a case of me
Alright, I admit it. I recently ended yet another brief, disappointing romance. Recently as in two days ago. Didn't want to spend long in the gloomies - this one was most definitely not for me.
Anyway - I was definitely disappointed. We are, after all, talking about a shockingly pathetic run of luck here. I wallowed for a bit. With chocolate chip cookie dough (thanks MaFr), Joni Mitchell's Blue album and CSI. But then I somehow, and very suddenly, reached a wonderful zen sort of place. Dating! Who effing needs it?! I am going to embrace my life and all the exciting things that are going on, and just buckle down, enjoy the summer, spend time with my excellent friends as much as I can and work on loving my fellow man in general. No more online dating, no more crush-of-the-day, no more THINKING about it.
Thus resolved, I embarked upon the day. Today. Things started very well. Good hair. Had Pho for lunch, made plans for a possible trip to Cuba in July (!), left work early for a co-worker-farewell patio party, left around 7:15 to stop in at Ring music, picked out the guitar I'm going to buy on Friday, turns out I went to Malaspina with the guy who was working there (who knew?), then had one of those wonderful walks over to Bathurst Station where every song that plays on shuffle is better than the last, and people are smiling, and there are cute dogs...and then I get to the subway station, pay my token, head down the stairs beside the escalator (you know the ones) - only to have a man who is lining up at the bottom of the escalator to go up lean over into my path so that I have to jerk back in surprise, in order to say, directly to my shocked face 'I want to fuck you.'
On any other day I most likely would have laughed it off. You have to admit it is sort of funny - this perfectly normal-looking balding man in a miami-vice-style t-shirt/suit combo accosting me in this way. But I guess my new-found love for life and the city and my place in it was a little more fragile than I thought, because here I am, back to Joni Mitchell, cookie dough and CSI.
2 Comments:
Oh, Ers - nothing like a crappy random encounter with some dicksmack to ruin a perfectly good run of self-empowerment. Enjoy the cookie dough, Joni and CSI, but remember - this is only a setback!!
Roro, you're the bset. The best, even. (ps I had cookie dough for dinner tonight again, but just because it was there, not for any sort of subway-jerk run-in reason)
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