Nothing herein is worth your time.
Aug. 17th, 2003 04:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aruanMum and I stopped in to McAlister's for lunch after putting in a not-yet-over eight hour day. Rest our legs, refocus, plus nummy lunch food. Winning plan, no?
Decidedly not when I looked up while we were waiting for our food to see someone I haven't spoken more than an 'excuse me' or 'pass it down' to for six years. Fucker's supposed to be in New York living his own goddamned life in his own motherfucking zip code.
Most of whatever appetite I had went away when I thought I recognized the blonde hair mostly covered by a baseball cap; I knew it was him when he smiled. There are certain things you'll always remember about certain people, and his has always been the easy, content way he smiles, the same smile that can mean anything from genuine happiness to detached bemusement and you had to look in his eyes to know.
So he smiles at something a friend of mine he was with said and the bottom drops out of my stomach, my chest gets tight, my hands shake, but instead of flight there's this fish out of water paralysis. It's falling and sinking and weightlessness all at once, no center of gravity or horizon line to orient yourself. I was getting nauseous just sitting there, riding this lurching wave. Like when you're too scared to do anything like scream or run and just stand there when all you want to do is make for the nearest private corner and vomit until you purge your very soul. If you'd asked me to say something, my voice would've probably broken on a sob or stumbled over the eloquent dual syllable of 'hello.' It's remarkable (fucking ridiculous is more like it, but go with my detached objectivist here) how the mere presence of that boy can fuck with my head even now.
I felt like a cartoon character, who'd run off a cliff and had been doing fine because I hadn't known, finally realizing the ground was no longer anything but a clever trick of assumption (hope?) But goddamn it, I've got plenty of ground, had it before and after him, so what. the. fuck?
And of course he had to see me like this. There's every chance they saw me way before I ever even noticed them - we were at the table for a good five-seven minutes and they were sitting directly across from us, unobstructed view and all. I was tired, a bit overwhelmed, hungry, sweaty, unkempt, in a ratty shirt and jeans and old sneakers, stringy hair and not a lick of makeup as I'd sweated off what little foundation I'd bothered with earlier that morning. Not that the how and when mattered, but I (without any reason) already lose whatever cool or composure I usually muster when standing next to him, so this was a special kind of insult to injury.
I managed to choke down half of my usually beloved Reuben sandwich. Put it this way, especially to Miranda - I didn't even finish my iced tea. I was pretty much in this morose stupor for a lot of the ride back - apparently I'd told my mother the sordid saga some time ago, as she knew the name without my saying it and even more tellingly, knew not to talk about it.
This was supposed to be over such a fucking long time ago, I feel like a complete tool for even reacting at all. I was supposed to be too smart for it the first time, and shame on me for how all that went down. This? Just pathetic. The boy makes me hate myself, turns me into all the horrifying things I dread to ever let anyone glimpse, and it all comes out just from being in the same room with him. It's theater of the absurd, only morbid enough to put Mickey Mouse on Prozac. I despise him for what he can still do to me now more deeply than I ever felt anything else for him.
It's a very good thing that activities later in the afternoon involved taking a hammer to a wood and metal bedframe. Beats self-flagellation any day.
Fuck. Anyone who knows who I'm talking about please do everyone a favor and whack me upside the head the next time you see me.
Decidedly not when I looked up while we were waiting for our food to see someone I haven't spoken more than an 'excuse me' or 'pass it down' to for six years. Fucker's supposed to be in New York living his own goddamned life in his own motherfucking zip code.
Most of whatever appetite I had went away when I thought I recognized the blonde hair mostly covered by a baseball cap; I knew it was him when he smiled. There are certain things you'll always remember about certain people, and his has always been the easy, content way he smiles, the same smile that can mean anything from genuine happiness to detached bemusement and you had to look in his eyes to know.
So he smiles at something a friend of mine he was with said and the bottom drops out of my stomach, my chest gets tight, my hands shake, but instead of flight there's this fish out of water paralysis. It's falling and sinking and weightlessness all at once, no center of gravity or horizon line to orient yourself. I was getting nauseous just sitting there, riding this lurching wave. Like when you're too scared to do anything like scream or run and just stand there when all you want to do is make for the nearest private corner and vomit until you purge your very soul. If you'd asked me to say something, my voice would've probably broken on a sob or stumbled over the eloquent dual syllable of 'hello.' It's remarkable (fucking ridiculous is more like it, but go with my detached objectivist here) how the mere presence of that boy can fuck with my head even now.
I felt like a cartoon character, who'd run off a cliff and had been doing fine because I hadn't known, finally realizing the ground was no longer anything but a clever trick of assumption (hope?) But goddamn it, I've got plenty of ground, had it before and after him, so what. the. fuck?
And of course he had to see me like this. There's every chance they saw me way before I ever even noticed them - we were at the table for a good five-seven minutes and they were sitting directly across from us, unobstructed view and all. I was tired, a bit overwhelmed, hungry, sweaty, unkempt, in a ratty shirt and jeans and old sneakers, stringy hair and not a lick of makeup as I'd sweated off what little foundation I'd bothered with earlier that morning. Not that the how and when mattered, but I (without any reason) already lose whatever cool or composure I usually muster when standing next to him, so this was a special kind of insult to injury.
I managed to choke down half of my usually beloved Reuben sandwich. Put it this way, especially to Miranda - I didn't even finish my iced tea. I was pretty much in this morose stupor for a lot of the ride back - apparently I'd told my mother the sordid saga some time ago, as she knew the name without my saying it and even more tellingly, knew not to talk about it.
This was supposed to be over such a fucking long time ago, I feel like a complete tool for even reacting at all. I was supposed to be too smart for it the first time, and shame on me for how all that went down. This? Just pathetic. The boy makes me hate myself, turns me into all the horrifying things I dread to ever let anyone glimpse, and it all comes out just from being in the same room with him. It's theater of the absurd, only morbid enough to put Mickey Mouse on Prozac. I despise him for what he can still do to me now more deeply than I ever felt anything else for him.
It's a very good thing that activities later in the afternoon involved taking a hammer to a wood and metal bedframe. Beats self-flagellation any day.
Fuck. Anyone who knows who I'm talking about please do everyone a favor and whack me upside the head the next time you see me.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: August 20th, 2003 08:22 am (UTC)But, grrrr.
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Date: August 20th, 2003 08:34 am (UTC)Grrrr.
(Also, fantastic icon.)
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Date: August 20th, 2003 09:24 am (UTC)I so get that. I have the same kind of pattern where certain things are concerned.
(Also, fantastic icon.)
Used it just for you because I thought it would make you smile. :-) It's brand new! Not even GIPped yet, and
no subject
Date: August 20th, 2003 09:35 am (UTC)It's verra, verra pretty, and the double reference! Hee. Did I ever mention the first and only (at that point) story of yours I'd read when I got the Secret Santa assignment was the Krycek/Eminem? Needless to say I had myself an only somewhat minor little freakout, but then you wanted Bassez, a pairing that's nothing but sunshine in my heart of hearts, and then I was just confused. *g*
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Date: August 20th, 2003 09:44 am (UTC)Exactly! The double reference is what I love the best! Well. And his hand holding the pen. Swoooooooon.
then you wanted Bassez, a pairing that's nothing but sunshine in my heart of hearts, and then I was just confused
Ha ha ha! I bet you were. And then you read Run Smooth, or Sex Sells or something, and went, these are the same people who wrote that Krycek story? What happened to them??? Hee.
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Date: August 20th, 2003 10:37 am (UTC)That's precisely what I thought. I was all, 'What? No, but seriously now, what?' I almost didn't believe it all belonged to y'all. And actually, since I was looking at the pieces you'd written solo, I read German Lesson. So, yeah. I was thrown for a bit of a loop.
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Date: August 20th, 2003 11:17 am (UTC)And German Lesson! Oh my god. You must have been wondering *what*, exactly, I was hoping for from a Basez story. You did a fine, fine job. :-) I still love it.
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Date: August 20th, 2003 12:03 pm (UTC)Like night and day.
Exactly that. That story absolutely consumed me for a week - funny thing though, the reason I read it was because I was on a very serious Eminem kick for a few months surrounding 8 Mile. Krycek was never my boy as far as X-Files - I didn't even read slash until Smallville came along in April 2002 (for me). It was such a swift downward spiral, I think I'm still a bit dizzy. *g* Your story was recced heavily all around, so I'm like, sure, let's give this a whirl. And wow. But I didn't explore your site any further at that point until I went to your journal after getting my assignment. I think my heart stopped for a moment in there when realization dawned. I distinctly remember having to remind myself to breathe and making a rather incoherent phone call to Miranda.
You must have been wondering *what*, exactly, I was hoping for from a Basez story.
*lol* Heh. I was just honestly bewildered at the chasm between the two stories. It was dissonance at its most potent. But I'd just seen Driven at the time and really knew very little else about (pre-)Euro!Sync at the time, so it was mostly no contest. I could see writing, ahem, less sunshine-y things set later on in their timeline, but not then. Angst and strife in baby!Sync ain't intra-group.
I still love it.
You are hot chocolate (or as the season would have it right now, sweet tea with lemon) for the soul, hon. Thank you.
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Date: August 20th, 2003 12:21 pm (UTC)Oh my goodness! I am very flattered. :-)
I was just honestly bewildered at the chasm between the two stories. It was dissonance at its most potent.
I honestly can't explain it myself. But thank goodness we got all that angst out before we really submerged ourselves in popslash! Hee! The Eminem/Krycek story was our first time writing together.
And about my secret santa story... do you have it online somewhere? Because I have wanted to link to it before in the past, but I don't know where it is. I always read it on my PDA, where I have it saved. ;-)
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Date: August 20th, 2003 12:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: August 20th, 2003 03:15 pm (UTC)But you! Galavanting with Lance and your fancy tacky jean jewels! And he remembered you! It all sounded like lovely fun. I'm slowly catching up on the past week, but Susie sent me some of your choicest shots on AIM yesterday, and day-um. Mmmm.
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Date: August 20th, 2003 05:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: August 20th, 2003 04:54 pm (UTC)i'm glad i was around when all that shit happened, so that i can saw "awww, jules!" and curse the stupid bastard and send you my love and the regret that i can't be there to hug you now.
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Date: August 21st, 2003 07:06 am (UTC)Frankly, I'm surprised y'all stayed on speaking terms with me during and after that mess. I... probably wouldn't have. The things I did for that boy continue to astound and abhor me.
Though if your coddling offer is still on the table, we'll just have to get together sooner. *g*