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9-9-01 - 1:58 p.m.

This is the sound of me going slowly insane.

Today has so far been really hard. I went to work this morning (anecdote to follow) for a few hours, I'm seeing Madonna tonight, and in between the two I've had very little to do but sit and ponder which of the two evils I would hate myself for giving in to more: drinking or having sex with someone. I'm not thirsty or horny, but both are tools I've used in the past to relieve tension, at least temporarily. But because I'm trying to be a Good Person I'm not allowing myself either. My neighbor smokes pot. I'm not allowing myself a neighborly visit. I don't want to have to deal with the lectures and the "I'm so ashamed of you's" and the other shit that my stress-relief entails. And I'm not going to cut. I'm just going to sit here and I'm going to wait and that will be it.

At work this morning, I was wiping down tables and I guess I leaned too far over and showed a slight hint of cleavage to an older man, I'd say about 55 years old. I could tell he was peering into the opening of my top (a polo-shirt sort of thing with three buttons, two of which I'd left open) and so I stood up and smiled nonchalantly and asked how he was doing.

"Wanna hear a joke?" he asked me.
Customer service, I thought. It's just customer service. "Sure."
"What's the difference between a caesar salad and anal sex?"
Taken aback, I said, "I don't know, what?"
"Come to dinner with me and find out."

It's very difficult to catch me off-guard. He managed it. I laughed, called him a playboy and gave him a wink and a pat on the back...and hurried to get out of his line of sight.

 

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