6.15.2005I am sitting at my computer. I say "What's going on, Harmony."
She is laying on my bed. She says "I want to know what's going on."
I bite my tongue, wondering how much longer the silent schtick will last. How much longer I can ignore her, how many nights can I pretend to be passed out while she pokes me and shakes me and says "I want to talk"?
Stange thing is that we have talked. She knows perfectly well whats going on. You might think that this would undermine the need to play possum to her prodding. But last time we talked I fucked up. I attacked her. I was defensive and mean and rude and unfriendly. I told her "I don't like you very much".
Which was a half-truth, of course, and entirely rhetorical and the product of overthinking and delusional (read: stoned) planning of the best way to broach this particular conversation. See, it had been sitting there, like a giant wave slowly approaching from the horizon, and I had time and fancied myself an orator and thought I would say something obviously untrue, and shock her, and then clarify and ease up the pain of that initial blow by explaining that...
Well, I dont quite remember my justification there, but it didn't matter because that first little bit was all that came out anyway, and her ears shut like a seal and fireworks shot into the sky to form a large glowing neon "You done fucked up, kid" sign.
And see, I dont want Harmony mad at me. No one does. But she understandably got mad and it was totally my fault and I had to make amends. So we went right back into the same routine, and I was nice to her and treated her well and tried to make her comfortable again. And when I felt that we were back on solid ground, I said "We should stop having sex".
And she reacted, as was appropriate, but she did not overreact. Or rather, her reaction was constructive and emotive and expressive and healthy. I am grateful, at least, for that.