kiwifruit's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Running on Empty So here I am in Northern Vermont fighting off memories and hives and heartbreak. It's all so much easier in New York. Sure, there every street, every restaurant, every stupid storefront in some way reminds me of C.,but the thing about heartbreak, if you can just run fast enough it takes a long time to catch up with you. In the Northeast Kingdom running this fast isn't really an option. Yesterday was the worst…maybe because it was C.'s birthday or maybe because I started drinking wine at around 3:30 in the afternoon. Leave it to me to find a NY male model tucked up in the hills near Lake Willoughby in the NEK. Okay, so he's not a new find. He's my trusty break up distraction. I've known him since I was around 23, which equals approximately seven breakups (one of which was my breakup with his brother)…okay, seven breakups that really mattered. Far more that didn't, or that did, for around ten seconds. Prior to this we've never had sex. Just the occasional wrestling match on the sofa of his rustic New Yorker's idea of a true Vermont cabin, but Friday night I braved snow storm and conscience and fecked him. Chalk that up for two men in so many weeks. Something tells me this isn't really the way to get over C. I mean, I could fuck a million men and the fact would still remain...the only person I really want to be with is C. But I feel no guilt, no panic, no...anything. I feel nothing. Which as we all know, doesn't make sex a particularly fun event (for me that is). Now male model says he wishes I would stay longer, wishes I would come stay for a month in the summer when his new house is finished. It's probably just been so long since he saw a properly waxed coochie he has temporarily lost his mind. So tomorrow morning I head home...directly from the airport to the hair salon for a blow-out and the nail salon for a manicure. Do not pass go; do not collect 100 dollars. Then it's on to Tribeca to my new place of employment, after putting on an appropriate hostess gear (i.e. show cleavage, not too much cleavage). And let the races begin again...as of January 1 I will officially be residing on 8th Street in the E. Village. Okay so let's see the checklist. Job? Check. Home? Check. Broken heart? Check. La di da. La di da. 9:43 a.m. - 2002-12-01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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