Tuesday, July 12, 2005

"I love you," I said.

"I know," she replied. "I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know. You tell me that every day. We have this same stupid conversation every day. And every day I say that I love you too."

"But then you say that it's 'only as a friend.'"

"Does that make my love any less valid?"

"No, I suppose not. But it does mean that we won't be having sex any time soon."

"Yes, it does."

"Oh, come on, who're you kidding? You want me."



"I don't doubt that you think that."

"Oh, please..."

"Or that you think that I think that. Or whatever."

"It's true, you do."

"I don't," she said. "I really don't. I wish I did. If only to make you happier, if only to make your life a little bit better, I wish I did."

"You feel it."

"I don't."

"You should. I do."

"No you don't."

"I do."

"Not really."

"What do you mean?

"You're a guy. You...you want to fuck something, that's just what guys do. It's nothing to be ashamed of. But it's leading you astray. You're confused by our friendship, our closeness, that has nothing to do with sex."

"And fuck you too," I said.

"Pardon me?"

"Okay, so maybe you love me as a friend, fine, whatever. And maybe you don't want to have sex with me, fine, whatever. Those are your feelings, and they belong to you. But don't sit there and try to tell me what I feel. Don't tell me I'm confused. Don't tell me I'm misunderstanding our friendship just because I'm a guy who wants to fuck anything with a pulse. Don't diminish what I'm feeling just because you're uncomfortable with it."

"Wow..." she said.


"Where'd that come from?"

"Frustration, I guess," I said. "Frustration at having this same conversation with you every day and not getting anywhere, getting the same goddamn answers from you every goddamn time."

"Fair enough," she said. "Do you think this conversation would go any differently if you actually talked to me instead of playing this scene out in your head?"

"If I thought it would, do you really think I'd still be sitting here alone, talking to myself?"

"No, I suppose not."

Stop staring

I'm having a staring contest with this blog. I really, really want to win, but I'm no longer completely confident that I will.

When I decided a few weeks back that I was going to write more frequently, and write about anything -- fiction, short plays, stream of consciousness ramblings, whatever -- I thought this would be a good way to get a long stagnating blog on track, and also get me writing a bit more often. Neither seemed like bad things.

As is the case with most ideas, it went quite well for the first few days, and then kind of fell apart after about a week.

But the birthing process, even when it's only an idea you're birthing, is not necessarily an easy one. I haven't given up on this blog, and I haven't given up on the notion of writing something every day.

But I ran into a stumbling block.

I have an idea for a short play. I actually have an idea for 3 short plays that are all loosely tied together. The series would be called "Dinner and Drinks. At the moment, though, there's one I'm kind of burning to write. It doesn't have a title yet, because titles are usually the last things to come to me, but the first line of the play is, "Can I get you another drink?" and the last line is, "Why won't you treat me like the dirty slut I am!"

The thing is, I'm not quite there...not quite ready to write it. Which is annoying because I was intending it to be the next entry in this blog. Which is why the next entry has shown up until now.

So I guess I'm giving up the staring contest. I guess I'll back down and write something else instead of this short play. I'll let the blog win this round, because it doesn't matter who wins and who loses if the art suffers, right?