Sappy Sunday

Right, so I’m a little off the schedule by a day, but no matter. The Sabbath is always sappy, because that’s when Ethan has, apparently, made it an absolute habit to call. I had been feeling completely depressed yesterday, and couldn’t make it to Cayote (and I did really want to, especially to show of the lovely new green dress that’d I’d bought; and I actually wondered how it’d be like if I turned up for Christmas at Ethan’s wearing it, and a bright red pair of stilettos. He said he was sure his grandfather would love it. Talk about sentimentality).

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Part of the reason (as to why I felt depressed) was because my mom, had, being the loving, considerate person she is, told me that if I didn’t exercise tighter reign on my morality, very soon I’d get some fucking STD and Ethan couldn’t possibly love me then. Of course one can presume that I do everything to reduce my chances of getting an STD, but even so, something like that just hits a note. I really believe in him after all, or in the idea and imagining of our relationship. And if it were all a pretense, I’ve been pretending for a year, and that much of make-believe can make anything arrive into actuality, of that I’m certain.

I had tried to get Ethan to call me, but an ex-girlfriend had apparently come down from Paris to have lunch with him, so he couldn’t talk to me for very long. I told him I’d felt like killing myself; I had been in one of those states where I was so self-absorbed it doesn’t occur to me that my death would actually affect anyone but me. He told me to please not do it, because I was the most important person in his life. I was most certainly overcome with unbelief because that was the first time it was ever made known to me, and I was absolutely speechless. I wasn’t frightened or comforted by the thought though, it was just so foreign to me all I could do was to roll the idea about in my mind and attempt to comprehend it.

I am still stunned when I think about it. I don’t see why it should be a surprise, but I suppose I’m just so used to being a fleeting moment in the lives of so many people, am so used to not expecting anything from anyone beyond the next few hours of their attention, that the time-frame in which he thought about me was completely unfamiliar.

He told me he slept with someone else he’d met at an office party last weekend. Apparently she’d slept with him because he’d told her he wasn’t ‘looking’ for a meaningful relationship and she just had wanted to fuck someone other then her boyfriend that night. It is odd, but I’m actually pleased that he did sleep with someone else, because if he doesn’t, I’ll feel it’s unfair, and that I’m the bigger slut. I’m probably just weird, or libertine, or whatever, but the image of him fucking someone else doesn’t so much disturb me as it amuses me. Especially when that someone else turned out to be a woman in her late thirties – Ethan is not quite past the quarter-life crisis, if you assume the average life expectancy in Western Europe is 80. I asked him if he was bothered with STDs and things, and he said not really. After more thought, no, he never gave it any consideration outside of using condoms, and he had never gone for a test before.

I had texted the G-Spot to asked him the same thing, and he had a perfectly cute answer. Something about occasionally waiting for the test results while continually being reduced into a gibbering mess. But he was fine every time; both answers proved satisfactory and assuaged my fears.

I’m quite blogger burned-out these days really.

I’ve got an odd story about being hit on by a little virgin boy, but that’ll have to wait. Am in bad mood. Gained 2 kilos. Very bad mood.

xoxox