Tuesday, February 26, 2008


So, one mystery solved. Today while heading to an appointment I got a text out of the blue from a number I recognized as the serial killer's (I had erased it in a streamlining binge this weekend).
It said: "sorry about all that. That is all."

Oh dear god. Can anyone be more vague, complex and heartbreaking in a text message? I realized that dating this guy would be a lot like dating myself. A series of malentendues, freak-outs, sudden bursts of ecstatic passion, and veiled purposes. Except that I am not a serial killer. One bonus for me.

You know, I really was very expressive with this guy. Well, as expressive as someone who doesn't like to be vulnerable and isn't ready to just jump into bed with potential future husbands can be. Which meant everything I wanted to say would come out completely garbled and defensive and then he would just look at me intently, and say "I don't understand. Use smaller words."

At least I'm not the only one with a gift for being vague and disappointing. No - there is a whole subspecies of us and we really should be on dating probation.

I texted back: "Use smaller words." My one regret is disparagement is probably not 100% expressable via SMS. Oh well.

One distraction concluded. Officially over it.

At least now I will be able to write about that insane evening and my brush with death on Camp Street. Well, when I'm not aching all over and just ready for bed.

I am so fucking sick of being sick.

I went to my acupuncturist friend today who is back from Asia doing splendid charitable work like teaching blind people how to do acupuncture. He's really very good. There's very few people who I can trust with burning herbs close to my hair.

He says: "Here, I'll give you some to use at home. Sometimes I set my hair on fire, but I never get a cough."

Oh Quang, I love you dearly but this is exactly why I hire professionals.

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