Neener.

To all of you who foresaw Tim moving into my apartment--bag, baggage, and cat--for a long stay, I say unto thee: Neener. Neener neener neener, as a matter of fact.

He stayed on the floor for two nights, then early Tuesday afternoon I was wakened by a tug on my foot. "Hey," he said. "I'm heading out...."

And he did. Basically he just needed a place to go for a couple of days after their fight; no big deal. I have no problem with that.

As for CR, the nice thing about THAT situation is that he's safely several hundred miles away, with no wish whatsoever to come back here. (I will say, though, that despite myself, I'm impressed with what he's accomplished since he left--he's been working steadily, went back to school--he's done a lot. Despite that, though, I am absolutely certain that the old CR is lurking beneath the surface...apparently the one sticking-point in getting his degree is the math credit. Math is not his thing. I can understand THAT--but what I CAN'T understand is how, exactly, he managed to piss off EVERY SINGLE TUTOR in the department. Except yes, I can; it's CR, after all.)

I think the thing with CR is going to best be summed up with the following statement: Just because I don't hate him, that doesn't mean I have to fuck him. And no matter what, I always gave him credit for one thing--he was always fun to talk to.

So: no unwanted new roomies, no intruding exes; basically, it's all good. And now if I can just get my real computer fixed, I could show you all what I've been doing while not blogging.

"Oy," Also "Vey".

2 PM, voice mail left on my cell phone:
"Hey, G, it's me. Listen, call me when you get this message because I've been having a REALLY BAD past couple of days and I know it's not your problem but I really need somebody to speak to."

4 PM, same:
"G..." (to someone in background: "Shut the fuck up,") "Hey, G, call me as soon as you get this message, okay?"

Now, Tim knows what my cell-phone situation is, so it was my measured opinion that if it was REALLY important, he would call the HOUSE phone. But the second message, with its background argument, made me curious enough to call him.

He answered on the fourth ring: "G--hey. Listen, I'm on my way up there," he told me, "because I can't be around this crazy motherfucker ANY MORE." And then there ensued about fifteen minutes of that I'm-talking-to-the-person-on-the-phone-but-really-I'm-talking-to-the-person-in-the-room-with-me-who-is-the-real-target-of-what-I'm-saying kind of thing. In fact--once the practical outcome of the conversation had been achieved--I just took my ear away from the phone. He wasn't telling me anything I didn't know already (Squeaky's dad is a semi-crazy, extremely-lazy, parasitical welfare-cheat) and frankly, I wasn't that interested. As I said, the main outcome had been arrived at; Tim's on his way over and will most likely be spending a couple of days--at least--on my floor.

This is going to be interesting.

Curiously, I'm not complaining. I'm learning things about myself, these past few months, and one of the things I've learned is: the neat and quiet life isn't all it's cracked up to be. I need a little messiness, a little (okay, a LOT) of stuff going on; not so much cleaning up after everyone around me, but at least having all their stuff play out in my vicinity. Otherwise I get lonely and bored and BORED and depressed, and grossly uncreative. (Speaking of which--I'm taking my REAL computer in this week, and once it's fixed I'm going to scan in a crapload of my artwork. I've been doing a lot of work in colored pencils, pastels, and conte crayons; I wouldn't call it groundbreaking, by any stretch, but it's surely fun, and some of it is quite pretty. In fact, my next step is to buy some mat-board and start decorating.)

I don't necessarily like this new development--and the minute Tim starts with "Squeaky has no place to stay," my attitude will change 180 degrees, to "And Out You Go Too!!"--but for the moment, hey, what the hell--I'll take care of the world for a while longer.

I mean, SOMEBODY's got to, right?

End of (Yet Another) Error

I just saw LJ for what I'm pretty sure will be the last time.

I called to tell him the title on the truck had arrived; he told me he was at his mom's house, and he'd just come by to get it. We talked for ten minutes or so, mostly about his court case, while I filled out the title.

And then he signed it, and told me he'd be in touch next week to let me know what happened, and he was gone.

It's strange that I don't feel anything; then again, it's hard to miss someone who was never really there.

And so I close another chapter, finally, and move along; this closure is much less-painful than most of the other ones I've experienced in the last twelve months, and so I won't shed any tears. There was never any room, really, for what might have been.

And now, if you'll all excuse me, I have some spaghetti-sauce I'm working on....

LOL LOL LOLLerskates!`

I just ordered myself a pizza from Pizza Hut.
The delivery person called from downstairs. Having encountered this place before, I know that Pizza Hut delivery is not allowed to actually come upstairs, for security reasons, so I went downstairs.

The delivery-girl watched her vehicle out of one corner of her eye. "I was drivin earlier," she explained, "and the transmission hose busted on me. And the transmission MOUNT," she said, "somethin was wrong with that. So I called my mechanic, I said 'man'---I didn't call him 'man', I called him the N-word--I told him 'man, come and FIX this shit!"
I told her "ooh..I know what that's like--I used to DO this!" (Which I did, back in the last days with JP...another story entirely...) Anyway, I gave her a $5 tip, because why not?

She was stunned. "Thank you so much," she said. And as I turned to walk back to the elevator, the best compliment I've heard in QUITE some time: "Stay black," she said.

I smiled all the way back upstairs.

Oh, Dammit All To Hell...

Kasey's a Republican.
(From www.nascar.com)

A color that does suit him however is red -- the red on his No. 9 Dodge, but also the red of the Republican Party.

Add politico to the list of factoids you didn't know about Kahne.

While marketers are content to paint Kahne as an object of desire for tweens and soccer moms across the nation, he prefers they admire him for his work in our nation's capital.

Since December of 2005, Kahne has been pushing President George W. Bush's agenda for increased volunteerism and good will among Americans. Appointed to the president's Council on Service and Civic Participation with other dignitaries such as philanthropist Evern Cooper Epps, Ohio's First Lady Hope Taft and University of Texas chancellor Mark G. Yudof, Kahne is an ambassador tapped to represent his home state of Washington and the sport of NASCAR.

"We have meetings in Washington and I think it's unique, because I get to sit down with President Bush and listen to his ideas about giving back to the communities and how we can get people to do more like the fans in NASCAR do," Kahne said. "They like to hear ideas of how drivers like me and Jeff Gordon get people involved in volunteer work, things we do at the tracks."

His most recent two-year appointment to the council, the only racecar driver to earn such an appointment, stems from his ability to be a role model as well as the charitable work he performs through the Kasey Kahne Foundation.

:::deep sigh of despair:::

Um...Kyle? Let's talk politics, sugar, could we???

Updates On the Drama

So. Um. welll...
Yeah, I've talked to CR again. Several times, in fact, and a few e-mails too. I'm still conflicted--as Tim says, "the more you talk to him, the better the chances he can get you to believe his bullshit and suck you back in" and he's right...

...but honestly, I DO miss the arrogant little bastard.

I'd LIKE to say I don't miss the sex. That would be the safest way to feel, but unfortunately that's not a form of willpower I can muster up; there were times in that relationship when the sex was just fanTAStic. Usually it was when he was sneaking around WITH me, instead of sneaking around ON me. When we were in a relationship, that was when it fell apart, generally. I am aware of this, and can judge my own thoughts accordingly--or, as I told Firefly, "Just because I don't hate him anymore, that doesn't mean I have to fuck him." And he's safely several hundred miles away, at any rate, so the point is even more moot than usual.

So yeah, even though I miss that, I miss other things more. There was a point the other night, when we'd been talking for about two hours already, that we got into one of our typical grooves of conversation--I only half-remember what it even was we were talking about--but we were both yelling at the top of our voices, agreeing with each other, trying to top each others' proof of whatever fact or opinion we were discussing...It was like the best of our entire time together. I told him, "THIS is what I miss, dude. Not the bullshit, and not the stupid stuff you did, and not even the 'relationship' part of the relationship--I miss THESE conversations more than anything. I miss arguing with you about stuff. I miss watching the news with you at night." (That was one of our loudest times of the day, the 9 PM news; we were both firecracker-quick to become outraged, particularly at our state and city governments, and there was a great deal of shouting at the television that always went on between the headline and the weather forecast.)

We talked, too, about some of the lies he told. There was one in particular that he'd completely forgotten; when I reminded him of it, he got very quiet. "Oh, god. I did that, didn't I," he said. It wasn't a question; it was a realization of yet another moment in which he'd made some evil choices. "God," he said. It took him a while to get back to the normal way he defends himself from those memories--calling himself an asshole, telling me how sorry he was, how he never meant to hurt me--those are his defenses. I always knew, when he was silent, that my words had REALLY hit home. He'd totally forgotten this lie, and I think he was happier forgetting it. He says, though, that he wants to face it; well, then, face it all, asshole, is my way of looking at things.

Part of me is nervous, thinking that these conversations are leading to someplace I don't want them to go--places that I know it's in my best interests to stay away from. As Tim said last night, "G, you're on such a good track lately--your life is going so well, and even if it isn't exactly what you planned maybe it's more of a blessing that it ended up this way...But don't let him come back and crap on you some more. He could fuck that alllll up, if he came back and tried to do the same shit. And you know he will--you know he's not going to change." (Curiously, CR says the same of Tim. Since their falling-out a few years ago, back when we lived together, there's been a competition, open and full of contempt, as to which of them can most-effectively "protect" me from the other one. CR says Tim is a user; Tim says CR is a womanizing bastard. CR says Tim will never grow up and be a man; Tim says CR will never stop lying and cheating. To a certain extent, they're both right about each other; the only one they're mostly wrong about is me. I'm sure each of them thinks it's their noble hearts and gallantry that lead them to want to "save" me from the other; I am the only one who knows what the motivation really is. All their posturing and protecting, all their teeth-baring and snarling display of loyalty, is really only the same old competition between them that there's ever been--a competition that existed long before I came on the scene. I know a pissing contest when I see one.)

But about one thing Tim is right--if I let CR back in my life, I'd damn well better be prepared to reap the whirlwind. And frankly, right now my life IS in a very good place. I just found out that, owing to my electrical problems, my building manager has finagled me an eternal rent-freeze; that would be good enough, but before he freezes it he's actually CUTTING my rent for next year by almost $150/month, when all is said and done. The truck is paid off, my bills are slightly more-manageable, and I'm at the end of a contract for a cell-phone I don't really need, now that LJ is gone. In short, I'm on the very brink of getting my shit together; letting Chaos Personified back in the door would be a very, very stupid thing to do....

...even if I DO remember long nights of conversation, of laughing and smoking and sex, silly inside jokes that, for just a moment, put me in mind of how happy I was with JP. I wanted to tell CR that, actually; wanted to tell him Do you remember those first few weeks we were starting to get together, before I found out you were still living with Mona? Do you remember that night that you and I and Sofia drove through the city, and I showed you where JP and I had lived together, and all the holy places I remembered, and we listened to Pink Floyd in the car and then we all three went up to Sofia's parents' place and looked out over the skyline? There was a time there when I thought you were who you said you were; when I thought you were honest, that what you told me was the truth, and all the promises you made. And I felt like finally, finally, after two long years, that the world was coming back into place for me again, that I was resuming the life I'd made for myself with JP. Not that I expected you to replace him, but I thought that you were more like me than...well, than you were. I thought that you were telling me the truth, and we would be together, and there would be another wild round of creativity and fucking and madness and HAPPINESS. And then Mona kicked down that motel door, and told me what you'd said about me, and all those hopes and everything we could have been came down the motel stairs with me like a cloud of mist, and I got into the car and drove away and promised you I'd never come back. Except, of course, I DID...

That was my mistake. I know that now--that when I promised him I'd never return, I promised myself as well. And I've never been good at keeping promises I've made to myself. To others, yes; but not to me.

Which is why I worry when I promise myself: This is as far as I will let it go. The nicest thing about it, of course, is that implicit in THAT promise is another one, one that would be infinitely harder for me to break: I promised myself, and then told CR as well: There will be NO more lying to me nor to anyone else; no more manipulation of me nor of anyone else. And if that happens--if your need to feel in control leads you to "protect" me, or anyone else through a lie, and I find out about it (and believe me, I will find out)-- you WILL have no one to blame but yourself. In short: THIS IS YOUR FINAL, FINAL, FINAL FINAL CHANCE.


And this: ...if (being) the better person means I have to make sure you don't hurt me or anyone else, then I will go to any lengths. To protect ME, yes--but after that, to protect other people who maybe don't yet know how badly you can hurt them. Or those who DO know, but who for whatever reason, can't defend themselves.) Now, if you want to just be a normal person and come real with it--tell her the truth, tell me the truth, pick a side and stick with it instead of always looking for something better--then this won't be a problem.


I will not be hurt again. But neither will I be a part of hurting someone else. That was always a source of guilt for me; knowing that I had been "the other woman"--at first, yes, unknowingly--BUT: I stayed and kept trying EVEN AFTER I KNEW. Because I thought he was mine--he'd told me as much--but he'd told Mona as much too. I won't go down that road again. If that means I have to cut him out of my life again, then so be it; I just....I have enough bad karma already.

So yeah--it's been complicated. I miss him, yes. Do I still love him on some level? Probably a little bit, yeah. I'm not a light-switch, and as he and I always said: "indifference", not "hate", is the opposite of "love". I have never been purely indifferent to him, as much as I have tried.

But: am I going to let him get close enough to hurt me again?? Not if I can help it; I can only hope that knowledge is good enough. Because despite how all this might sound to those who know me only through this medium? I DO know better. I know MUCH better than to make the same mistake again. I honestly think that I can be his friend--from a distance--and not let it go any further.

(But it surely wouldn't hurt if some magnificently-hot guy were to turn up right about now; that would certainly simplify matters quite a lot.)

Anyway. Everything else in my life is...awesome, really. Once I get the REAL 'puter all up and running again, I'll scan in some of my latest drawings. I've found that vodka + boredom + conte crayons = some really cool artwork!

Alaxander Graham Bell Was Probably the Devil

I have a feeling that what I am about to say here is going to make a lot of people mad at me. And I guess that's okay, though I haven't done anything yet to inspire any anger, other than to answer a phone when I was mildly intoxicated. Notice, please, that I say "answer". This wasn't a regrettable instance of drunk-dialing; this was more along the lines of what would have come from that old adage about curiosity and cats, had vodka been involved. I didn't know who was calling; I answered anyway.

Now I wish I hadn't answered. That's my normal stance with unknown callers; if it's "blocked" or "out of area" or "caller unknown" or some name and number I'm not familiar with, usually I let it drop. But I've been getting a lot of hang-up calls on my voice mail recently, and since I finally figured out which button to press to tell me what the number was, I tried to call back the 812 number that hung up on me for the third or fourth time last night.

As I dialed, the same number beeped through on my caller-ID. I didn't recognize the name--some woman's name. The voice, though...that I recognized. Immediately.

"You called my phone?" it said.
"Yes I did," I said, "because YOU called MY phone."
"Who's this?" he asked.
"You called ME," I pointed out. "Who is THIS?"
"Who do you think it is?"
"I have my suspicions," I told him.
"So just say it," he said.
"It's CR, isn't it."
"Yeah."

Silence.

"Okay," I said. "How you been?"
"All right," he said. "Been having some bad dreams, though...about you."
"Oh, you too?" I replied.
"About what?" he asked.
"Just.......stuff." Not a lie, either. Though my conscious life has little to complain about, my subconscious, particularly for the last week or so, has not been a kind nor friendly place.
He sighed. "I got some biiiiig amends to make," he said.
"Yup," I said. "You sure do."

We talked for a few minutes--by the phone timer, it was six minutes, though it felt like a lot longer than that. He said some stuff that was totally ridiculous and totally pompous and factually incorrect; he said some stuff that was reasonable and true, at least in places.

The problem is, as it's always been with him, those things overlap sometimes--the pompous and the true, the incorrect and the ridiculous, the reasonable and the wrong. I don't know how he does it; maybe, like all great liars, he believes every word he says. I suspect that's the answer--but it has an unpleasant side effect.

After it was over, I called everyone I knew who was with me through that time; Firefly and Tim and Debbi, all of whom replied, in varying tones of outrage, "WTF???" (Tim was a particularly-strident WTF, since he was already WTF-fing at the news that his best-friend-bartender Cathy had just gotten fired--as I said afterwards, that would be like firing George Washington from the Presidency!) So we all had some good WTFs together, and then I hung up and went into my room and sat down to think.

Once again, I'm in a position where I have to sort out what I think, from what I want, from what other people think, from what other people think I'm SUPPOSED to think, from what -I- think I'm supposed to think, from what I KNOW.

I have sorted myself out enough to know this much at least: it is possible to miss certain things about someone without missing THEM; and that nobody is looking out for me except ME.

He left me another voice mail today, asking me to call him back. If I do, I want to know what he thinks he's doing, exactly, calling his ex-wife, after six years of silence, from his girlfriend's phone. Because....seriously. DUMBASS.

As I told Tim: I wish LJ was around, just for the entertainment value. I'd sell tickets to see those two in a room together.

Do I sound confused? I am, a little. But only a little. I like my life the way it is; there were just things about CR--not even relationship things, just human things--that I long ago forgot I missed. And it's hard to be reminded of those things so long after moving on.

More, perhaps, later.