It felt horrible. I got up at 12, feeling miserable. My back was killing me, and the cough was racking.
I barely did anything all day.
I did go out once to take self portraits for Tamika’s bedside photoframe. I parked at the bus station then walked to a tall parking garage to take the pictures. I turned in the latest rolls of film at Carlisle Camera. They said it’d be ready on Monday. 60$ it would cost me. I gaped, and left.
I barely have 100$ in the bank, which will just about cover the expenses of the citation I got.
I confirmed my ING account, and put a tiny little bit of extra money in it.
I wish I had more money.
I put together Dad’s presents, and now that Nick’s present had arrived, I’d be able to send them off.
Most of the day, I just lay around.
I felt lethargic. I just wanted her to call. I dared not go online, for fear I might miss her call. I destroyed myself in my head, telling myself how I was wrong to miss her like this. We’d only been apart barely a day. But I burned.
I ate dark chocolate like it was my personal wonder-drug. I read somewhere that the chemicals in dark chocolate reproduced what if felt like to be in love. I didn’t think it was helping.
I used the sickness as an excuse to stay in bed. I gazed out the window at the cold empty street below. I missed her so much. I just wanted her to be there. It’s so silly. I could imagine easily if she were just in the room, sleeping even, I’d get so much stuff done.
I looked around the room; it was in slight disarray, but I felt no drive to clean it up.
I just wanted her to come back. And I knew it… I felt like this was too much. As soon as she knew how I felt, she would say “that’s it. I think we need to spend some time apart.” And then I would be punished a second time. Just for wanting her around.
I felt destroyed. I pined for her.
I slowly dozed off.
Tim Laux called, asking if I still wanted to go to the concert. I thought a moment of my dwindling bank account. But I needed to get out. Maybe she would call while we were out. It would distract me for a little while.
We walked down to Market Square.
The concert, featuring the Enso Quartet, was incredible. They played Haydn, Corigliano, and Shostakovich. It was all beautifully done. I’d been trying to persuade Laux to go and strike up conversation with the 2nd Violinist whom he found attractive. He stalled for about half an hour, and finally I gave up and we went home.
On the way home we saw flashing light ahead. As we drew nearer, we saw it was 4 cop cars, an ambulance, and a tow truck. Apparently, 20 minutes earlier, the dispatch lady for the Harrisburg Police Department had been driving home from the end of her shift, and had passed out. She was a diabetic, and her sugar level was low. Her foot hit the gas and her black car had careened onto the sidewalk, taking out 6 parking meters before smashing to a stop against a streetlight. The streetlight let go of it’s lighting apparatus, which came crashing down in a cascade of sparks. Some of the parking meters flew 100 feet down the sidewalk from where the crash actually was.
What freaked me out the most was, that if I hadn’t been so persistent with Lox, the timing would have been such that we would have been walking right through there when it happened…
Tamika had called, no more than 5 minutes before I got home. It was 11:00.
I called her back, she didn’t pick up. I left her a message. As soon as I hung up, she called me back.
She was playing a drinking game, but hadn’t yet drunk anything. She said she missed me, whispered she loved me, and said she’d call be back.
I worked on the African Girl some more and just about finished it up.
I called her at 1. She was heading to bed. She said she was very tired, and wouldn’t be able to talk long. She said everyone had told her she was silly, but she missed me and was thinking about me every minute.
I admitted that I hadn’t wanted to say it because I thought she’d brush me off, but I’d been feeling the same way. We talked for a while, and she said she was awake and so I read her a couple journal entries until she became sleepy.
She said she feared being like this, if it meant we’d not want to be around each other later. I said that’s what I wrote the journals for. So that if one of us ever started to feel that way, we’d read these and be reminded.
She asked me to teach her something new in French.
I said « Je pense a toi; chaque minute du la jour. »
She smiled, and whispered « Je t’adore. »