Tuesday, November 16

Fever to Tell

Burn, Birdy, Burn

Sunday mid-afternoon in bed with a fever, I couldn't shut out the scraping noises on the roof. There are birds nesting in the support beams running across the ceiling, and I have gotten used to their noises, but that afternoon, their scurrying click-claketing was unbearably magnified. I can even see them in my head, their dull brown feathers and shiny eyes and needle-like claws scraping the tin. If I had a blow-torch, I would have Ripley-ed those birdyfuckers, could have burned the entire house down just to get rid of them.

Then I fell asleep.

Monday morning, they were all chirpy and skippy. I was still in a state of incomprehensible incomprehension, but what the hell. Whatever makes those tiny bird hearts happy.

Uh Huh Him

I don't get him. I don't get keeping friendships with passing fancies. We have nothing in common; nothing to talk about when we meet up for dinner or lunch. The silence between us is no longer comfortable, it's just dull and makes me want to run home to my Voyager DVDs. Got a call from him last Friday, and he was asking me if I had been avoiding him. No, not really. I just wasn't making time for him. But I didn't want to break his heart. I just said, "See you when I see you."

So what is it that makes us cling to particular people who are not our friends? As we grow older, and hopefully, get better with relationships, we learn not to force emotions, to see nothing when there is nothing. And old relationships become more precious, yet more relaxed. Easy as breathing. Good as gold.

With him, the harder I try to make small talk, the more I talk small. (That didn't make sense.) All nonsense talk is fun; I live for those moments when we gauge the fun factor of electronic toothbrushes and point our gaydars to models and monsters. But sweating over "Uh, so, do you watch Starstruck?" is not worth it.

So, a "Thanks and have a nice life" is in order. I just don't have the heart to say it.

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