bobdylan5

Thinking 'Bout Jessica At One In The Morning
Current mood: lonely

I wonder what really happened to her...The last I heard (through certain mutual acquaintances) was that she had married the tall anal-retentive historian/blacksmith and was happily gone with his first child. For about six months after she disappeared from my life entirely, everytime I heard the name Jessica, I felt a mixture of pain and nostalgic pleasure in my head, my stomach, my throat and my extremities--and it seemed I was always hearing it in t.v. shows and pop songs (damn the medias' concerted effort to keep me lonely.) And certain mutual acquaintances--"I saw Jessica today in Founder's Hall...You'll never guess who helped me figure out my standard deviations today?" "Who?" Jessica Jessica... And I would nod and walk away, with my head, my stomach, my throat, and my extremities echoing the sound Jessica Jessica Jessica...
I don't know why I remained hung up on her. It wasn't like she ever committed to our "relationship" or whatever it was we had. She always ran back to me when something went disastrously wrong...first after the rube computer programmer/blogger, then after the All-American Matrix freak/Kerouac apprentice...I wouldn't hear from her for months, and then out of the blue she would call to say how much she missed me, or she would show up at my door with some cheap present that she knew would melt my heart--like Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots. Yeah, she knew how to work my strings. After a while I started calling myself Rebound Boy/Sap with no irony.
And it wasn't like we ever had a great physical relationship. We never went to bed together...not once in all those months of on again dissapear again dating. Just some kissing and once, I got to suck on her nipples. That was all.
But the last time we were together she said she loved me. "I love you, Mike," she said. "I love you, Jessica," I said. I love you. Wasn't all the weight of the world supposed to be behind those three little words? Well, it all dissipated again, quickly. The last time we were together, after about a week or so of "I love you, Mike, I love you Jessica," things went south again. There was some kind of wall she threw up...if you got too close she would push you away. Like an animal trapped inside a box she would snarl. "Why the hell do you need a new computer, anyway?" she said. "Its just a glorified calculator." "Do you mind if I call you honey?" I said. "Yes," she said. "How bout' sweetie?" "If you really must," she said, rolling her eyes. "I don't think you really love me at all...you're just in love with the idea of love." So now I was Duke Orsino/sap. But then there were times when she could be gentle and sweet and silly and she rearranged all my video tapes and put them in alphabetical order and she bought me a coffee maker.
But that is ancient history. She's probably living on a farm somewhere with the anal-retentive historian/blacksmith, raising their child and making stained-glass windows in her leisure time. And now, she's deliriously happy happy like I could never really make her.
Or she's separated and looking to hook up with me again. God forbid. Really must run.