the 46th week

Monday. Tori and I opened. I ran the deposit for the studio down to Covington, and after studying the Loyalists at The Anchor, I headed to the Loth House. Amos and I played Call of Duty and Blake & Traci joined us. Ams came, too, and John & Brandy returned late after doing some “cleaning” at their new house.

Tuesday. “I like your dorky moments,” Mandy K. teased. Eric and I opened. Tiffany unveiled our new cream-cheese pumpkin bread. “Keep an eye on Anthony,” she warned Eric. After work I went to The Anchor—Gorman’s chapters on Christ-like love are both spellbinding and convicting—and then I packed up 90% of my belongings in a handful of boxes. “I’m a hermit!” My furniture includes my bed, desk, and several bookshelves (though I may “steal” one of the unclaimed sofas in our living room). As to the bookshelves, I wonder what my priorities are? I like not having a lot of stuff; I could easily (albeit mournfully) sell a few of my books, roll up my bed, shove some boxes in my car and take off to never come back (it’s tempting sometimes). Mandy K. thinks my love for books and learning is wonderful. Ams came over, having a really shitty day over stuff with Josh. My heart breaks for her; I hate to see her cry.

Wednesday. I didn’t sleep well, woke up feeling quite off, a strange unsettled feeling, as if my intuition were telling me things with the Wisconsinite were skewed. I didn’t work Tazza Mia this morning, so I went to The Anchor. Mandy K. called me, and it was nice talking to her; it made me feel better. I’m sure things are okay, I just get paranoid (I need to get over that). I told her that I’ve been missing her lately, and she said she’s been missing me, too. Corey joined me at the diner and ate breakfast while I drank coffee. I hurried home from The Anchor to fix some toast and eggs before a mandatory meeting with W.O.J. I worked till 5:30 out in Delhi, and then Amos, Ams and I met up at Rock Bottom for drinks and dinner. Corey and Mandy joined us. Amos, Ams and I headed over to the Loth House to round out the night hanging with John and Brandy, and Missy and Aaron B.

Thursday. I worked till 1:30; no trip to the farm today. I picked up UDF’s pumpkin coffee to pick me up. It was damned delicious. Pumpkin ale at the brewery yesterday, pumpkin coffee today. It’s about time I got on the pumpkin bandwagon, since autumn seems to be all but over: all day it’s been cold and rainy, and as I ate pine club pasta and a stuffed pork chop, snow fell outside. I spent the quiet evening reading, and Mandy K. and I got to Facetime! Her beauty renders me breathless every time.

Friday. Eric and I opened. I dog-sat Clover for John and Brandy while their landlord examined the house; they headed to Kentucky for yet another funeral. Way too much of that these days; who’s next? Amos came home from work, and we played video games. Ams swung by, and we picked up Chinese from Double-Dragon II in Surrey Square and watched episodes of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia late into the night.

Saturday. A rough day. The Wisconsinite called things off again. This time I didn’t talk about Jesus enough AND she found someone else. So it was a pretty rough night that I spent alone because everyone was gone. I wrote several pages expressing my feelings, but to post that here, now, would be to make myself vulnerable, and I’m learning that’s not a good thing to do. *SIGH* This feels like a great time to listen to some Spill Canvas. God help me.

Sunday. I was up until 5 AM last night, unable to sleep, wide awake, drowning in thoughts and memories, hearing her voice over and over in my head, reliving the conversation. It was a weird sensation, at 4 AM, having the urge to just bash my head against the wall over and over to try and bleed those memories, those thoughts, from my mind. Eventually I passed out, and I woke too late for church and went downtown to do the food order and ran into Tiffany and told her everything that happened. She didn’t say “I told you so” (but she did). Mandy, Ams and I got breakfast at Keystone in Clifton followed by coffee. Corey joined us back at the house, and though the evening seemed to be going fine enough, it degenerated pretty quickly: Mandy thought she was dying, Corey was dealing with his mother’s death, and Ams and I sat in the living room mocking the comedic tragedy that is our lives. “Sometimes I look at my life and think, ‘This can’t be real, this HAS to be a joke.’” The ironic thing is, two days before the Wisconsinite called things off, I made the conscious and difficult decision to allow myself to hope, to force myself to trust her. I exercised patience all along, and caution, too, and the moment I allowed hope to flourish, that hope turned into just another disappointment. My life is a tragic comedy, but I’m not the one who’s laughing.