Sweet boy has gone home to Paris, and I am bereft. Of course I know we have no future — for gods sake, he’s 24 — but… but… there is something to this. He touched me in a way I didn’t know I wanted, or had forgotten. He’s made me want love, truly want it, for real. He talked about love — love! — on our first date, and spoke of it often, in a natural way, of common discourse. I’ve never. My relationships have all been at arm’s length compared to this.

So thank you, dear L., for releasing my heart. It may get broken, but at least it won’t be frozen.

Je t’aime.

I could have easily been with either the French Boy or K. tonight but I chose not to. I’m still doing exactly what I didn’t want to be doing — playing social director for a bunch of people who couldn’t figure out how to make plans on their own — but the truth is, they are my peeps and I do love them all. And I just couldn’t be bothered to be on a date tonight, none of them are special enough and I did not want to send the wrong message. If I happen to pick up a date along the way of the evening, well, what can I say? it’s been that kind of year. But if not, I’m okay with ending the year alone, this time by choice. (although I will admit here, my admitting place, that I also chose not to change the sheets, instead just used my ironing spray, so I will sleep tonight amidst the scent of lavendar and young French boy… perchance to dream of love in the coming year. perhaps I am ready.)

why am I suddenly thinking about love, though? is this just rebound emotions?

ex-boy tags along to the wine dinner with me. we actually saw each other a bunch last week. fine but whatever. now that i don’t want to fuck him i don’t really care.

anyway, we all got pretty drunk and shared a cab back downtown and he basically passed out in the cab so when the three of us got to my stop i relented and told him to come stay over ‘on the couch.’ we both knew he’d sleep in the bed with me but i could barely take the look on v’s face as it was.

so we go to bed, platonically, next to each other. right before we go to sleep, he actually says it out loud: i did love you, annie. you know i do.

and you know what? i wanted it to matter. i wanted it to make a difference. but i just don’t fucking care any more. too little, too late. and i know, truly, that even if it is true, he’s incapable of actually loving me. and i don’t want that, not even a little.

Bad Annie knows that I normally only post bitchiness. But I’m a little wine-buzzed and really happy and thought it would be nice just to say that tonight. I love my friends. I love my neighborhood. I love my building. I love my apartment.

I was in the shower after Bootcamp, soaping up, and reached around to my ass– and I missed. Because it was a couple of inches smaller than it used to be. I mean, really. Wow.

Can’t I figure out a way to a) sustain this and b) find someone to share it with?

this is sex and longing and comfort. that’s all.

Really glad i wrote the earlier post about Craig, and that i’d written the original, longhand, when it happened. It’s really good to have the touchpoint, to be able to remember what memories are mine and what are his.

Because fucking facebook, Andy-now-Andrew looks me up, he and the new fiancee are in town, let’s have dinner. Ok. First, weird, they’ve known each other less than a month and they’re GETTING MARRIED. And she’s a minister, or trained as one anyway. And his kids were there. Yipes.

And he still has so much anger. I have far more right to anger, not only for the old revelations but apparently new ones, too, but honestly, I’ve let more of it go. He really wanted to talk about what a shit Craig was. I know, I wrote it earlier, it’s so hard to trash-talk someone who’s dead, and he was pretty sure I’d be a sympathetic ear. But a) I have more right and b) I walked away from it. Why can’t he? 

I don’t know if I’m more surprised at his anger or my lack of it.

it’s so beautiful out i can hardly stand it. in no particular order: the leaves swirling up in the wind eddies around me. walking through the courts, the poor kid being arraigned in front of the thai restaurant, cold police plaza. dead bird, dead rat, both on the ground looking frozen. feeling fine about getting to friends & food & wine then seeing the man trying to sleep in the outdoor foyer. yes, i feel guilty. shouldn’t i? shouldn’t we? chinatown has more bars open at this hour than i’d have imagined. empty, lovely bars.  

i really was going to take the subway home. it’s freakin’ cold out. but no local train at astor, no local at bleecker, i just decided to keep walking. it was only cold by the water where there was nothing to break the wind. thank god for the ramones, for those who made the tribute album, what great walking tunes.

more time to myself, walking. i love you.