18 2010

Wednesday. It’s either very late or very early, and the angels are awake. The snoring pierces the bathroom walls. Previously, I had tried to block it out with headphones and music, but it was unceasing, undeterred. It is the kind of jackhammer operatic you can’t escape. Not with ears you can’t.

I am too tired to cry, too tired, really, to feel anything but tired. She tells me she just wants to be friends, and can’t we just be friends? Via e-mail she tells me. And for a moment, I am sick and tired, but it passes, and I’m alone in a hotel bathroom in Los Angeles listening to a grown man snore.

There’s not much to say, and like the man says, the sun comes up, and I’m all washed out. She is and was beautiful, smart, and funny. I thought there might have been a future but I didn’t last as long as the illiterate surfer she once dated. The surfer, by the way, would be honored to accept her offer of friendship, she says. As both troll and heel, I’m duly chastised.

She’s smart enough to know two people have no future when one is invested and the other isn’t. She asks anyway.

But I can’t. And now that I’ve made my apologies and bowed out, there’s nothing to do but move on. But Thursday seems a lifetime away…and I think now the snoring has loosened the bathroom tiles.

Categories: FML

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