Sticks and Bones

The first part of a chronicle of a crush-turned-obsession. I'm sorry, Julie.


To experience this in natural reading order go to A Bright, Ironic Hell: The Straight Read .


Also, try Satellite Dance and Crystal Delusions--Parts 2 and 3, respectively--complete.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

And Just a Wee Dram More (9/17/08 Thursday)

A decent sleep last night--all the more so considering the task ahead of me. Tammy posted today's schedule last night, and I had a peek--several peeks--at it. None of those peeks revealed an advantageous time to ask Julie the big question--no desk together, and, generally, nowhere near each other all day. Yesterday I never saw her. Tomorrow? I can't count on the schedule being any kinder, any more than I can count on getting a preview of it.

I'm grateful for the night's sleep, because I could hardly be more nervous. Hell, I'm drinking whisky before ten in the morning. I'm obsessing over what to wear. And what to do till I leave for work--besides drink. I feel I should be amusing myself or physically working off the tension. Imagine if I'd been going this alone, without Mike or Stacey or Hinckley. I wouldn't be doing this at all but probably looking for another job just to get away from the whole situation. I'll never take another friend for granted. But "Everybody's Happy Nowadays" runs through my head, and I don't want to wallow in that. I don't want to think about love and life fulfillment--nothing so loftily hopeful, however positive. Hell, I don't want this situation, but here it is, and it's not a bad one but for what my cowardice has imbued it with. How do I laugh at that, the cowardice? How do I remove its power, lower its self-importance? Whisky, whisky, and more whisky. That was a joke, but having to tell myself so is more than a little disconcerting.

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