kiwifruit's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Resolutions What a way to ring in the New Year. I didn�t make a resolutions list�they seem to obvious�get a job, get a life, get an apartment, stop drinking so much, stop smoking so much, eat healthier, stop toying with unsuspecting hearts, stop toying with my own heart� Blah. Blah. Blah. So, when I last wrote it was New Year�s Day�it was raining, it was gray, all the good movies were sold out�what�s a girl to do? Well� if you�re Kiwi you trip and fall�directly into C.�s bed. Yup. That�s right. So much for strength and wisdom. But shit. It had to happen right? I mean isn�t this the clich� post-breakup move? I wouldn�t want to have too clean a getaway. I wouldn�t want to let the wounds heal. I just ripped off the Band-Aid and tore off half the scab with it. So we had the predictable �talk�, cry, sleep together thing. I guess it had to happen. Well, it didn�t have to happen. I could have said no. But I didn�t. Here�s how it happened� It was the first day of the New Year. It was pouring rain. All the good movies were sold out. I had spent hours in Barnes & Noble reading fashion magazines, the rest of the day stretched out before me. Then Patrick called. I was all set to head down to his apartment to rent movies. Then we got in an argument over what to rent. Typical. Then C. called. We had a decent conversation. I mean honestly, if he hadn�t called me I probably would have called him. Come on, new years eve inevitably brings up all those feelings of loss and longing and what if�s. Then again, New Year�s day should bring about thoughts of fresh starts and letting bygone�s be bygone�s. Whatever. So it of course comes up that we should have that �closure� conversation that we never had. We all know where this is going right? I spent way too much time trying to decide what the proper post-breakup conversation outfit would be. I thought about trying to look devastatingly cute�just so he could see what he was missing. But then I decided that this wouldn�t fool C., he�d see right through it, so I donned baggy jeans, a long john shirt and my Converse All Stars. To me this outfit said that I wasn�t trying too hard, I wasn�t expecting anything, and I wasn�t trying for anything. Yuh right. I had bizarre luck hailing a cab in the gusting wind and pouring rain. Downtown to C.�s new apartment. Seeing the apartment was painful. There were remnants of the New Year�s party he�d had the night before all over the place, little pieces of confetti collected in the grooves of the coffee table, scraps of streamer stuck to the windowsills. Hmmm�can you imagine I wasn�t invited? Shocker. The new apartment is beautiful. Exactly the kind of place and the neighborhood that C. and I always talked about moving to. The exact opposite of the nightmare Upper East Side hovel that we lived in. The hovel that was the final nail in our relationship coffin. Sigh. So�we talked. We had a glass of wine. We cried. We hugged. We kissed. We went to bed. Then we ordered salads and watched Witness on TV all cuddled up on the couch�it was this bizarre mix of feeling really at home and feeling like I was going to crawl out of my skin. The familiar and the foreign. His body felt like home. Painful. And then I slept over. The rain was pouring and the wind howling outside, it only made sense. And we slept in the bed all wrapped up in each other just like we�ve done a million times before. Shit. Piss. Fuck. So now what? The following Saturday morning just as the snow began to fall, boss-man and I boarded a plane to Miami. Ahhh�Miami. Nothing like escaping reality for a while. A huge suite overlooking the ocean, lazing by the pool with a pina colada in my hand, walks on the beach, a massage every afternoon, tennis lessons in the morning and amazing dinners every night. This is definitely NOT my reality. But it could be if I could just get over C. But of course every little thing reminded me of C. and as lovely as it was I couldn�t help but think how great it would be if it was C. that was there with me. I know. I know. I�m horrible. What will become of this remains to be seen. I mean in time I will get over C. That is as long as I don�t sleep with him anymore. As long as I don�t think�what if? What if? What if he is capable of change? What if I manage to get my life together, and he manages to get his life together, and we can scrape together the remains and build something new and better? Riiiiight�back to reality. But before I return to the real world, just a quick segue back downtown�went on Wednesday night to pick up my last check at the restaurant and since I was already down there I decided I may as well have dinner with C. right? Because Tribeca is so close to his new apartment and all. Even though we all know that even if his new apartment were in Queens or God forbid, Jersey City, I would find a way to rationalize it. Ugh. Do I really have to go on? So we had tapas and wine, talked, laughed, and so on�now this is getting serious. Now I am officially a nervous wreck. Because I am playing with fire and I really don�t have the constitution for this sort of thing. I had to lie to C. about who I was with in Miami. Now I have to deal with the possibility that I will get caught in this lie. For such a big city, New York is a very small town, and there is the really real possibility that my inner circle and his inner circle will cross paths. And there is a weak link in my inner circle and I am not entirely sure she won�t spill the beans. My best friend tells me to just deny, deny, deny. She says there are really only two people who 100% know what happened in any crime and usually one of them is dead�she�s a lawyer, what can I say? So no, I�m not thinking of killing anyone. But I do know that I have to stop seeing boss-man. Not just because of C., but because it isn�t making me feel very good about myself. All I want is a job, an apartment, a pet and my life in some sort of order. Is that too much to ask? That being said, I have to close this tawdry little confessional and head out to a headhunter interview. Yes it�s true, Kiwi has donned nude hose, a pinstripe suit and classic accessories to go out and plead for employment. This is sure to be loads of fun�the usual barrage of tests�computer skills, verbal aptitude, blah, blah, blah�all for the opportunity to be a temp. That�s right, a temp. The best I can hope for is a long-term temp position. A sort of pretend job if you will. Hell, I�d take it. I�d take just about anything at this point. Anything but the position of �kept woman�, that�s one position I just don�t have the stomach for. Wish me luck please. 1:25 p.m. - 2003-01-10 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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