Dear Kay,
I did something bad this morning. And even though, funnily enough, I know it's bad, I also don't feel too terrible about it. I feel terrible for not feeling terrible, I suppose.
Anyway. I read Squidge's diary. I know, I know. BAD.
BUT...in my defense, it was from a year and a half ago, and it was just lying around in his room (in a drawer under a pile of other books). OK I was snooping. And I've snooped many times before on boyfriends, but...doing so has enabled me to discover Internet discretions, lustful wishings for others, and also a little bit of insight into the person I'm trying to fall in love with.
After I last wrote, Squidge went to see the body and spent an hour or two with his family. I then went over and we went to see The Darjeeling Limited. He'd sounded better on the phone, and I'd been cracking jokes to try and lighten the mood, and going into the movie it was ok. I was struggling to find things to talk about and it wasn't quite comfortable silence, but we also weren't sitting there feeling tense. It was tension free, I just felt like we should be talking to take his mind off things. After the movie, though, it was worse. It should have been better, really, and we talked about the movie and our mutual disappointments but there was the whole unspoken subtext going on. We got home and his sister and housemate were up and being chatty, whinging about the heat and their total lack of air conditioning and past shitholes they've lived through. Squidge went and did the washing up, dropped a glass and swore a lot, which I thought was possibly the most emotionally honest thing he'd said all night, and I helped him clean it up. It was perfunctory, silly conversation along the lines of 'can you pass me the broom?' and 'can you get a plastic bag?'. I helped/watched him do the rest of the washing up and at one point he looked up at me. I was standing with my hand on my hip, staring intently at his hands in the water with a frown on my face. He kind of laughed and said
'I feel like I'm boring you.' And I said
'I'm worried about you.'
He said that he would eventually deal with it but that he was putting it off. I told him it didn't really work like that and he said he knew it. We still didn't talk about it, and he finished the washing up, and he referred to me as 'Boo Boo', and we went to bed.
It probably wasn't as bad at the time but now that I'm remembering it...it wasn't good. I didn't want it to be like I was prying, but at the same time, it was awkward and I wanted it over. And it was so stinkingly hot, I really wasn't in the best mood either. Cuddling was completely out of the question, so not even token physical comfort would really work.
It was about a million degrees and sweaty in his room but I fell asleep anyway. He got up at some point to go sleep on the couch downstairs, and I was alone in his room. I woke up at about 9:30 and waited for him to come back for about 45. Eventually he rushed in, pulled on his jeans and ran out the door, explaining that he was late. I do this thing where if I wake up first I pretend to be asleep and listen to what they do around me. Like if they'll glance down and sigh contentedly or some such shit. Squidge did that once, a little mini giggle sigh. That was nice.
Anyway. I wondered if it was really worth all that waiting, and then I rolled around on the bed topless for a while, enjoying the breeze that had come with the cool change overnight. And then, of course, I snooped.
And now I'm kind of just mulling it all over. Feeling guilty but also curious, and also just trying to process it. He has a beautiful soul, and the thing I think resonated most was that he felt lost. He felt confused. He mulled over every little thing and felt different to everyone else and worried and whinged and tried to hope and tried to encourage and felt hopeless and felt helpless and felt pride and felt achievement. He was honest, and he was vulnerable, and if you'll excuse the cliche, I saw his true colours.
So now I feel especially terrible that I read it all behind his back, of course.
Still. I left him a note on his bed, keeping in mind that he freaks out and feels like an outsider and a loner as well, and that he wouldn't judge me the same way I wouldn't judge him, and that it wasn't stalkerish or weird but actually nice and lovely to leave him a note, and that he would be GLAD to hear from his girlfriend (I have to keep repeating that to myself...and to keep thinking how lovely it would be if he left me a note when I came home from work. I have to keep remembering that, in particular, we're not that different and we're both vulnerable and we both want to be loved. Repeated times a thousand).
The note said, and I'm quite proud of it actually because it was funny and sexy and also genuine, that if he ever needed to talk I was around, even at 3 am on a Thursday morning if needs be, but not to expect me to be particularly coherent at that hour. And that 'I think you'll find 24 hour emotional support' under section 14.B of the Good Girlfriend Contract, right next to 24 hour sexual services and 14.C - 'Chocolate therapy for the tired and grumpy.' Cute, right? And that I just wanted him to be happy, and for him to know I was there when he wasn't. I had to rip a page out of one of his notebooks (NOT his diary, for I be not totally stupid) so at the end I wrote 'PS. Can I borrow a piece of paper???'
Awesome note. Very proud of that one. I made his bed and left it on the pillow, and he won't get it for a couple more hours but I'm hoping he'll read it and come right over and just, y'know, ravage me.
Anyway. If he's still weird and quiet after that I don't know what I'll do but I don't think he will be. But whatever, I won't have time to deal with it because this week at work is going to be insane and intense and busy, busy, busy. I might make my dinners now because I'm anticipating being that emotionally, physically and mentally drained after hearing 25 students a day tell me why they shouldn't be kicked out of university. Fun fun.
And also, I miss you.
--K.
