Friday, March 17, 2006

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Ahh, the weekend is here. This is one of those Fridays where I sit on the couch and let go of a crazy week. It’s a feeling of relief that I don’t have to do anything tomorrow but what I want to do. What a great feeling!

Tonight I am working on the Sunrise Circle Jacket. I think I am going to work on this project exclusively so I get it done in a reasonable time. Translation: maybe I can wear it before it gets to warm.

And I am part of Secret Pal 8, put together through the Knitter’s Review list serv. This is going to be fun. I see so many of these posted on blogs I read, so now it’s my turn.

Last weekend I was going on and on about how great things with Chris were going.

(sound of brakes squealing)

This weekend, not so much.

I just don’t understand. I am dumbfounded, hurt, confused, angry, embarrassed, and pissed off. Last Friday we met for dinner. It went fine, had a nice time, showed him my place. Things were peachy.

Saturday we were supposed meet down on the Mall after my shift volunteering at the Smithsonian and go the American Indian Museum.

He never showed up. I called him when he was 20 minutes late, wondering what was going on, and his phone went right to voice mail. What the… I was stunned. I tried him a few more times over the weekend and every time his phone went right to voice mail.

Every scenario I could come up with was running through my head. I was convinced he got mugged after he left my place that Friday night. I have even been reading the obituaries this week! My friends convinced me to stop calling him after Sunday. They are totally right, but it has been hard. Not one word from him. He could have bowed out in an email or text message even. But I haven’t gotten on single word.

I just don’t get it.

But I guess I am better off knowing now what a toad he is rather than months from now.

On a completely hysterical note, Charles is back. In D.C. no less. He moved to St. Louis a few months ago, finally, after finishing the house he was fixing up. We had spoken a few times since his move. But Wed. he calls to tell me he could not find a job that paid enough in St. Louis so he is back at his old firm, working here.

My life is a sit-com. I envision these crazy scenarios unfolding on TV screens across the country. It’s not on my TV screen, though, because I am living it.

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