29 January 2005

Warning: Approaching Crossroads at Point Blank, Proceed with Extreme Caution

Managed to fight off the flu and Dublin was lovely, though a bit weird in the sense that, as competitors (and I am a very,very competitive person) we did our own things during the competition yet went out together with everyone afterwards. Can't wait for the resulting gossip from that one. Not.

In the "Irritating-Yet-Cute" category, I forgot his penchant for posing me in front of various points of intrest and snapping pics. I hate having my picture taken. I'm not photogenic. And while the occasional snap is ok, posing in front of many tourist sights is so cheesy as to warrant a Ritz cracker the size of Miami. So now he has a bunch of pics where I half-heartedly smirk while trying to avoid the ol' Look-I-Have-No-Chin pose.

Little tidbits flit through my mind but the big news in town is that the night of our return to Rome, he point blank asked me what I thought about our future together.

I hate point blank questions. Especially when the flight home meant we had to be at the airport at five-fucking-o'clock and all I really wanted to do was sleep.

Point blank questions suck all forms of answers right out of my squishy grey matter. *SLUUUURP!*

That's the only thing I can say right now, as the point blank questions keep coming. *SLURP!*

What do you think about our future?

Do you think we have a future together?

What things about me really piss you off?

This morning I hauled my ass out of bed about 20 minutes after he did. As I headed into the bathroom, he was puttering around making coffee while a CD (by a famous Egyptian singer as I found out later) played. When I step out of the shower, he's next to the bathroom sink blowing his nose rather loudly with his back turned to me. I do a double take.

He's crying.

not full out sobbing, but red-nosed and watery-eyed and sniffling as ones does when one is trying not to cry. Apparently listening to this particular chanteuse sing about love hits him in the tear duct every time. It's pretty cute, really.

Yet sort of begs the question as to why he chose to put that particular CD on this morning.

Over coffee he then proceeds to describe a traditional wedding ceremony from the country he was born in.

Fine, so that wasn't really a point blank question per se, but...

I really don't do well with romanticism and talking about my feeeeeee-lings. It's a total brain block. I grew up Catholic, damnit. Touchy-feely shit, or at least orally expressed Touchy Feely Shit, is NOT, repeat NOT in my genetic make-up.

I definitely need a few days on my own to sit and think shit out, preferably with a pen in hand, some joints, a big bottle of wine nearby and reassurances from Curly that no, I'm not going insane*.

*Despite the fact that i've used the normally abominable word 'cute' twice in the same damn entry.


...in reference to Shithead...


I think I'm in big trouble.

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