The morning after
It's not just a pill, it's a sick and strange feeling of combined guilt and elation. At 5 am, the first thing I noticed were nearly knee high black boots and a studded belt on my bedroom floor. Boots like that can only mean one thing. Confirming my suspicions, I quickly recognized the black and gold condom wrapper next to the trash can. Dread.
At 7:30, I woke again, more confused than the first time. The boots were gone. Did I dream this? Did last night really happen? Of course it did; there's no denying it. But to the more critical question, where are those boots? I laid in bed for a minute or two, trying to piece together the events of the evening. Slowly, I recalled the when, the where, and most upsetting, the who and the why. Just as I was gathering my thoughts, I heard the zip of those boots. Boots like that require a good 10 minutes to tie, and about 30 seconds for the final touch--the zipper. In a morning after situation, the sound of a zipper is both disturbing and comforting. On the one hand, it means that the person who loved you so much the night before is trying to sneak out before you wake up. They do not want to see you again. On the other hand, the sound of the zipper is a comfort because you don't want to see them again either, and now you don't have to. Even more than that, the sound of the zipper and all it symbolizes is a comfort because it is so familiar.
Should I lie and say that I didn't miss that sound? Should I say that I wasn't craving it? Should I say that it was better when I thought that sound wasn't coming? I probably should, but I won't lie to you. That sound is always coming, but in the morning after, at least I know when to expect it.
For a moment I was surprised by the zipper, and I jumped out of bed. I burst into the living room, hoping to catch him in the act, but alas, the next familiar sound: the click of the door closing. Now, I cannot explain why I did what I did next. It makes no logical sense. I didn't want to see him, he didn't want to see me. And furthermore, I was wearing nothing but my purple blanket. I opened the door, stepped into the hallway and just starred at him. I said nothing, I felt nothing. I just looked at him. He turned around, and said "I didn't want to wake you." He opened his arms and hugged me, pressed my face into his shoulder. Then he simply walked away. And I just stood in my hallway wondering how that damn mohawk managed to stay exactly in place.
About an hour and a half later, I found this note on his pillow: "I hope this won't confuse your life as much as it has mine."
Guilt.
I won't go into our long history together. I won't go into why I invited him over, or why I drank half a bottle of tequila. I won't go into why I fucked him. All I can say is that I hate it when I get what I want.
At 7:30, I woke again, more confused than the first time. The boots were gone. Did I dream this? Did last night really happen? Of course it did; there's no denying it. But to the more critical question, where are those boots? I laid in bed for a minute or two, trying to piece together the events of the evening. Slowly, I recalled the when, the where, and most upsetting, the who and the why. Just as I was gathering my thoughts, I heard the zip of those boots. Boots like that require a good 10 minutes to tie, and about 30 seconds for the final touch--the zipper. In a morning after situation, the sound of a zipper is both disturbing and comforting. On the one hand, it means that the person who loved you so much the night before is trying to sneak out before you wake up. They do not want to see you again. On the other hand, the sound of the zipper is a comfort because you don't want to see them again either, and now you don't have to. Even more than that, the sound of the zipper and all it symbolizes is a comfort because it is so familiar.
Should I lie and say that I didn't miss that sound? Should I say that I wasn't craving it? Should I say that it was better when I thought that sound wasn't coming? I probably should, but I won't lie to you. That sound is always coming, but in the morning after, at least I know when to expect it.
For a moment I was surprised by the zipper, and I jumped out of bed. I burst into the living room, hoping to catch him in the act, but alas, the next familiar sound: the click of the door closing. Now, I cannot explain why I did what I did next. It makes no logical sense. I didn't want to see him, he didn't want to see me. And furthermore, I was wearing nothing but my purple blanket. I opened the door, stepped into the hallway and just starred at him. I said nothing, I felt nothing. I just looked at him. He turned around, and said "I didn't want to wake you." He opened his arms and hugged me, pressed my face into his shoulder. Then he simply walked away. And I just stood in my hallway wondering how that damn mohawk managed to stay exactly in place.
About an hour and a half later, I found this note on his pillow: "I hope this won't confuse your life as much as it has mine."
Guilt.
I won't go into our long history together. I won't go into why I invited him over, or why I drank half a bottle of tequila. I won't go into why I fucked him. All I can say is that I hate it when I get what I want.
posted by The Husskateer at 12:23 PM
1 Comments:
This is a very interesting blog, but there simply aren't enough regular entries. Still worth checking back every other day or so to see if anything new pops up.
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