duck-shaped pain

19 May 2002
Old, um, Friends

I had an odd dream last night where I was hiding from my boss because I hadn't done some important task at work. He was chasing me down the street, so I took refuge in a bar. I got inside and noticed that it wasn't your normal bar. They were only serving juice and all the walls were painted in soothing colors; it didn't take me long to figure out that this was a bar catering to the developmentally disabled. It seemed like a good place to hang out, anyway. I sat back, drank my juice and we all watched TV.


I've decided not to have a garden this year, other than my long-suffering rosemary plant. My official reason, when people ask, is that we're facing serious drought conditions here in the valley this summer. So less plants equals less water usage (which doesn't apply to the lawn, although I wouldn't mind giving up on that, too). My real reason, though, is that I suck at it. I grew an eggplant plant from seed last year and it grew and grew and finally, towards the end of its life, squirted out a tiny oblong purple thing which was barely edible. The basil essentially had no chance, ever, and the parsley died within days. Also aiding my decision is that the local garden centers just haven't had anything around that I want to grow.

Something odd happened a few weeks ago when I went to a local store to look for plants. I was walking into the store when I heard someone calling to me. I looked up, and it was S., an old friend of mine from high school who I've sort of kept in touch with over the years. My involvement with him has ranged from nonexistent to complicated; he was my roommate in Denver for a few months after his girlfriend kicked him out, then he promptly moved out and I didn't hear from him again for a couple of years.

The last time I saw S. was two years ago, in front of the public library downtown. I was still on crutches from my broken leg and the library was one of the only places I could navigate. I was trying to open the door when it swung open, and out came S. and his mom. He had just recently moved back to town, and was living with her. That time, he called me once and we almost got together to do something, and then he left town again.

This time, S. was back after living in San Diego, where he had worked at a youth hostel as a janitor and also as a pot concierge for interested guests (I can't think of a job that S. would be more appropriate for than the latter). He fell in love with this English girl, and followed her to London where she promptly told him to go the hell away, and he ended up sleeping in a boat for three months until he was able to scrape up enough money to come back. None of this surprised me: this the sort of thing that always happens to him.

So I told him what I was doing with my life (working, going back to school, traveling a bit) and he was strangely dismissive. "You used to be fun," he said. "I need to take you out so that you can be fun again."

I'm not really sure what he meant by this, since he had only had a 30-second glimpse into what my life was like now. When we lived together, sure, it might have been "fun" in some ways, but what I remember most was worry about not having a job, not having any money, things like that. Sure, I was able to stay up until 3 or 4 in the morning, but that's because I didn't have anything else to do. I just remember being tense. So I might not be "fun" now, but I'm much happier, not having to worry about money and am really able to do anything that I want.

Anyway, he promised to call me and take me out for something unspecified, something that would loosen me up. It's been about three weeks and I have yet to hear from him. Oh well.

previous | next



the past + the future


also, see here.

newest
older
random entry
about me
links
guestbook
email
host
wishlist


www.flickr.com
This is a Flickr badge showing public photos from hypothetical wren. Make you own badge here.