Bad Dream

Have you ever had an encounter with someone, particularly at night, that was so weird that the next morning you felt like it was just a dream? Well, I did. Yesterday. See, I better go back to the beginning. I didn't blog about it, but I told D I couldn't see her anymore last Tuesday (May 18th). And I was doing as well as I usually do when I am trying to get her out of my mind (which is not well, BTW), when, late Saturday night (May 22nd), she called me, drunk I later find out, all upset. She told me she was homeless and living out of her car. She even told me that she slept in the Anspach parking lot that Thursday night, the night Allan and I were in GR to see Sloan. And then she told me she loved me. Wow. Needless to say, I told her, forget everything that had happened between us, that she could stay with me. So Monday (yesterday) comes around and she moves in. We don't really talk about the call. It's like the elephant in the room that no one mentions. So bedtime rolls around and I can't take it. I have to talk about it. Well, it turns out she still has a place to stay at her friend's, she just doesn't like it. It's no fun, apparently, and it's way down in Alma. And she, in fact, stayed with a friend Thursday night. She has not, it turns out, spent a single night in her car. Also, she told me that she does NOT love me, that she was drunk, and that she does not think we should try again. Well, I was astounded. Why was she here, I asked. I felt taken. She had manufactured a story, she LIED to me, she used my reliable feelings for her, despite the fact that I was trying to get over her, just so she could have a more convenient place to stay. Well, I was astounded. Absolutely amazing. And I knew that I could not have her under my roof, in my bed, and still get over her and move on. Rather, I wanted to try again. Foolishly, of course. But that's the hold she has on me. But she did not. She just wanted a place to stay, and mine is nice and well-located. So when she got fed up with talking about it, she decided to leave, right then and there, at Midnight. There were no arguments from me whatsoever. I even helped her pack. And now she's surely pissed, despite the fact that she was the one who lied to me, who came into my home (and, yeah, I suppose my heart) under false pretenses, and then who chose to leave when she didn't like facing what she had done.

It's really weird. Like I say, on this cold, tired morning, it feels like a dream, like I wonder if it really happened. I wish it hadn't. My last memory of being with her was actually kind of nice. But now I have this one. On the bright side, at least, it's gotta be the last chapter. An epilogue maybe. I told Steffel this was going to make a great short story someday. But I wonder which one of us will write it. It's probably more significant to me, but she's the real writer. Heh, maybe I should be thanking her for the source material. Or her me. :)

May your days, and nights, be relatively drama-free.

Andy