Professing * Reflecting

Friday, December 03, 2004

Dr. Tussionex

This week I have traded my whiskey and wine for the greatest drug of all time, whatever it is that they put in Tussionex cough syrup. I wanted to do a drunken post about the sluttier side of my holiday, but I have been sick sick sick. It might have been fun to do a high-on-cough-syrup post, but the stuff doesn't allow one to sit upright for more than ten minutes. Big, BIG fan.

Anyway, I am feeling better but no longer feel inspired to write about my (ho)liday exploits. In short, my bed featured a rotating cast of Whore Pants All Stars, old and new. (Note: Whore Pants is a punk band whose primary members are Dr. Crazy, Profgrrrrl, and me. If you haven't already, you can read about its conception in the comments to this post.) I am fairly certain that these exploits will continue, so I am sure to be inspired to discuss the details at some point.

In my sickness and cough-syrup fog (have I mentioned how truly delightful this stuff is?), I have been pondering two questions: 1) Why do I seem to sleep with all of my friends? I had not fully realized that I do this until I started the blog and had to say repeatedly, "Yep. Another friend in my bed."; 2) Why did I do my best to push away the newest WPAS, Romeo (who did sleep in my bed but whom I did not fuck), with my annoying tough-girl routine?

Romeo was geniunely interested in me. We watched movies and talked until 5 a.m. Very little making out, even though he is the most gorgeous man I have ever seen in person (and that includes Matthew McConaughey, who was at a weekend-long house party I attended a couple of years ago). Yes--I am shallow, but Romeo is also funny and sweet and fun. We "clicked" and he kept commenting on how amazing the "clicking" was and how glad he was that we had met. We hung out until 4 p.m. the next day. I, in full-on tough/cool girl mode, treated the whole thing as if it were very casual. I could see several of my remarks along these lines made him uncomfortable. Worst of all, when he asked if we could see each other again ("Because I would really like to"), I was dismissive: "Well, yeah, you have my number, right?". Stupid, stupid guarded Medusa. Nearly a week has gone by. He has not called, and I can not blame him.

I know that I sleep with my friends because it is safe. I know that I have been doing this for a little over a year, since a particularly painful break-up with someone who in many ways was the great love of my life. I also know that I have stronger feelings for Demetrius (whose non-psuedonymous name is the same as Romeo's) than I care to recognize or admit. I know that I pushed away Romeo on purpose. I just don't know exactly why.

Must go teach and attend a talk by a colleague. Will hang with Demetrius, Feste, and friends tonight. (Must rememeber to hide the sacred Tussionex from these fiends.) In the manner befitting a 16-year-old girl, I just wish Romeo would call.



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