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Location: Brooklyn, New York, United States

I have a tendency to unconsciously appropriate other peoples' affectations, leading me to say things like y'all.

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Sunday, February 12, 2006

Laying low

Things have been fairly quiet here the last few days. Ever since John's giving me the scare of my life last Friday, we've (I've) been in a sort of recovery mode. We shored things up pretty quickly and there weren't hard feelings, but nonetheless I had to sort of process the event. Someone was kind enough to ask for further information, which I've already posted as a comment reply, but I was laying here, waiting for the Lunesta to kick in and I started thinking: wait, maybe people are actually reading this blog afterall? Maybe they want to know what happened too?

So here's what happened: after I posted my disconcerting little message on here, I sat around for about half an hour trying to plan out a course of action. I settled on calling hospitals in the city for an hour, not a one of which listed John as an emergency intake (relief), then I thought about the possibility that he was very druckenly shacked up with some office chicky (fucking awful and unlikely, but I AM a girl, people). By six (after more calling his cell with no answer) I resolved to take a shower and be ready incase I had to run out of the house. I figured by 8:30 or so I could call his office and find out whether he'd fallen asleep there or something.

At approximately 7:10 John calls. He sounds upset and groggy (which freaks me out more and sends me into tears) and assures me that he's fine, he's on the train and he'll be home in 20 min. Then, before I can rip him a new one, the phones disconnect.

When he got home, Sophie was awake and glad to see him, but aware that I was not so glad to see him. I wouldn't even look at him. It felt so wrong, but I just didn't have anything to say. I'd been battling him and a dozen demons in my head for hours, trying to make sense of what could have happened. And here's what happened, in John's own words:

"I got on the F train uptown at around 1:30 and I closed my eyes for a minute. Then I woke up at 23rd street, walked down to transfer to the D train at West 4th and while I was over the bridge I took out my phone to call you and it was 7 o'clock."

He'd been riding the subway for a good 6 hours between Coney Island and the Bronx. And he was pretty freaked out about the whole thing himself. That morning was the first morning I'd ever yelled at him and it was more out of grief than anger. Thank god nothing happened to him during that time he was asleep. He was lucky. He came home with his wallet in order, his phone...nothing had been disturbed. Most importantly no one had given a beat down to the nicely dressed white man sleeping one off all night.


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