not black, but gray and drizzly friday

so sick. mornings are growing increasingly less bearable, which makes me think two, two, two and what the hell am i doing.
giving of myself, testing my soul.
i hope our stilted conversation signifies nothing more than our not being accustomed to phone communication and my being completely exhausted. i hope it's not a window into this summer. or beyond. i just remember the six-week hiatus and the single phone call that seemed to disappoint him and prevent him from trying again. and i hope we can get to a better place telephonically.
physicality can't be all we are.
what will he do at the end of the summer? where will we be and how?
i dreamt about it last night: him, me, future, commitment, projection. it was a disaster. reality, please be more merciful. love can be such a greedy thing, its gauzy motivations so self-serving.
she says she's barely making it on our salary and her only steady bills are rent (400 less than mine), cable and cell phone. kinda makes me feel better about my situation. though not much.
bills are piling up that can't be paid for two more weeks. groceries are depleting that can't be replaced in as long. i make it by and i'm thankful for that, but i'm not doing so stresslessly. i need to find a better way to deal with the two of us financially. mostly, i think i need a steady second job. or i need to write and sell.
black friday: everyone's shopping today. even if the notion of plunging into holiday crowds didn't inspire me to hermit myself misanthropically away in the woods, i wouldn't be able to buy anything anyway. $30 only goes so far. how is it that i was living with greater ease before i had a job?
my subconscious echoes the escapism i am seeking. i want to flee this country before the commercialization gets too heavy. i don't want to be here for the holiday madness. i am such a fucking scrooge. i don't want to see any of it, the frantic shoppers buying shit no one wants or needs, charging it to their department store accounts, the pseudo-cheer forcefully cloaking the stress of the season, the child molester santas charging 20 bucks to grope kids' asses while they smirk behind phony beards at the camera. i need to get away from this place. i need to get out of this town. it's been too long since i was on a plane. i need to escape substantially more than once a year. for that to happen, i need my rock to sell. or my writing to complete and improve itself, then sell.
time alone with her is exacerbating my swarthmore fever. we need to get out for a bit together. i dreamt last night of a newer jaunt to barcelona. only it wasn't just the two of us and i was less financially sound than before. but we were away. and it made all the difference. i need him back in my life as my guardian angel, lining my pockets, issuing some security. the apron strings weren't hard for me to sever; they never did much for me anyway. his purse strings' disappearance has been a bigger blow. i love what he did for me, the opportunities he allowed, but i somewhat resent his instilling a false sense of stability, which disintegrated promptly on june 1.
nearly 8 months and almost to the point at which things began to fly to shit with him, under similar circumstances, though with even fewer resources and at a younger age, a more childish stage. maybe this time things won't fly apart. it's so hard to be on the other side of my six-year defense: more smitten with him than vice versa.
i hope he completed his exam so he can come play with me for part of the day, though i don't know what we'll do. rent free movies while he drinks beer and i muse and stuff my face to stave off nausea. he wants to take us out, but i cringe at the thought of his paying. he has expenses of his own, and no job. in montana, making 2g's a month would be heaven. i'd have savings AND disposable income. but, in montana, there's minimal research, so i'd likely be out of a job, waitressing at 4B's, serving him coffee and pie when he visited his grubby friends and came in late and high with unbearable munchies. and i would just gamble next door all the time, hoping to strike it rich and consequently losing all my meager money. 12.50 an hour is more than many people make. I don't know how they live.
anna quindlen had a strong argument and a good point, but i don't know what difference it's going to make. maybe exposure is the first stage of solution, but i wanted it overtly, explicitly detailed, a powerpoint presentation of how to change our world, close the gap. if i weren't feeling poor, would i care?
god, i hope so.
his number on my caller id. it has been so long. i need to track him down and reconnect. i need to experience us now and see what's changed. we haven't seen each other since he scarved me against the wind on the way to the crimson moon.
date with her today to see a movie i don't particularly care about seeing, but it gets me out of the house, out of my head. date with her this afternoon to see him and admire how he's grown since the spring, hear his first year tales, simultaneously envy his intellectual stimulation and relish the fact that i don't have his mounds of work.
maybe he'll call tonight and we'll be better together. maybe he'll be less reserved and i'll be less sensitive and sleepy. maybe he won't and i'll finish my book and force myself to write. or maybe he'll be here and i'll fall asleep in the middle of our conversation and apologize all over myself because i am becoming crappy company.