an epistle to saint-cloud, with fifty-four days remaining.

October 29, 2007

today, my mother became the president-elect of argentina. well, okay. maybe not. but imagining her as a head of state is awfully funny: one part elizabeth ii and one part imelda marcos (and a dash of franco for good measure).

on raúl’s advice, i’m going to be more vigilant in publishing my thoughts online. after all, there’s no sense in me calling myself a writer if i don’t write…or provide proof thereof.

i took the break-up with dave pretty hard. i figure i had a bit of a right to; after all, i did spend a week being treated like crap before being chucked like a spent lightbulb. who breaks up with their guy on vacation? seriously.

he started seeing this guy by the name of jean-baptiste very soon after i stopped seeing him. i have to admit; when i realized that they were sleeping with each other (and that there was a possibility that we would all be working together), i began to hate jean-baptiste with all my heart. what the hell does this guy have that i lack?

it didn’t take me long to see that i couldn’t do this for long. to hate jean-baptiste would destroy me doubly: not only would i not heal over the hurt of dave, but i would be ignoring the fact that jean-baptiste had never done anything to hurt me. ah, the bastard, why couldn’t he even give me the chance to hate him?

and then, a funny thing happened. people started talking about me. they started talking about knowing me and whatnot. talking about how i was destined for something different.

and so, now, i’m in that yet-again state of doubt and frustration. the one that i always find myself running into. dave was right: it’s certainly comfortable. note that they say that misery is the one that loves company and not, as might be expected, the miserable.

sébastien, i’m convinced, has become frightened by an errant bit of text-message poetry. we discussed this over the phone. i didn’t take this well. i gave him a soft ultimatum: that the ball was in his court. he can go on vacation and think about me, or he can go on vacation and not. when he returns to the city, he will either call me and include me in his life in some capacity, or he will neglect to do so, allowing both of us to pretend that the events of the past week never happened.

while i’m quite convinced that i will never see him again, i certainly hope that he calls.

in addition, i need to call alexandre (as a courtesy) and jérôme (with intent). i’d truly be a bastard if i didn’t.

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