|This is a story about events long ago. The only pain I feel now is when I try to kick myself.|
"Intentional" is a strong word, talking about a woman on the way out. We just don't really have a word for such a condition. Does she mean it, or does she just let it happen? It's no accident.
It had seemed intentional to me when she'd left her telephone, accidentally, with the new boy she'd met. He answered, we talked, and I heard back a story that was different than the real conversation. She asked me, after I'd calmed down, whether I had meant it did I really think it was intentional. I told her, calmly, that yes I did. She acted very angry with me.
She called me three times today. Every time she called, I'd been thinking about her at the moment. I'd told her so, each time. After work, I called her, from a payphone. When she heard I was feeding coin into it, she said she'd call back. Hey, K_, I was just thinking about you. Don't be silly.
Maybe I'll see you tonight. Yeah, maybe so. I'd opted out of the stress of trying to go along on the swimming trip, with Rob and the kids and god-knows-who-else. I wanted to be home first, for a while, before anything anyway.
She knows I'm working at 3 AM, so it's really too late for her to call now, at a quarter-to-ten. It's really time for me to be in bed sleeping.
I tried to call her around 8:30, pretty much just because I wanted to know whether or not I would see her this evening. As it's turned out, I haven't even heard from her.
I'm going to turn my 'phone off this weekend.