And now, for your irregularly scheduled mind-dump...
Blorg. Well, as is normal for me, it's about 9 months since my last entry. These things a re a bit like children, I guess... the gestation time is right, at any rate. So yeah. Let's bring my adoring public up to date on the life of the Dilph.
Hrrrrm. Last entry was September. End of the re-enactment season, I was still a supervisor at Myer, still single, and bored out of my skull. Let's see what I can recall, huh? First up, my manager got bumped out to an area-manager position - looking after a few suburban stores rather than the flagship. Joan, the older lady who levelled the harassment charge against me, took over there. Fortunately, all has been sorted out between us, so life is/was good. I picked up an elderly scottish gentleman as my own personal fan club - he'd been a regular customer, 7.20 every friday morning, since long before I ever started working there. So as you do, I bantered with him, and joked around, and somewhere along the line he got the impression that I was gay. Not a completely uncommon impression, either... I get people asking/assuming that on a semi-regular basis, which can be irritating at times. And of course, this guy was gay also. And assumed I was interested. Wrong. 80+, thickest scottish accent you can imagine, and no teeth. Lovely old gent. SO one day, he's chatting to me, and he tells me that he'd love to take me home and suck my dick. And of course, it takes me a couple of minutes to parse the accent, so I nod and smile in the meantime - Yeah, mate, cool. I'll remember tha... oh fuck. He goes on to give me his home address, phone number, and to tell me he's "still as tight as I was when I was fifteen, laddie". By this point I'm freaked out to all fuck, and I rush off to serve another customer. He comes back, every friday morning. Every time he sees me, he asks if I'm gunna come around this time... *shudder*... needless to say, I learn to love fridays. He kept this up for like, three months, and then started telling my workmates that I /had/ taken him up on the offer, and love having my nipples tweaked... funfunfun. Anyways, moving on. Got a new buddy - Andrew, one of the christmas hires from last year (so he's been instore, oh, 18 months now). Big guy, hard drinker, just generally cool. He started dragging me out a bit, gettin' me a social life... all was good :) Bout the same time, Kate, one of the girls at work - tall, slender, long dark hair, and more than a touch alternate/punk/goth - not to mention with a fucking evil sense of humour - came up as single. Her boy of the time had dumped her after two years because he couldn't deal with the fact she was moving to melbourne for uni this year. Now, I'd been watching her with interest since I first met her, like, two and a half years ago. Never made a move, because a) I'm shit-scared, and b) she was taken. But with b) gone, I started angling a little closer, gettin to know her better... y'know. The usual. We were pretty good mates by that point, so things trickled on nicely. Got her email addy, started exchangin' messages and banter, and things gradually worked on up. I gave her my VNV collection; she gave me the Wild Gold anthology. Ect. By the end of september, things are looking very interesting; nothing has been said, but we'e both more than half-convinced the other is serious. Lots of fun times. I finally break down and admit to being serious after going without sleep for a couple of days (yay for lucidity) and she admits to feeling likewise - the game is on. In the meantime I'm working forty to fifty hours a week because I'm one of three people in the store who can work night shifts - Andrew being one of the others - and we have 14 night shifts a week to cover. So I'm absolutely bingo for time, and Kate's just winding up to her grade 12 exams - end of high school, uni entry, ect. So we have approximately enough spare time to schedule a five-minute scratch a week. Makes it interesting getting together, I can assure you. We start hangin'after shifts finish, and I got to some parties with her and her mates... she drags me up to Schoolies with her for a couple of days, which was downright awesome - never did it back in my day, so it was way overdue. Bout this point it clicks over into an actual relationship; we're both on cloud nine. My parents move back to Queensland about here; so I lose most of my weekends helping them move and suchlike. Even less time to play with; so I start catching trains with my lady. She lives an hour's train trip away from work, so I start jumpin on the train with her, chattin' with her till we get to her stop, hangin' at the train station till the next traingoin back the other way leaves, and then go home. Gives me about a three-hour turnaround between leaving work and getting home; but it's well worth it. That's the shape of my days for most of November; gradually getting more and more fucked off with work, spending every free moment I can with my lady, and generally not doing much with myself otherwise. The bossman talks to me about stuff; tells me I'm definately managing the spring hill store, scheduled to open in February. I dance like a maniac, and ask Andrew to be my assistant manager; by this point we're best buds, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather have at my back. Christmas rolls around; I take a week off and spend it with Kate - her folks are out of town, and we capitalise on it - and then fuck off back to my folks place for another week. Family christmas goes pretty well; it's good to be back at our old place again. The sheer memories associated with it... my folks built the place when I was 7. I'm 23. I love that place... it's always going to be my /home/. We do the usual, Dad does all the renovations he's been talking about for years, I mow lawns and catch up with all the family goss, and life is good. I rock back to work New Year's Eve, end up getting to a party with Kate and her mates, and actually have a date for nye. First time ever. And I got my nye kiss. Yay :). January rolls on by in a kind of haze. Invite Andrew and Kate to my birthday bash at Missy's; not a bad little do, Kate's accepted into the crew with open arms, and we scare the living shit out of Andrew by kissing in front of him; at this point he /still/ didn't know about us. We were deliberately keeping it a secret from the work crew because it's none of their business; but Boz (andrew's nickname) is trustworthy, and we both love the big old goof, so we figure it's all good. And we were too drunk to care, anyways :) This rolls on for some more, we're happily in love, work is a pain in the ass, and spare time is a mystery, but we have fun. Her birthday rolls around; I get invited out with her and her folks for the birthday dinner. Make a reasonable impression; the family likes me (except for her bitchy sister) and I like them (ditto). Buy her a nice pendant, and some earrings, and a big soft teddy to hug when she's away in melbourne. Got her a silver bracelet for christmas too, which she loved. Hit me for buying her something when she told me she didn't want anything, then hugged me for buyin' her somethin so nice :) She got me a hip-flask for my birthday, which was damn cool, to boot :) She leaves town mid-february - 22nd, I think, from memory. Valentines I give her a bigass jar of jellybeans, and my old silver pendant. I wore that thing every day of my life, from age 12 to 21; it's hers now. She doesn't wear it; I don't blame her, it's pretty old and battered and was never that good to start with, but I'd like to think she knows how important it was to me. We go out a couple of times before she leaves; she's finally old enough to get into clubs, so Boz and I go out with her a few times, get a taste of the nightlife... and she's hooked. And then some. Last night she was in town, we went to the Family, arguably brisbane's best techno club; I blow $200 on clothes that'll fit the dress code. I blow a further $200 on drinks, club entry, and assorted other shit. It was one of the best nights of my life, and then some. We leave the club at 4am; we're on the train to her place at 5. 630 I see her off. Her mum picks her up at the station, and she's gone. Flies out the next morning. Hurt like a motherfucker, I can tell you. And I know I got it easy. She was in tears almost before she left... needless to say, we decide to make a go of it long-distance. I'm prepared to move interstate to be with her, but a quick reality check makes this impossible. I resign myself to a year in brisbane without her, and then a possible move in twelve months if we're still together. I also swear to visit her as often as I can manage. It's hard, but we deal for the next month or so. Spring Hill opens at the end of march; I manage to barely squeeze away a week before open and spend a few days with her in melbourne, coz I know I won't have the chance for a bloody long time. The store opens, and I get fucked over. Royally. The first month I work an average 60-hour week, doing 12-14 hour shifts. This continues. The store is awesome, and the staff I have are downright unbelievable. It's a great crew, and a great location, and I love it. The boss, of course, is putting intense pressure on me to increase his bottom line, and it starts to tell; I'm running near burnout, as is andrew, and he keeps askingfor more. I finally go "fuck it", and take a weekend off. Fly down to see Kate, spend three days with her, see Nickelback live, and have an assload of fun; just the break I needed. Come back to work recharged, and get told that I have a week to cut my wage costs in half or the big boss will start firing my staff and hiring 14 year olds. I am /pissed/. I manage to cut the costs back, barely, by reducing things to absolute bare-bones minimums. The store is still running too high, but it's close enough to get me a reprieve. We'll see how that goes. The boss also changes my contract on me; I'm now obligated to do a 40 hour week, not the 38 I was originally told. I also learn I'm /not/ getting flex-time benefits or time in lieu. I'm pissed. The pay I'm getting was crap enough already, and with those benefits cut out, I'm being assraped. I'll be talking to the bossman about that soon... oh yes. Housewise, things are rolling nicely. Wuffy and Aly move out march-ish; Hairy moves in to the basement a little while after, and the house dynamic changes; Hairy's a bloody good mate of mine, and has been for a lot of years. It's awesome to have him back. Bingo gets and loses a girlfriend; we console him. We also introduce him to the Family, and our favourite little raverboi is hooked. He hooks in with a mate of Aly's not long after; we all cheer, coz she's damn cool. Life is good for all.
Now, there's the story so far. This brings us to about last week. Now, I'm moderately angsty about the rest, and not sure if I should post or not or what... ah, fuckit. Why not? Anyone who gets pissed can bite me :).
Ok, as of about three weeks ago I've been on morning shift five days a week. Yes, I get up at 430am, stagger about and shower and such, and get into work at 6-630. Then work through till 4, 5, 6... however long I'm needed there. I'm utterly fucked. I crawl home at night, grunt at housemates, and flop in front of computer. If I'm lucky, Kate's online; I chat to her on MSN until 9 or 10. Then I abuse the optus free mobile-to-mobile calls after 9pm thingie to talk to my lady love until I pass out. Usually around midnight/1am. I do this, four, five nights a week. Not bad, given I call my parents about once every three months, and initiate contact with anyone in my social group about once in a blue moon. Hell, I call Hairy maybe once every six months because I need a favour, and he's one of my best mates. This is massively atypical for me, as anyone who knows me can attest. Lately, I've been slipping. I'm just too fucking tired, and too zonked, to make intelligent conversation online, and when/if I manage to call her, I pass out after a half hour or so. She starts feeling neglected, like I'm drifting, losing interest. Nothing could be further from the truth, but it's pretty hard to convince someone of that when you're at this kinda distance. Funfun. There's the stage set. Now, Friday night we threw Hairy's housewarming. The usual suspects, the usual crew, much alcohol and nibblies. We have an utter blast. Whyrl gets drunk and talkative, I get hyperactive - not bad, given I was up at 4am - and everyone else does their usual. Afro and Kat show up briefly; Kat's still having issues with crowds, so they leave pretty quick, but it's good to see em again. Snowy rocks up later; Anthea and Sylvester rock up, with Georgie in tow - that girl is far too damn cute. Krista rocks on, and tells his usual stories. Jaffa rocks in and hangs out. Misty, a newcomer to the group, rocks up with Bings after a supply run. Bings plays with glowsticks. Whyrl takes photos. We all do the usual thangs. I torment Bingo - I tell the "get off my bed or I'll give you head" story, for Misty's benefit - the only one who hasn't heard it before. Bings turns interesting colours. Ticklematches happen. Various laps are occupied and unoccupied, the usual shit goes on. Me and Misty end up tickling Bings into submission - he snaps. Charges to his room, slams the door, and kicks his mirror. Shatters it. We're... shocked. Dunno what to do, so we leave him to simmer. The party continues. Misty ends up in my lap; I do the usual and start scritchin'. I'm famous for this in the group; it's how I met Missy, for instance. She curled up in my lap at Snowy's birthday bash and I sat there and scritched for six or eight hours, just because she was there. I've done it to snowy countless times. It's a reflex. Misty ends up spending most of the night either in my lap or onthe floor at my feet; I figure it's all good, coz hell. Attention from a pretty lass is always good, and she knows I'm not up for grabs. We sit and chat until the wee hours - around 5 the last diehards trickle off to various crashspots. Of course, I'm one. Whyrl's been unconcious in my bed since, oh, 1am; so I resign myself to the crashmat. Misty ends up claiming it first, and I think, fuck it, not the first time I've shared crashspace... it's all good. This is where things go pear-shaped. I dunno if it's innocent or what, but her arm goes round me... and I freeze. It's good, to be hugged. Far too long between hugs. But then it just sears into my mind that she's THE WRONG GIRL. And I dunno if I've led things on to that point, or if I'm reading too much into things, or what, but I freak. Guilty as sin. So I take the first excuse to get outta there decorously - when Jaffa starts cleaning up - and do so. Clean for a while, then sit down in front of my 'puta. And fire off an apology email to Kate for lettin' someone else so close - I'm still not sure why I feel so guilty about it. Probably because the impression I have now, after thinking on it, is that if I'd chosen to, I could have taken it a hell of a lot further. Maybe that's ego talking, but it was a situation where if I'd chosen to, I coulda cheated on my girl. And that sends shivers down my spine. Nothing happened, but the fact that it /could/ have... so I apologise. Spend the rest of the night cleaning. Chat to the guys and gals as they wake up, and once Whyrl moves out of my room, I start cleaning. I literally m,ove every stick of furniture out of the room, and scrub down the walls, the windowsills, everything. This place is now cleaner than it has /ever/ been. And it's at least in part because Kate's allergic to dust, and she can't breathe right when she visits me... so I decided a while back to fix that. It finally happened. Chat to her briefly at lunchtime; she's out with a mate having a blast. Talk to her again in the evening. She's had a major panic attack. Doesn't know what to believe. Hits me with the fact that I've been ignoring her, and now I'm telling her I got hit on at a party and nearly accepted. Doesn't know what to trust, what to believe. I'm stunned. She's right, of course... it looks bad. Real bad. ANd my attempts to explain only make things worse. We've finally reached that magic point in any LDR where the parties realise that all they know is what they're told... and she doesn't think she's getting the whole story. I'm fucked. Any move I make will seem insincere, any gesture i make will been seen as an apology, not a genuine act. Which is fucked, of course, but I dunno how to fix it. I mean, I've been planning to send her flowers as a surprise for about... three weeks? I finally had the cash to do it this week. Of course, now I can't, because it'll be a cop-out apology, not the wonderful surprise I wanted it to be. Etcetera. At this point in time, I'm not even sure if I /have/ a relationship any more. I still love her more than fucking life itself... but I don't think she believes it any more. She's hurt, and I can't fix it... and it's my fault. So yeah. That's the story to date. I've been typing an hour and a half now, and I've said about half of what I wanted to say... but I think that's enough for now. Maybe I'll post more later. Probably not. I'll see you all in another nine months, I think, or the next time I have a giant angst-attack... later, y'all.
Hrrrrm. Last entry was September. End of the re-enactment season, I was still a supervisor at Myer, still single, and bored out of my skull. Let's see what I can recall, huh? First up, my manager got bumped out to an area-manager position - looking after a few suburban stores rather than the flagship. Joan, the older lady who levelled the harassment charge against me, took over there. Fortunately, all has been sorted out between us, so life is/was good. I picked up an elderly scottish gentleman as my own personal fan club - he'd been a regular customer, 7.20 every friday morning, since long before I ever started working there. So as you do, I bantered with him, and joked around, and somewhere along the line he got the impression that I was gay. Not a completely uncommon impression, either... I get people asking/assuming that on a semi-regular basis, which can be irritating at times. And of course, this guy was gay also. And assumed I was interested. Wrong. 80+, thickest scottish accent you can imagine, and no teeth. Lovely old gent. SO one day, he's chatting to me, and he tells me that he'd love to take me home and suck my dick. And of course, it takes me a couple of minutes to parse the accent, so I nod and smile in the meantime - Yeah, mate, cool. I'll remember tha... oh fuck. He goes on to give me his home address, phone number, and to tell me he's "still as tight as I was when I was fifteen, laddie". By this point I'm freaked out to all fuck, and I rush off to serve another customer. He comes back, every friday morning. Every time he sees me, he asks if I'm gunna come around this time... *shudder*... needless to say, I learn to love fridays. He kept this up for like, three months, and then started telling my workmates that I /had/ taken him up on the offer, and love having my nipples tweaked... funfunfun. Anyways, moving on. Got a new buddy - Andrew, one of the christmas hires from last year (so he's been instore, oh, 18 months now). Big guy, hard drinker, just generally cool. He started dragging me out a bit, gettin' me a social life... all was good :) Bout the same time, Kate, one of the girls at work - tall, slender, long dark hair, and more than a touch alternate/punk/goth - not to mention with a fucking evil sense of humour - came up as single. Her boy of the time had dumped her after two years because he couldn't deal with the fact she was moving to melbourne for uni this year. Now, I'd been watching her with interest since I first met her, like, two and a half years ago. Never made a move, because a) I'm shit-scared, and b) she was taken. But with b) gone, I started angling a little closer, gettin to know her better... y'know. The usual. We were pretty good mates by that point, so things trickled on nicely. Got her email addy, started exchangin' messages and banter, and things gradually worked on up. I gave her my VNV collection; she gave me the Wild Gold anthology. Ect. By the end of september, things are looking very interesting; nothing has been said, but we'e both more than half-convinced the other is serious. Lots of fun times. I finally break down and admit to being serious after going without sleep for a couple of days (yay for lucidity) and she admits to feeling likewise - the game is on. In the meantime I'm working forty to fifty hours a week because I'm one of three people in the store who can work night shifts - Andrew being one of the others - and we have 14 night shifts a week to cover. So I'm absolutely bingo for time, and Kate's just winding up to her grade 12 exams - end of high school, uni entry, ect. So we have approximately enough spare time to schedule a five-minute scratch a week. Makes it interesting getting together, I can assure you. We start hangin'after shifts finish, and I got to some parties with her and her mates... she drags me up to Schoolies with her for a couple of days, which was downright awesome - never did it back in my day, so it was way overdue. Bout this point it clicks over into an actual relationship; we're both on cloud nine. My parents move back to Queensland about here; so I lose most of my weekends helping them move and suchlike. Even less time to play with; so I start catching trains with my lady. She lives an hour's train trip away from work, so I start jumpin on the train with her, chattin' with her till we get to her stop, hangin' at the train station till the next traingoin back the other way leaves, and then go home. Gives me about a three-hour turnaround between leaving work and getting home; but it's well worth it. That's the shape of my days for most of November; gradually getting more and more fucked off with work, spending every free moment I can with my lady, and generally not doing much with myself otherwise. The bossman talks to me about stuff; tells me I'm definately managing the spring hill store, scheduled to open in February. I dance like a maniac, and ask Andrew to be my assistant manager; by this point we're best buds, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather have at my back. Christmas rolls around; I take a week off and spend it with Kate - her folks are out of town, and we capitalise on it - and then fuck off back to my folks place for another week. Family christmas goes pretty well; it's good to be back at our old place again. The sheer memories associated with it... my folks built the place when I was 7. I'm 23. I love that place... it's always going to be my /home/. We do the usual, Dad does all the renovations he's been talking about for years, I mow lawns and catch up with all the family goss, and life is good. I rock back to work New Year's Eve, end up getting to a party with Kate and her mates, and actually have a date for nye. First time ever. And I got my nye kiss. Yay :). January rolls on by in a kind of haze. Invite Andrew and Kate to my birthday bash at Missy's; not a bad little do, Kate's accepted into the crew with open arms, and we scare the living shit out of Andrew by kissing in front of him; at this point he /still/ didn't know about us. We were deliberately keeping it a secret from the work crew because it's none of their business; but Boz (andrew's nickname) is trustworthy, and we both love the big old goof, so we figure it's all good. And we were too drunk to care, anyways :) This rolls on for some more, we're happily in love, work is a pain in the ass, and spare time is a mystery, but we have fun. Her birthday rolls around; I get invited out with her and her folks for the birthday dinner. Make a reasonable impression; the family likes me (except for her bitchy sister) and I like them (ditto). Buy her a nice pendant, and some earrings, and a big soft teddy to hug when she's away in melbourne. Got her a silver bracelet for christmas too, which she loved. Hit me for buying her something when she told me she didn't want anything, then hugged me for buyin' her somethin so nice :) She got me a hip-flask for my birthday, which was damn cool, to boot :) She leaves town mid-february - 22nd, I think, from memory. Valentines I give her a bigass jar of jellybeans, and my old silver pendant. I wore that thing every day of my life, from age 12 to 21; it's hers now. She doesn't wear it; I don't blame her, it's pretty old and battered and was never that good to start with, but I'd like to think she knows how important it was to me. We go out a couple of times before she leaves; she's finally old enough to get into clubs, so Boz and I go out with her a few times, get a taste of the nightlife... and she's hooked. And then some. Last night she was in town, we went to the Family, arguably brisbane's best techno club; I blow $200 on clothes that'll fit the dress code. I blow a further $200 on drinks, club entry, and assorted other shit. It was one of the best nights of my life, and then some. We leave the club at 4am; we're on the train to her place at 5. 630 I see her off. Her mum picks her up at the station, and she's gone. Flies out the next morning. Hurt like a motherfucker, I can tell you. And I know I got it easy. She was in tears almost before she left... needless to say, we decide to make a go of it long-distance. I'm prepared to move interstate to be with her, but a quick reality check makes this impossible. I resign myself to a year in brisbane without her, and then a possible move in twelve months if we're still together. I also swear to visit her as often as I can manage. It's hard, but we deal for the next month or so. Spring Hill opens at the end of march; I manage to barely squeeze away a week before open and spend a few days with her in melbourne, coz I know I won't have the chance for a bloody long time. The store opens, and I get fucked over. Royally. The first month I work an average 60-hour week, doing 12-14 hour shifts. This continues. The store is awesome, and the staff I have are downright unbelievable. It's a great crew, and a great location, and I love it. The boss, of course, is putting intense pressure on me to increase his bottom line, and it starts to tell; I'm running near burnout, as is andrew, and he keeps askingfor more. I finally go "fuck it", and take a weekend off. Fly down to see Kate, spend three days with her, see Nickelback live, and have an assload of fun; just the break I needed. Come back to work recharged, and get told that I have a week to cut my wage costs in half or the big boss will start firing my staff and hiring 14 year olds. I am /pissed/. I manage to cut the costs back, barely, by reducing things to absolute bare-bones minimums. The store is still running too high, but it's close enough to get me a reprieve. We'll see how that goes. The boss also changes my contract on me; I'm now obligated to do a 40 hour week, not the 38 I was originally told. I also learn I'm /not/ getting flex-time benefits or time in lieu. I'm pissed. The pay I'm getting was crap enough already, and with those benefits cut out, I'm being assraped. I'll be talking to the bossman about that soon... oh yes. Housewise, things are rolling nicely. Wuffy and Aly move out march-ish; Hairy moves in to the basement a little while after, and the house dynamic changes; Hairy's a bloody good mate of mine, and has been for a lot of years. It's awesome to have him back. Bingo gets and loses a girlfriend; we console him. We also introduce him to the Family, and our favourite little raverboi is hooked. He hooks in with a mate of Aly's not long after; we all cheer, coz she's damn cool. Life is good for all.
Now, there's the story so far. This brings us to about last week. Now, I'm moderately angsty about the rest, and not sure if I should post or not or what... ah, fuckit. Why not? Anyone who gets pissed can bite me :).
Ok, as of about three weeks ago I've been on morning shift five days a week. Yes, I get up at 430am, stagger about and shower and such, and get into work at 6-630. Then work through till 4, 5, 6... however long I'm needed there. I'm utterly fucked. I crawl home at night, grunt at housemates, and flop in front of computer. If I'm lucky, Kate's online; I chat to her on MSN until 9 or 10. Then I abuse the optus free mobile-to-mobile calls after 9pm thingie to talk to my lady love until I pass out. Usually around midnight/1am. I do this, four, five nights a week. Not bad, given I call my parents about once every three months, and initiate contact with anyone in my social group about once in a blue moon. Hell, I call Hairy maybe once every six months because I need a favour, and he's one of my best mates. This is massively atypical for me, as anyone who knows me can attest. Lately, I've been slipping. I'm just too fucking tired, and too zonked, to make intelligent conversation online, and when/if I manage to call her, I pass out after a half hour or so. She starts feeling neglected, like I'm drifting, losing interest. Nothing could be further from the truth, but it's pretty hard to convince someone of that when you're at this kinda distance. Funfun. There's the stage set. Now, Friday night we threw Hairy's housewarming. The usual suspects, the usual crew, much alcohol and nibblies. We have an utter blast. Whyrl gets drunk and talkative, I get hyperactive - not bad, given I was up at 4am - and everyone else does their usual. Afro and Kat show up briefly; Kat's still having issues with crowds, so they leave pretty quick, but it's good to see em again. Snowy rocks up later; Anthea and Sylvester rock up, with Georgie in tow - that girl is far too damn cute. Krista rocks on, and tells his usual stories. Jaffa rocks in and hangs out. Misty, a newcomer to the group, rocks up with Bings after a supply run. Bings plays with glowsticks. Whyrl takes photos. We all do the usual thangs. I torment Bingo - I tell the "get off my bed or I'll give you head" story, for Misty's benefit - the only one who hasn't heard it before. Bings turns interesting colours. Ticklematches happen. Various laps are occupied and unoccupied, the usual shit goes on. Me and Misty end up tickling Bings into submission - he snaps. Charges to his room, slams the door, and kicks his mirror. Shatters it. We're... shocked. Dunno what to do, so we leave him to simmer. The party continues. Misty ends up in my lap; I do the usual and start scritchin'. I'm famous for this in the group; it's how I met Missy, for instance. She curled up in my lap at Snowy's birthday bash and I sat there and scritched for six or eight hours, just because she was there. I've done it to snowy countless times. It's a reflex. Misty ends up spending most of the night either in my lap or onthe floor at my feet; I figure it's all good, coz hell. Attention from a pretty lass is always good, and she knows I'm not up for grabs. We sit and chat until the wee hours - around 5 the last diehards trickle off to various crashspots. Of course, I'm one. Whyrl's been unconcious in my bed since, oh, 1am; so I resign myself to the crashmat. Misty ends up claiming it first, and I think, fuck it, not the first time I've shared crashspace... it's all good. This is where things go pear-shaped. I dunno if it's innocent or what, but her arm goes round me... and I freeze. It's good, to be hugged. Far too long between hugs. But then it just sears into my mind that she's THE WRONG GIRL. And I dunno if I've led things on to that point, or if I'm reading too much into things, or what, but I freak. Guilty as sin. So I take the first excuse to get outta there decorously - when Jaffa starts cleaning up - and do so. Clean for a while, then sit down in front of my 'puta. And fire off an apology email to Kate for lettin' someone else so close - I'm still not sure why I feel so guilty about it. Probably because the impression I have now, after thinking on it, is that if I'd chosen to, I could have taken it a hell of a lot further. Maybe that's ego talking, but it was a situation where if I'd chosen to, I coulda cheated on my girl. And that sends shivers down my spine. Nothing happened, but the fact that it /could/ have... so I apologise. Spend the rest of the night cleaning. Chat to the guys and gals as they wake up, and once Whyrl moves out of my room, I start cleaning. I literally m,ove every stick of furniture out of the room, and scrub down the walls, the windowsills, everything. This place is now cleaner than it has /ever/ been. And it's at least in part because Kate's allergic to dust, and she can't breathe right when she visits me... so I decided a while back to fix that. It finally happened. Chat to her briefly at lunchtime; she's out with a mate having a blast. Talk to her again in the evening. She's had a major panic attack. Doesn't know what to believe. Hits me with the fact that I've been ignoring her, and now I'm telling her I got hit on at a party and nearly accepted. Doesn't know what to trust, what to believe. I'm stunned. She's right, of course... it looks bad. Real bad. ANd my attempts to explain only make things worse. We've finally reached that magic point in any LDR where the parties realise that all they know is what they're told... and she doesn't think she's getting the whole story. I'm fucked. Any move I make will seem insincere, any gesture i make will been seen as an apology, not a genuine act. Which is fucked, of course, but I dunno how to fix it. I mean, I've been planning to send her flowers as a surprise for about... three weeks? I finally had the cash to do it this week. Of course, now I can't, because it'll be a cop-out apology, not the wonderful surprise I wanted it to be. Etcetera. At this point in time, I'm not even sure if I /have/ a relationship any more. I still love her more than fucking life itself... but I don't think she believes it any more. She's hurt, and I can't fix it... and it's my fault. So yeah. That's the story to date. I've been typing an hour and a half now, and I've said about half of what I wanted to say... but I think that's enough for now. Maybe I'll post more later. Probably not. I'll see you all in another nine months, I think, or the next time I have a giant angst-attack... later, y'all.