thediastema's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- We didn't even kiss. But we only broke contact to make rest stops, and that's not normal. Okay, you can be in the same boat as someone else and just have empathy for him. By this, I mean that, if I'm still not quite over the whole Yuppie thing, and Yuppie's with Peg now, then, sure, I'm uniquely equipped to understand Durwood's not-quite-being-over Dinah while she's with Cake Cone (I guess I didn't provide her boyfriend with an alias, and I saw that on a stranger's TCBY receipt at a truck stop, so Dinah's boyf is now "Cake Cone" in these pages). Uniquely equipped, sure. This sort of thing need not translate from empathy to some other force. It TOTALLY needn't. Indeed, just because Durwood has (in my opinion) the funniest one-liners at the racetrack, it doesn't necessarily mean we're somehow kindred spirits. What we need to do right now is help each other, platonically, through this tough period of watching our dear ones commit themselves long-term to other people. Actually, when you get right down to it, that's where the similarities end; after all, Dinah and Durwood had an Olympic fling. Yuppie and I had only a "fight" with garden-variety office supplies. Yuppie only pays me a little more attention than I think he should, on the rare occasion we see each other. Dinah, on the other hand, is still flirting with Durwood every time Cake Cone turns his head. So it really wouldn't be appropriate to put moves on Durwood, even harmless little things like exposing my wrist when we smoke together on the corner of the veranda, even token gestures like accepting a piggyback ride through the water when we go swimming in a lake. Having entire conversations in raspberry noises is both unwise and puerile, no matter how few beers and/or pairs of sunglasses it takes to make him look a little like Chris Murphy. When I squint. We're both walking around with bricks in our stomachs from recent spurnings, and unbuckling safety belts (never a smart idea) in order to doze in one another's arms in the back of Pelican's car all the way home from Idaho would be an exercise in poor judgment for reasons too clear to be missed. It's not that we had difficulty, either of us, remembering this formula. It's not that after three mutual cigarette breaks away from the group, a night under the stars in neighbouring but mutually-exclusive sleeping bags, or the countless hours on the road have made us too dippy to recognise the inherent danger of acting like asses. We know our "acting like asses" criteria, chapter and verse. But we went ahead and acted like asses anyway, and now whatever ramifications it has on the group, it's not undoable. So whether we go cold tomorrow, or continue messing around pretending nothing's going on, or Dinah drops Cake Cone and Durwood forgets me to move in for the kill, or Peg drops Yuppie and my head explodes, or... It is not undoable. I was wrong when I said I wanted the whole Love Polygon (now nearly a smooth circle, having merged two separate Love Polygons into one Monster 'Gon) situation to explode in our faces. What I apparently want it to do is to keep snowballing until it's so big it disrupts Earth's gravitational field, brings the moon in from orbit, and resulting in Armageddon. It felt so good. Ack. 01:30 - 09 June, 2003 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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