This morning was one of the better lay-in-bed-and-hit-the-snooze-button-for-as-long-as-possible mornings. The window was open all night, so it was cool in my room. Before I went to bed I had checked to see if those pigeons I had tried to poison were asleep in their nest, and they were, and in the morning they woke me up. I didn’t feel too cranky about it. Call me Mr Sunshine.

I drove to work, Primo wanted me to help him move some windows on my break. The restaurant was out of tub butter, so Terra sent me to Mattingly’s to buy butter. Mattingly’s “Quick-Stop” or “Stop’N’Go” or whatever their retail shop is called, I’ve only been to a few other times, but the other customers are almost always bizarre people. The store is sort of like a grocery store and sort of like a Sam’s Club. Everything is in large quantities and most of it is frozen. Today’s odd bunch were three guys who looked like miners or factory workers from the fifties who were sharing a shopping cart.

On the way back to the restaurant, I decided to stop at “Del’s Curbside Grill”. It’s a hot dog stand that’s setup in front of the courthouse every day. I parked in Unizan’s customer lot and limped across the street to the stand. There were three guys in front of me, including a big fellow with a gun on his hip. Maybe ZPD, maybe sheriff, but definitely not clean shaven, which I thought that law enforcement were supposed to be. I thought maybe he was Muslim and was allowed to, but he was eating pork, so no dice. The stop took a lot longer than I wanted it to. In and out, I think it was no more than six minutes, but I had thought that I’d only be there for long enough for Del to dig a hot dog out of the cart and give it to me. I felt a little guilty about staying there for six minutes on the clock.

Del hands me my kraut dog and I inquire as to the contents of one of the squeeze bottles on his cart.

“What is in this?” I ask.
“Hot sauce,”
“No, it’s hot.”
I smile. I laugh.

Del ignores me like the idiot he knows I am.
I think about kicking over his cooler.

Primo had forgotten that we were doing the window thing today. I had to wait for him to get ready. This is a unfortunately common annoyance for me. Granted, I was almost an hour earlier than I should have been expected, but I waited. I watched some of “Look Who’s Talking Now” on TV. Primo had it on when I got there. If you knew Primo, you’d understand why that’s sort of unnerving. The movie, by the way, is a travesty of a cinematic endeavor. At Primo’s mom’s house, I saw that the windows, which I had thought were storm windows, were actually bay windows. Phil (who I think is Primo’s step dad) told us that they weigh about three hundred pounds each. Reader, if you don’t know how guys work here is the usual setup: A guy or a few guys are presented with a task that is difficult, or sometimes nigh impossible, and they will act like the task is nothing, “Sure we can get that done, no problem,” knowing full well that this is going to be a big problem. Primo and me realized fairly early on that this was beyond that area. Getting them to the truck would be difficult, the windows were too big for the bed of a Ranger, getting them in the Ranger would be a giant pain, and getting them back out and then into a shack (not a shed) nearly impossible for two people, including myself who is mildly crippled. So Phil showed Primo some of the work he was doing on the house and then Primo took me to the Chinese buffet on Underwood. Me and Katie had eaten there a lot of times, so I spent most of the lunch telling Primo some funny stories about me and Katie eating there, and elsewhere. I think he liked hearing them.

Then I went over to Cohort’s and bought some more BNE gear.

The dinner shift was busy. Work-wise, I think the night was uneventful. During the course of the night I exchanged e-mails with Katie, and for some reason there was a strange turn from what I thought was a good conversation to a clearly negative conclusion. She told me that she was probably going to come home tonight, and I tried to mildly express concern that she’d be driving late and at night. I didn’t want to say “You should sleep tonight and drive in the morning,” since nearly every time I’ve visited her, I left around eleven at night. I think I said “You’ll get here very late” or something to that effect, and I get the reply “I know, I’m not stupid.” This is your captain speaking, we’ve come into some completely unexpected turbulence. Then for the rest of my time at work, no e-mails. I went home, not sure if I should be expecting to be cranky about her driving back to Zanesville without giving me a “bye I’m leaving” e-mail or anything like that, or what.

My dad had left me a note asking me for help with something on his new laptop, so I decided that I’d work on that, check my mail, and if nothing, I’d call her and see what’s going on. No problem with the laptop, and easy fix. E-mail? Yep, here it is:

“i dont want to talk to you for awhile. no more emails or trips to see me. please.”

That’s it. Verbatim. A long time ago she told me she hated being mentioned in this journal, and for the most part I’ve tried to leave out details or elements of our relationship, and I think I’ve done that well. We’ve had good times, we’ve had bad, and I’ve left them out. This one though… I’ll talk about, I’ll type about, I want to… hell, I think I need to.

I get no reason< on why. What ever is it that I did wrong this time? This is sort of the largest degree of times like this, but not really the first, the first in awhile and the largest, I think ever… But every time I think to myself, “If that girl ever tells me again that I’m the best thing to happen to her, or I’m her best friend, or that she doesn’t know where she’d be in life without me, I’m going to tell her to never tell that to me again, because I just can’t believe it anymore.” So, I got that feeling again tonight, but it’s already passed. Remember, reader, I’m a doormat. I’m getting really good at being a doormat that’s also a Frisbee on the weekends, so easily tossed away.

So, how is it I feel about this? I have lots of feelings. I’m angry. I’m disappointed. I’m relieved. I’m confused. I’m content. I’m indifferent. There are so many facets of this situation for me to see and I feel different about all of them. Maybe I’ll wake up to an e-mail tomorrow with an apology, “sorry I was just in a crazy mood” or maybe an angry one about me writing about this or maybe nothing. I think I’d prefer the apologetic one, but I have no expectations about what I’ll get, if anything. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find out what it is I did wrong.

(Edit …)

Let me close… I need sleep, and I know your getting tired of reading this. Katie told me last weekend, or was it the weekend before, that she wished she hated me. I told her I know, it’d be easier, right? Times like these, in the past, I knew exactly what she meant. I wanted so bad to hate her. So so so bad. I wanted to call her up and tell her to go f!@# herself and to leave me alone forever. Never could, and I think I never will. This time, that’s not how I feel. I love Katie, and I’ve told her I will until I die. I’ll always have love for her. Things like this push me further and further away from her in the romance department, or interest thereof, but I don’t feel that way this time. I don’t want to hate her. I know I can’t. I know I won’t. Hell, I know I shouldn’t. I smile to myself, knowing this. I frown to myself, wishing I could do something to make that girl feel a bit better with … whatever, tonight. But I’m obeying her wishes, for whatever reason she made those wishes. She said don’t e-mail. So, I won’t.