Saturday, November 23, 2002
      ( 6:18 PM ) Rebecca  
Late last night, after the doctor left, after our fun yet anticlimactic, flirty yet frustrating, date was over, I found myself in the bathroom thumbing through "The Onion's Finest News Reporting." I then stumbled across the brilliant article by "Christopher Walken" about how he loves hot dogs.

"I would like to end by emphasizing once again that I really like to eat hot dogs. If any of you people disagree, I loathe you. I despise you. Not only that, but I also despise all your loved ones. I want to see them torn to pieces by wild dogs. If I ever meet you in person, I'll smash your brains in with a fucking bat. Then we'll see who doesn't like hot dogs."

It made me laugh and took my mind off the stupid, beautiful doctor (more on him SOON) but it did something else too. It made me think of Loser. Loser loved hot dogs more than life itself. I used to cook him fabulous vegetarian feasts but I knew that deep down, all he wanted was a hot dog. We used to laugh about it.

And I had a sudden impulse. Which was pure, I think, and free of all ulterior motives except generosity. I thought, “I want to photocopy this and send it to him. It’ll make him laugh.”

Then I recoiled from my own thought. What the hell?

If I sent it to him, he’d know it was from me. It would be a gesture of forgiveness. Of friendship. Of love, even. Because you’d have to love someone a lot to forgive them for the kinds of things he did.

And if I made that kind of gesture, how would he react? How would I want him to react? A whole new world of anxiety spread before me. More complicated than the icy and definitive distance I’ve put between us. And I don’t need that anxiety. I don't want his friendship, do I? I don't want a reconciliation, do I? I don’t think I could even go back to calling him by his real name.

At times, though, I feel sorry for him. He’s so weak and sad. He betrayed someone he utterly adored, and then didn’t know how to make it right. And he has no friends. No family to love or to love him, although that's his own fault for pushing them away. It’s possible he has a girlfriend. But still. He’s hurting, I’m sure. And sometimes I’m glad about that. And other times it makes me cry. And cry.

I first realized something was up the other day in Yoga class. At the end of class, we did a little prayer for the "happiness of all living beings." And a wish for Loser’s happiness came to me unbidden. I stifled it, of course. Quickly. But the idea hung there in my mind like a question mark.

And then the Christopher Walken article. Something is changing. Is it because I’m happy (thank youuu Celexa!) and moving on? Having a swingin' time with every bachelor in Seattle? Moving forward with my writing and a creative energy that I’ve never had before?

Whatever it is, I’m not sure what I think of it. Anger was more comfortable.

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