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October 25, 2002 // 3:56 p.m. // Guess who's coming to dinner?
From 10:00 on, I've had this idea in my head that I was going to compose an entry on the wonderfully amazing diversity confrence I attended on campus, but I can't yet. I thought about writing an entry about how I ditched Chantilli, leaving her alone with Bird Man when I really wanted to talk to her about the astrological chart she gave me on Wednesday, but I can't yet. I wanted to compose an entry about Wal-Mart. How they took eight days to develop my last roll of film, how the last time I did one hour with them my photos turned out horrible and how I've been there three straight days only to hear, "We don't close until 10, but we cannot take anymore one hour photos" or, "our machine is broken tonight. It won't be ready until tomorrow" when I dropped it of yesterday, or, "do you have your ticket? I can't find your film. And our machine is broken again, so we can't take the new roll of film you're dropping off." I wanted to talk about that too, but I can't yet. This, the fun marriage discussion of yesterday, the troubles the ex-crush is going through, the diversity confrence, the Wal-Mart saga and Chantilli will all have to wait until later. Because this is breaking news. I drop my film off with convienience at Target (which reminds me. It'll be ready in ten.) and leave my phone in the car. I return to find I have three missed calls. I return one to G. "Jason?" "Yeah?" It was nearly impossible for me to hear anything even after muting the radio and rolling up the windows on this unusually warm end of October day. "Guess who's in town this weekend?" I couldn't hear him, so I asked him to repeat it. "Guess who's in town?" "Who?" "T.E.N.T." And I'll apparently learn all of the details later. How does this pertain to me? Well, after not being in contact with Britt or Martha for the past three to four weeks, I found out on my own how to contact her. There are a few things I didn't tell her the last time I talked to her (which was so incredibly long ago, it's ridiculous) like the fact that I fell much harder for her than she realizes. Nobody believes me when I tell the she-knows-more-than-she-says-she-knows story, and I don't blame them. She's manipulative in that way. I'm being told by everyone that it will be good to talk to her because it'll allow me to enjoy myself more. They couldn't be more right. But if she's the way she left three years ago, any meeting we have will be over in about five minutes, because when she decides to close herself off, it's futile to even try. I decided that should she do this, a letter explaining everything (and I mean everything is my last resort. I had to do it last time, and I may have to do it again. The only problem is I have more drafts than I care to count on my desk at this moment, and none are nowhere near what I'd like to say. I'm feeling pressure put upon me to finish a letter in some form that I may not (but chances are I will) even have to give her. We're both 20. It's terribly sad that we both have to go about commununicating like this. And if I do come in contact with her? I don't have a clue as to what I'd say. Maybe that's the bigger problem. I have this feeling that I'll somehow bump into her or something, but I can't go about doing anything until I have some basic grasp on what I have to say in either verbal or written form. I think I need to clear my head. And swing back by Wal-Mart to see what's up with yesterday's film now that I have the receipt, and pick up my film from Target. It's been ready for about nine minutes.