| |
| |
| |
Nijmegen, the Netherlands, August 2004 —
| Most of the pages that I wrote about my acquaintance with Kim remind me of her cruelty and my own stupidity, and are painful. But I kind of like this one. In any case, it's "chapter 3" of "my first book," a 6-page series I wrote in the summer of 2004 in Nijmegen, and (as of spring 2017) my only attempt at narrative in web-page form.) |
On Friday, Kim called me three times; I'd been thinking about her every time, at the moment, and told her so. She was going swimming. I told her I'd call her after work.
When I had finished, my boss was on the 'phone with Nuon, the utilities company — and God knows, that could take some time. So I bravely went to the 'phone booth, and was fortunate that it worked.
Kim figured out I was feeding coin, and said she'd call me back.
"Hey, Kim! I was just thinking about you."
"Don't be silly."
She said maybe I'll see you tonight, and I said yeah, maybe so.
Then she didn't call me. I found that disturbing, and I couldn't sleep.
I didn't do a good job at work. I forgot to put the yeast in the tomato bread. I threw it all back in the bowl — 48 1/2-kilo loaves — and mixed in yeast. But it was crap. I should have started over, really.
"Iraq, Saddam, find out, get back to me." — Richard Clark on G.W. Bush.
I didn't see Kim until Sunday evening, when she came to visit me.