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07/11/01
-----Original Message-----
From: whatever-whenever.net [mailto:whatever-whenever.net] Had lunch with my ex, John yesterday, soon after arriving in Seattle, and it was pretty intriguing. Do you remember how sad I was about ten months ago when I last visited, and ended up meeting his new girlfriend? The one he was living with, the one who I didn't think was right for him because I didn't see her as particularly inspirational or challenging? And how it just about broke my heart when I finally did meet her? I dropped my game face for just a second, and then I acted like everything was ok (More than ok! Everything was great! I was the funniest woman in the world! Watch me go!) for the next two hours, when really, inside I was dying? I guess I always secretly thought I would end up with him again someday, and that he was just on loan to her. Maybe she needed him to be his kind, supportive, wonderful self more than I did at that time, I was thinking. But eventually, I would get him back. But meeting her revealed what I felt was the permanence of the situation. He needed me to meet her so I would know it was really over between us. Well guess who broke up? And guess who broke up for all the reasons I thought they should break up? Strange how I felt about it all, though. I had gone to Seattle finally, fully over him, and was looking forward to this new friendship, because we had always gotten along so well, and I would never give that up. I had to shift gears again. Here he is, available again. And here he is, saying all the right things. And here he is, smiling across the table at the Longshoreman's Daughter in Fremont looking just the way that made me fall in love with him four years ago (except he bleached the fuck out of his hair, but I think it looks pretty hot). But didn't I already let him go? I asked him to go on a day trip with me this weekend, we kissed goodbye in the car, and then I headed up to Vancouver. I need a little time to think about this. I think. Yes. *** What a fucking beautiful drive. Have you ever done it? You have to do it. This is the most perfect time of year for the Pacific NW. The skies are bright blue, everything is green and smells fantastic, and because there's few clouds, the views are tremendous. Mountains, mountains, everywhere. For the three hours I drove, I was insanely happy and calm in a way that can only be achieved in the NW. You really have to visit here. I think you'd like it. *** At the border, the guard (kind of a hottie, actually, nothing like those Slovak passport patrol police with their coffee-stained skin) questioned my intentions with her country in a nice, thick Canadian accent. "I'm going to visit a friend," I said. "And how do you know this friend?" "We're both writers," I said. "Don't tell me you met him over the internet," she said, and she laughed. "I did," I said, and was embarrassed for a moment. "But it's not like that." "Have you ever seen him before?" "I saw his picture on his book cover," I said. "I swear it's fine...Why, do you get a lot of people coming through looking for people they met on the internet?" "A lot. Every day. People coming through, their cars packed up with all their belongings, driving to meet someone they've never even seen before." She shook her head. We both shared a laugh, and I felt slightly superior to those people, and then I realized what a jackass I was. I am in no position to judge, having flown both to Europe and across the U.S. to meet and stay with people who I've never seen before. It all seems perfectly normal and natural to me at this point, because the web is my milieu, my business, and I feel like I can figure out who to trust and who not to trust, but the fact is, I am no better than anyone else. I just find the ones who have advance press. *** Last night Kevin and I drank Chivas Regal, two tumblers full each, on his porch, and watched the sun set. Later we polished off a bottle of wine. We chain-smoked. We gossiped. We went to bed. Later, maybe around 3 or 4, we both woke up at the same time, and he said something that made me think he had forgotten who I was for a minute. He had to trace back to figure out who this strange woman was lying next to him. Did I pick her up in a bar? Is she my cousin passing through town? Am I just having some sort of weird dream where a jetlagged American crashes out in my bed? And then, after a minute, he remembered who I was, said, "Oh," and then went back to bed. I'm glad somebody around here recognizes me. At this point, I'm just happy they're speaking English. Hope you're well. Ciao, darling,
xxoo
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