dewy decimal

2004-11-10 - 11:24 p.m.

As he looked at the enormous Bjork poster in my room his head was forced to tilt back because of its close proximity and sheer size. "I take it you like Bjork," he says.

"5 years ago, I was obsessed," I say as I gather the mess around my bed with one fell swoop of the hand.

"Yeah I don't know too much about her but I really like Enya." Yea.

The next day when I saw him, he'd memorized the lyrics to It's Oh So Quiet and declared himself an ardent Bjork fan.

As I sat there in his car as he sang along, I was so irritated that he was so fraudulantly sharing my interests. I'd never looked at it thinking that I should be so grateful that someone should be so interested to please me. So eager to be on the same playing grounds.

All those years of wishing for someone to love me. Praying for someone sweet and devoted. He needn't be clever or stylish, I'd said to myelf. All I needed was some special attention, someone to mention the special things in me.

Now I'm beginning to see otherwise. I think that I may be coming out of a very important lesson.

slip - step