The New Sense

Thursday, May 02, 2002

I think he felt a bit weird this morning about sticking around. He asked if I could log him on in the Concordia library so he could do some research. I told him he could use my computer and he just didn't want to. I don't really know why. Finally I gave in and lent him my student ID. It's still good till the summer, so what the hell.
I kind of rushed home after work, as I hadn't seen him all day, but I've been here for two hours now and he still hasn't showed up. I didn't even eat really, as I was waiting for him so we could eat together. I feel a bit pathetic now. I think I'll call Kelly.

Boy was that ever a bad idea. According to her, B—'s probably a drug addict or a rapist or both. She didn't seem to grasp the fact that we already slept together and that I was more than willing. Lucky I didn't tell her about the lack of contraception or she'd have come here and done an intervention.
I guess I should get tested, mind you. I know it's bolting the stable door after the horse has shat, or whatever, but at least I'll know. I guess it'll be like last time. Kidding myself everything is fine until the moment when they tell me the result, then suddenly convinced I'm dying. Then suddenly thanking the stars and promising silently that I'll never let myself go through that again.
Kelly is the last person I should ask for advice about relationships. Her personal life could be a Cirque du Soleil show: colourful, impressive, sometimes funny, a bit scary, somehow meaningful, but I don't quite know why. She's been on the telepersonals again. I can't tell her that it's a losery thing to do, and that she'll only ever meet losers that way. She really believes in it. Or does she? I bet she has the same opinion about God. Like Mom — knowing deep down inside that it's all a waste of time, but doing it anyway, in the vain hope that it might bring her something. Kelly, like Mom, always has an answer for everything and only wants yes-women around her. I'm her best yes-woman. It's a curse and a privilege. It would be Shit! There's the doorbell.

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