Trouble In Paradise

I think I've found a new hobby. Reading.

Last weekend my girlfriend gave me a John Deere letter through email, while I was on vacation, and I didn't know it until after I'd gotten back just a couple days ago. It kind of hit me like a ton of bricks. More surprising than anything, but after thinking about it I guess I'm not so surprised.

We'd been together not even three months. I figured I'd be pretty well over it after a few days of shock but like my failed relationships before it, its the last thing on my mind before I sleep and the first when I wake. I've got this kind of problem, I guess, where I'm every bit as avoidant as I am dependent. So when I fall into a relationship, which I in fact secretly love to be in, I tend to want to act as if I'm not in one at the same time. Two years ago I was stunned when a girl-friend of mine, the kind of girl-friend you lose sleep over wishing there wasn't a hyphen, told me with a kind of jarring bluntness that I was "high maintenance."

High maintenance! Fuck.

And like I said, it hit like a ton of bricks. I woke up today and poked around on the intarweb for a few hours and then half-heartedly tried watching tv. I couldn't even find anything to be artificially interested in. So I turned it off. And sat there. Look left, nothing. Look right, nothing again. Silence. And that's when I hit peak bugging because when you're alone in your apartment with no task to carry out and no one to think about, that's when the unanswerable "why me" questions flood your mind. Texting my friend needing advice, he told me to head to Borders, so that's what I did.

As if this relationship didn't remind me again how I'm older than ever before, I had to address this sort of issue with the cashier after buying a Murakami book.

"Did you graduate today?"
"No, I graduated about a year and a half ago."
"What are you doing here, then?"

Say what, bitch?

"Oh, I work on campus."
"What do you do?"
"We do social surveys."
"Ahhhhh, very good. Would you like a Borders card?"
"Sure."
"Phone number?"
"320-XXXX"
"That's my number."
*blink*
"Just kidding."

This woman was at least 55 years old. Anyway, what AM I doing here? Why aren't I... somewhere else? I don't have an answer for that. But for the here and now, I decided that something had to be done to right this ship, to plug me back into society as sad as that sounds. I plopped down in the cafe area with my book, sipping my drink and looking very single. This of course translates to I didn't read much of my book, and stared at the attractive girl over there as if I'd lived in a cave with my cousin Zakkkk my whole life. I probably wasn't helping my own case with my pants at my ankles, but that's altogether another story.

After reading this through it sounds as if I'm trying to work up a date. I'm not. If I were, there would've been mention of fair compensation and a ride back to Dancing Tiger. To get back on topic, I think I've picked up a new hobby; reading. I never really did it in school, ever, but it actually feels very nice to engage my mind a little bit again. For you Murakami readers, let's talk books. Its late now though, but I just wanted to finish draining the emotional hangover. Pass the kleenex.

My next entry might be about the way I cut pancakes.

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*Reading The Wind Up Bird Chronicle