drunkencynic's Diaryland Diary

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spillage (tomatoes, hearts...)

Today at work Chelsea spilled a bin of diced tomatoes (ewwww!) and a big pot of pork. I was right there when she spilled the tomatoes, and when she did it I almost couldn't believe that it was she and not I who'd done it. It's such a thing I'd do. I was klutz-free today, minus a few stray chips on the floor! Ya-ay!

I also interrogated someone who knows him, at least in passing. She was fruitless. Very nice, though, and intelligent.

I keep wanting to call him. Dammit. I would, too, if it weren't that he's not calling me and I'm almost positive that he's out there fucking PH in his parent's truck at this very moment. So much for sentimentality and honoring what's past and all that bullshit. I'm scared. The urge to call him gets stronger and stronger every moment. I want to know what he's doing, I want to know how he feels, I want to know what's going on in his life. I seriously need someone else to take my mind off of him. Like, really take my mind off of him, ;) if ya know what I mean.

you know, come to think of it, my heart probably looks much the same as those diced tomatoes lying all over the floor in a heap