12 May, 2008

waiting for godot

I call her after I drink the fifth of Stoli to a certain level.

She doesn't notice I'm drunk and continue to get more so.

Her: "My ex is stalking me..."

Her, later:

"I think he's gotten over it..."

Me: "The last thing you want is for him to get over it. The last thing you want is for anyone to get over anything. You need power over everyone. That power turns the crank that juts out of your back."

(I don't know if I just came up with that or if I'm reiterating it.)

Later, me:

"The fact remains that if he showed up at your door and said he'd really try this time, you'd take him back. You love the fat, small-dicked fucker because he's broken... And it isn't that you want to fix him: You love playing with the pieces."

"You think I'm incapable of loving someone who isn't fucked up?"

"You know you are."

The conversation goes on until I find myself sinking too far into self-loathing.

...I need her.

I must love playing with the pieces...

And I must be shattered for her to listen to me...

The realization scares me as it did the first time and I beg off the phone quickly with a limp excuse.

We'll talk when the bottle of Stoli gets to the proper level.

Maybe the next time I call she'll have some other guy. And then I'll hear about all the ways in which he's inadequate, and mesmerizing because.

Then maybe her ex will begin stalking her in an obvious manner, out of jealousy.

Then maybe they'll get back together.

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