Toasters at Twenty Paces (2/17/09 Tuesday)

Of course, I'm fighting this love thing to the death. I'll take it to the highest court. I'll get a restraining order, a gag order. This must be overturned. Will the ACLU take my case? It was, after all, a gross violation of my freedom of choice. It matters not whether I might actually want to be in love--it's the principle of the thing. And what am I if not principled?

James suggested that this...entity...that has made The Admittance for me is taking its "last, best shot" at keeping me after Julie, so I have to, reflexively, take mine at it. But it's as if I've been tranked; the will is there, but the power is not. I'm in some kind of evil Happy Land, where everything is provided before I can ask for it or even decide if I really want it.

An hour on the desk with Julie yesterday. Can you believe it? It had been at least six weeks. (No, I've not been counting.) It was not intentional, though: Tammy switched names instead of duties on the schedule, so I got Angie's usual slot. I knew I'd be going on the desk at ten, but I hadn't looked for my partner, because it just hasn't mattered in a long time; but when I saw Julie amble out there after checking the schedule I bolted from my desk and doubel-checked. I was glad, and nearly petrified. Tammy's separating us from mutual desk duty had probably been deliberate. I doubt that Julie had asked for it, but this happening dispelled--or quieted-my itchy paranoia. James and Mike were on the desk. James was busy at the near station, Mike was not, when I followed Julie out, but Julie stood at the counter beside James, waiting for his seat. Mike left his when I approached him. The door had barely closed behind James when Julie followed. I thought she might be going to get the leasebook cart, and I was miffed that I hadn't gotten it first, but she came back empty-handed. That's when I got the cart. I spent the next half-hour shelving, looking up occasionally to see if Julie needed help. Julie called me over once, and spoke to me once more while I shelved to let me know she was going to the workroom to find a book for a patron. After I'd put up all the leasebooks, I rolled the cart back to the workroom then sat silently at the desk a few feet from Julie, glasses off. It was a long, challenging half-hour. The only discomfort I can name was a hopefulness. If she were uncomfortable, I was glad. My conscience was not bothering me, though I can't say that of now. I wanted more than anything to stare at her, but that's not how I wanted to make her uncomfortable, and I couldn't afford to let her think I was mooning over her. That's why my conscience wasn't bothering me: I'm under a mandate to not show any feelings toward her, and there is nothing I can say to her or interest I can show in her that could point to anything but those feelings, because that would certainly be the motive behind them. My hands are tied. I don't recall which of us first ran from the desk upon relief, but I was all but staring at the clock on the wall behind us for the last twenty minutes.

Mike had an hour out there with Julie today, and I was jealous (or envious--I forget the distinction sometimes). I was shelving the DVD's and could hear them talking. Actually, it was her talking to him that really made my gut churn, but I calmed it somewhat when I realized she wouldn't be talking to him if he weren't "safe"--i.e., not a candidate for romance. It was still hard hearing her voice. Later, I had a holds hour while Julie sat at her desk with her headphones and a/v. I sat directly in front of her, at Angie's desk (mine has no barcode scanner). As I approached I was almost pointedly careful not to look at Julie. I'd brought no music, deliberately, in order to challenge my tolerance. But Julie never spoke except to Greta about a Harry Potter movie she was apparently watching. She's a big Harry Potter fan (not I!). When she put on the her very fake English accent to quote a line, I cringed and muttered, "Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet" from behind clenched teeth until she stopped. All this within the first two hours, and there were still two more to go. Tomorrow will likely be worse, though. I'd rather leave Julie there for the last four hours on a Tuesday than to spend the last four hours on Wednesday without her.