Date? What Date? (9/29/08 Monday)

Rolled out of bed, into Stacey's car, and off to work on just a couple hours sleep--no time to eat breakfast or make lunch. Julie was in her car when we pulled in beside her. I looked over, took a deep breath. Stacey said, "It'll be okay." It helped, but I still felt as if I'd slipped back a few months. I was afraid to see her, to have to talk to her, my resolve to start again on a different footing dissolving. I was getting angry with myself. But I turned and offered "Good morning," and we three walked in together, Stacey in the middle engaging Julie in conversation about their next possible hike. At the coffee shop Julie had invited me hiking with them, as a friendly gesture. I'd told Stacey such that evening. I think now she was bringing up hiking for my benefit, to contrive to get Julie and me together again.

Julie showed no signs of awkwardness toward me during the day, and no sign at all that she had been even the least affected by our get-together Saturday, if she, indeed, even remembered it. We shared the desk at eleven, and I thought I'd playfully remind her. I said, "So, how was your weekend?" She didn't turn when she said, "Oh, it was good. My new great-niece was born Saturday, so that made it pretty nice."

Did I hear crickets? Did she just pass right over our two hours together? Who is this? How many of her are there? Wow. Not even an ironic nod to my intimation. And the conversation continued in the usual Julie fashion, wherein I prompt her with a question or two, and she talks about herself. No thought of me, not even token reciprocation. Not a complaint, mind--that's just how she is; that is, no different than if we had only ever conversed at work. That's my complaint. This woman seems to have compartments within compartments. The complexity of her emotional defenses is beginning to frighten me. What is the pain that requires such partitioning? The task I've set before myself is now even more daunting.