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March
17,
2001
Oooooh I
didn’t wanna wake up. I had exactly one hour to drive home, take a shower and drag
myself into restaurant hostess hell.
The joys of being me.
As soon as
I’m conscious, it’s bad. Because
all the glorious nagging doubts show up.
What is he gonna do? Completely
blow me off? Do I have to
tiptoe out all by myself as he lamely pretends not to wake up?
It would be just my luck that my dream guy at night would be a
total dick in the daytime.
But he’s the
perfect gentleman. Walks me back to my car, gives me a huge hug where he lifts
me off the ground again and kiss. “I
had fun.” He whispers.
“Me too.” I say.
And he doesn’t move as I get in my car and drive away.
He lets me leave first. And
it’s not until I’m at the stop sign that I realize no numbers were
exchanged. DUMBASS!
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Dragging myself
into the restaurant, snarling at Tony, smirking in the kitchen.
Oh this is bad. I
feel like I’m in some post hook-up haze, I can’t see straight, I
can’t think straight, all I can do is think about him.
Thank the many merciful stars above my manager’s not here.
I’m so totally good for nothing.
And of course,
the inevitable fade. I
swear, I spend all day waiting for the fade, so I can go back to being a
normal thinking walking talking person.
All the doubts that rise up – he couldn’t wait to get rid of
you. He’s shocked at how
incompetent you are in bed. – just a complete swarm that rises up and
eats away at the glow. And
I’m hoping they will, if only so I can get over him, to quickly resign
myself to reality.
And yet,
he’ll be there. He’ll
always be there now, looming in the corner of my head, a constant what
if. He’ll probably stay
there for at least a year, and I’m 99.9% sure that I’ll never see
him. He’ll be there just
the same.
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