I’m like hobbled and laid up, I injured my knee and it hurts so fucking bad, I’m slowly limping through the streets like a windblown old hag, dour faced and demoralized, with heavy bags and my big ass backpack on…
The English guy stopped talking to me for a couple months, because he can’t get what he wants, so I just ignored him too. Today he gets drunk, puts on a white suit, posts a video of himself singing Beyond The Sea by Bobby Darin, dancing.
You can’t help but laugh, but it’s sad too.
He’s mad because a couple years ago I told him I couldn’t possibly meet him in Georgia, but maybe after I get home to San Francisco, etc. And now that I’m home in San Francisco, I don’t want to meet him. It’s partly because my life isn’t really reestablished yet, I’m still in a frantic scramble to get my shit together, but it’s mainly because it would have to be strictly platonic and that’s not where his head is at. If he could get past that, then yeah, of course I would love to meet him. We’ve known each other for years. He’s not good at being friends though.
I keep thinking to myself if he could just see me, like if he could just literally actually see me, especially right now, it’s everything about my appearance now plus the addition of an injury, it’s just comical to me that he thinks he feels like that, he just does not understand the actual reality of my appearance.
But every time I tried to show pictures hoping that would pierce and deflate any notions, I just made the situation worse for both of us. I don’t even post pictures of me on my private Insta, I just post my San Francisco pictures.
