slippery slopes

the hour before his arrival, I jokingly wondered where he was and when he was going to come to siena. that he actually arrived was both pleasing and surprising. his second appearance to the shop was marked by his enormous appetite (three lunch items and a smoothie) and a few references to his last visit. then, the first song he played was a song that I loved previously, and I wondered if he played it for me. and yet, he has been girlfriended for some three years now to a sullen frigid thing who is wonderful in lots of other ways, but doesn't make him happy.

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his visits to the coffeeshop are a disruption. I stop being myself and switch to something else. I shift gears in front of him and he knows it. he knows why. he wants to think it is the one thing, but really, he knows that it can only be that other thing, that thing that is so always a part of our communication, so stifling and restrictive, so painful and swollen that there is no ignoring that they have explored each other and what we had was nothing but a flat surface. so awful is it to see him that I find ways to avoid serving him if I can, which means the person who makes the worst lattes becomes his barista, and today was no different except he didn't want a latte, he wanted to drop off a dvd I loaned him and then give me the first season of Lost to consume. and yet, what we had was nothing. when I saw them together, I felt nothing, an absence of emotion, but I could not muster enthusiasm, so I ignored them.

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two hours to kill. two drinks in two hours. two jobs already worked and one still remained. and yet, I was going to be around children later. but I wanted nothing more than to be at raven's, one more night.

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his sunken eyes search mine and I look for a spark of recognition or desire, but instead I see nothing but eyes. he seems out of it, drunk, crazy even, and there's something about him that makes me want to try and wrap my arms around his mess. today was the first day I admitted some attraction, and yet, I already know that he's not worth the trouble or mental exhaustion. I resisted the urge to smile at him, to ask about him, to introduce myself to him, but just barely.

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another night of little to no sleep, and what will tomorrow bring, what horror will I inflict on some well meaning soul, what will the lack of sleep do to infect my actions [a spilled cup of coffee, perhaps] and now there is a blackout--people are opening their doors and windows to confirm that the electricity is indeed out, as though the blink of everything on to off wasn't enough of an indicator--and my eyes are burning from the tired, but I know myself, there is nothing I can do when this happens other than honor that momentum. but I know what's best and five hours is cutting it close. and yet, what does sleep give me other than vacant time and lack of dreams?

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rent is due soon. and yet, no amount of working seems to be enough.