radfrac_archive_full

I got over my unrelationship self-pity before Valentine's Day, which seems like a shame. I had all this really decent maundering to do and I finished it like a week in advance. The day itself I mostly spent shopping.

It seems so indulgent to even worry about having a partner or not; and the little epiphanies that go along with that struggle are so smudgy with handling that they don't really bear looking at. "Heck! I'm a whole person after all!" and like this.

Someone called at 2 am last night. I struggled out of sleep and into a lacuna -- either I left the light on or I turned it on, and I had time to check the clock across the room behind a line of washing (n.b., inlandsea, stitchinmyside - I think the dryer is broken) -- yet I still had time to pick up the phone before it stopped ringing. So did they ring twice?

"Hello?" I said, in that universal bleary-beleaguered-ready-to-be-alarmed voice.
"Sorry." said a male voice.
There was a pause. I waited for "Wrong number," or a click.
"Hello?" I said again, uncreatively. Then the click. I *69ed, but the number was blocked.

No doubt trying to reach ex or possibly a cab. Though when I got up proper and found a city construction sign newly embedded in our lawn where I was sure it had not been the day before, I briefly entertained the fantasy that this was all part of some elaborate backhanded love gesture on the part of, well, I can't think who. Someone in public works, I guess.

Have been treating my life like a verb with a missing referent, as though my being were trying to limp along at the wrong valence. Don't know why. Phase, I suppose. Feel better now. Don't know why that either. Hopefully means I can get on with it. You know. Life. Being useful.

{rf}