mychai's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- On a somber note... Ninety-nine percent of the time, I don't care about her. Where she is, what she's doing, isn't any concern of mine. I couldn't care if she was running down the street in pure excitement or laying under some other random schoolbus. It doesn't bother me that she depends on alcohol, even though I know it isn't the real her. I don't mind that she isn't at all the same person she was when we first met. It wouldn't bother me if some chum dropped her off in the middle of Nowhere, Missouri, expecting her to walk all the way back. If she somehow got really desparate and called me to bail her out, maybe I would. Maybe I woudn't. I don't know. I don't care. Yes... Ninety-nine percent of the time, I enjoy coming home to quiet, to alone-ness, to peace. To a kitchen I choose when I want it to be clean. To plates I choose to leave by the couch. But every now and then -- on some especially lonely Saturday nights -- I miss renting movies, putting on PJs, and falling asleep with my arms wrapped around her. One percent nights are hell. 1:40 p.m. - Sunday, Oct. 28, 2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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