but didn't. "How can you tell me you care when losing me is nothing to you??" "How can you be so cold?" I wanted to ask her.
Oh, but I didn't. Don't worry. I saved a little dignity and hung it out to dry.
I still remember the first words she ever said to me: "So...why is your attraction to redheads a fatal one?"
She was my answer. Her and her beautiful, fatal little body, her paintings, her laughter, every sparkling, gorgeous moment now filled with such exquisite poison. Yeah, I know I'm being dramatic. But these memories hurt like nothing else.
I finally drifted off around 4:00 am for three hours of fitful sleep before work. Oh what a night.
On a happier note, CPI sent me an email. I never expected a response to my brief little note praising her mix's ability to get me through a fair bit o' misery without resorting to heroin or cheap merlot. She wrote: "I'm happy the mix was useful for you. I always love it when a mix can serve a purpose in someone's life. Life always needs a good soundtrack...Your profile is wonderful. I'm glad to know there are people like you in the world." People like me. Aw. Now if only I could get it together to be me again and not this sad-zombie-subsitute.
New Year's Eve was nice. I managed to finally put myself in a partying mood, downed several cocktails, a healthy amount of Soho lichee liqueur, and even a bit of champagne. Had a nice conversation with my ancient friend J, which was great despite my feeling very buzzed. It was lovely to be with Cait and her (my?) friends on the island. It's nice to be surrounded by people, even when I'm a million miles away and struggling to hang on, be polite, for god's sake try to make a joke, be funny, and surely you have SOMETHING to say about climate change, don't you? Do you see now why I relate to Miles? Cait's pals are disarming in their intelligence and activism. I sometimes feel like something of a troglodyte in comparison. I know so little, and irregular verbs seem pretty unimportant next to the fate of the world.
I've lost 7 pounds in three weeks. Everyone keeps asking me how I did it. I call it the Misery Diet. Despair + soda crackers + cereal for breakfast = instant skinny. Ugh.
Going to cut this short before I get anymore morose.
Hey you. Come sleep on my couch. Keep me company.
I do need a cat.