I spent most of yesterday pissing my boyfriend off. Which is sort of amazing, because I also mastered the art of the Martini-Girl Pole Spin at work, went the gym, and prepared my taxes. So, quite a full day.
It's even more amazing when you know that C. is one of the most amiable human beings ever. This is the man who laughed when we ran out of gas in a rainstorm in the middle of Wyoming, whose only response to insult and threat is a slight tilt of the head. He is one cool, cool cat. And he is so over me.
I do a lot of stupid things. If you tell me to do five things, I will forget two of them. If you write them down and put the list in my pants pocket, I will change pants. If you wash my pants for me, I will immediately spill red dye on them and then put them in the wash again and accidentally dye all your undershirts pink. Fortunately, I am also amusing company, but after a while (like, say, two years) I fear even such blandishments as the Funny Leprechaun Voice and the Amazing Wobble Dance are wearing thin as compensations for my general wooliness and incompetence.
I started the day out wrong by asking to borrow the car at the last minute to go to work. We compromised with me dropping him off at work and zooming up north, then picking him up for lunch and being dropped off at home. Everything went smooth as hell, except I was an hour later picking him up than I said I'd be. So C. spent most of that hour panicking and waiting for the hospital to call and tell him I had been in an awful accident, which would be paranoid except that a little over a year ago the hospital did call and I had been in an accident, and for the next six weeks he had to cook me oatmeal and prop me up in bed to watch TV.
By the time I arrived to take him to lunch, he was sort of a wreck. And then, since he had to drive me all the way home, there wasn't time to stop anywhere for lunch anyway, so I reheated him some crab chowder I made for myself the other day, which apparently disagreed with him because he threw up. Then I asked him to drop me off at the pharmacy on his way back to work so I could refill my prescription for crazy-person medications, but I forgot to take my house key with me, so when I walked home I was locked out.
I had asked him to call me when he got back to work (I was worried about the throwing up) but I didn't have my cel phone with me, so I hiked around for thirty minutes to find a pay phone, and called him, by which time had been trying fruitless to reach me on my cell and was once again fantasizing about the hospital and the phone call and the oatmeal. And in the midst of this I had to ask him to stop by the house between work and band practice and unlock the door. His voice was strained when he said yes, which made my own throat hurt. My poor love. For your sake, if for nothing else, I wish I was not an idiot. I will try harder not to be an idiot.
Meanwhile, I was locked out of my house in filthy workout clothes with nothing but my wallet so I spent the afternoon at the gym. By the time I got home, the door was open, so I slunk inside and did my taxes, comforting myself with the idea of how much money I make, even if I am about half retarded. I went to bed before C. got home from practice, of course, but I have a sleepy memory of being woken up by kisses, so maybe all is not lost, after all. When I woke up this morning, he was already gone.