Later on, when he's asleep, and I'm nestled in a tangle of his arms and legs, I think about the evening.  So now I have all these bits of information.  Little bits and flits that form maybe the outline of a puzzle.  Not the whole thing.  It suggests a picture.  We're still not all the way there.  Oh my God, what does it take?  You wanted to know shit about him, BOOM here's your shit.  He's afraid of spiders.  Yippee.  Shut up and be happy now.  What more do you want?  What more do you want?

And of course I still feel like hell.  I feel like the meanest person in the world, because I had to pull the information out of him like it was some diseased tooth or something.  If he volunteered it, I'd be happy.

My God, I'm so retarded.  I really hate myself right now.  I'm like the fucking kid in the candy store who begs and pleads and whines and moans and bitches for his mom to PPPPLLLLLEEEEAAASSSSEEE buy him a sucker.  And the mom doesn't want to, no no honey, you can't have it, you'll ruin your dinner.  You'll get sick if you eat it. 

But the kid throws himself in the middle of the floor and SCREAMS, so she buys it, and he eats it all, and gets really really sick.  Don't ask for the shit if you won't shut up once you get it.  Just shut up about it.  Just shut up.  Put the sucker down and slowly back away.