Boy drama

Hello, friends. It’s been an eventful week. I’ve been a bit under water these days - they actually want me to do work at the office, which is cutting into the time I normally spend dicking around. And then there was boy drama over the weekend, which I am still trying to process before leaving for a trip on Thursday. I’ll give you a brief synopsis:

The Kiwi left yesterday for a three month journey to places I’ve never been. We rode the subway together in silence, and then, when we reached my stop, we parted. There were no declarations, no promises, no plans. I wanted to say, “Thank you for rescuing me from the depths of despair” but succumbed to banal well-wishing. “You are a good boy,” I said. “Have a wonderful trip.” The Kiwi’s eyes welled up. Bless him.

Like clockwork, Fauxhawk makes another appearance. In the four months since we parted, he has operated under self-imposed vow of silence. Initially, it made me insane, and then it made me apathetic. These days, I think about him too much, and when I do, my entire body winces with a mixture of longing and rage. I am annoyed that I still feel this way.

Friday night, in the midst of Kiwi going away party preparations, Fauxhawk sends me an IM.

- Hello Persephone, he writes. And then, later, I miss you.
- Yeah? What do you miss?
- I miss it when you throw fake L.A. gang signs.
- That’s it?! That’s what you miss?
- I miss it when you imitate the General Foods International Coffee commercials.

Good grief. I am irritated. And strangely touched.

We finally speak for four hours. A complete hashing out - everything I’ve wanted to say these past months, but couldn’t. Surprisingly, there is goodwill and fellow-feeling (despite some tense moments in which I threatened to kill his shrink with my bare hands for her shockingly obtuse assessment of our breakup). At the end, he asks, “Can we both just think about what we’ve talked about?”

I, for one, need to think less about things. I am sick of thinking.