Teeming with hormones, my eyes leak to 'California Dreaming' and how it fits the day. All the leaves are brown and the sky is grey.
Young couples in the class put diapers on dolls. Kneeling on the floor in crumpled business casual, skirts and ties, I imagine they are all so capable in their everyday lives. Here they are in red-faced panic, trying to learn things that will soon be like breathing, little do they know. My heart aches.
Compounding my soft heart and hormones, tensions are building steadily at work and tomorrow I have plans to go out with the guy from last week. When it feels like a date is "looming", it is lonelier than having no date at all. That one is hard to explain any other way. I don't feel like I have it in me right now, but at the same time, having it seems like the only way. At one particularly airless moment, when a bridge seemed like a good place to go, I got a voicemail at work from Josh. Let me preface this by telling you he had no idea how my day had been. He generally does random things, which is one reason I love him so much.
"You are my sunshine" he sang into the phone, "my only sunshine, you make me happy , when skies are grey...". He sang the entire song, I am sure. I rolled my eyes, trying not to smile and pressed double 3 then 7. "
"Message deleted."
The next message was Josh again. First he cleared his throat and then, singing in his 'good voice',
"you are so beautiful to me...". And so fake serious.
This from a big burly guy with baseball mitt hands. I laughed despite all of my efforts. It's like he knew, somehow. It was enough to send me on a detour, out of the rut, at least for the night.
I called him later and we talked for a while. I confessed that I ate a whole Halloween bag of Dairy Milk mini chocolate bars.
"Wow! Not bad! You lonely?", he asked.
"Yes."
"Rough day?"
"Yes."
"You horny?"
"Yes."
There was a pause for a moment.
"So you're filling a void."
"Yes Josh, you could call it that. A huge fucking void. A massive gaping hole", I laughed, "and if it takes a bag of chocolates once in a while...."
...or voice mail serenades...
Whatever it takes.
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4 comments:
you write very much like Chapfu. very weird. you sure you aren't him? you're not moonlighting as "Rachel?"
now i have to make a decision: who do I give up? You or him? You both write alike, you both have good pictures on your sites...I have to cut one of you loose. Who will it be?
do you play the trumpet? that might be the deciding factor here.
Nope, no trumpet. I do, however, play tennis.
Chapfu is a photographer, not me. In fact, I do not see the similarity in writing styles unless you gaze over the surface: both from Toronto, both show pictures, both write words. Chacun son gout.
It has been nice having you around, but when you gotta go, you gotta go.
that just made my eyes bug out! i'm here to say that rachel is not my alter-ego, or vice versa. if i had one, why would i write in a similar style?
i'm not scared of your empty threats. i'll comment you into next week if you try to give up.
thanks, rachel, for calling me a photographer. and i liked this post. fall is taking its toll, it seems. with amp and his sad eyes, and you and i in a colourless toronto.
Ah don't worry. I don't give up easily. I was kidding.
Fall has taken its toll. I think life in general, too. The hand instinctively moves towards the butcher knife. It's that time of year.
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