Get a Guy's What Up? (11/19/08 Wednesday)

Coming to grips is letting go of denial. My anger comes from reminders of thing I've been pretending aren't there. When I dress I still consider what Julie will see. When I look in the mirror, I'm Julie looking at me. If I'm to accept my vanity, I want it to have an audience. I want Julie to see me, and I want to feel attractive when she does. Monday, when she was on the desk and I was at lunch, I sat at a computer in Planet Teen that put me in her view. I opened up the journal and began transcribing onto the blog. Why she came to the DVD shelf nearest me, I don't know--returning a disc she'd just cleaned, maybe--but my fingers began flying across the keyboard to the tune of "Ever Fallen In Love" bouncing in my head. I've taped a label with the blog title onto the spine of the journal, and at work I leave my bag open near my locker, exposing the spine-up book conspicuously. I would normally think this pathetic, but I chose now to accept it for what it is--whatever it is--just as I grin at the picture taped to my fender. No, I'm not over her, but I don't need to pine for her or expend tense energy hoping for some acknowledgement from her. It's no way to live, because it's not my life to live. Hope's importance must be minimized; the moreso, the better I can appreciate the moment, the less I need look for results. Yesterday, my lunch coincided with a shelving hour for Julie. She'd taken the DVD cart. After I ate I took my journal to Planet Teen. I'd barely written, but I'd write some more and then post it. Of course, what was important was the proximity to Julie. As she had gotten to work at twelve-thirty, while I was on the desk, we had not crossed paths, though I'd seen her drag the cart out. I returned to the workroom from lunch a few minutes before Julie with the cart. I was standing at my desk when she entered. I watched her approach. She stalled beside my desk, a clot of people barring her way. Perhaps it was my stare that pulled her eyes to mine. I smiled widely, naturally, and said, "Hi!" as brightly as I've ever said anything. Her smile answered mine, and she said, "Hello, there!" in a voice I'd never heard and suddenly knew I'd always wanted to hear: demure, but open and coy. (I'd add "sexy" if I didn't think it was pure inference.) Honest. Her smile lingered as she passed. Enough to get a guy's hopes up.