09.18.04

5:02 p.m.

invasive

I thought the bar boys had taken the hint. That is, until one of them called the clinic today.

He said, ďI miss you.Ē

ďFunny, because I barely remember you. Why are you calling here?!Ē

ďI havenít talked to you. I think I wrote my number down wrong.Ē

ďHow did you know where I work?!Ē

ďYour friend mentioned it that night at the bar.Ē

ďDon't call here.Ē

ďBut...Ē

ďListen, Iím a lesbian. Iím married. Iíve found someone. Leave me alone. Donít call me. Don't come here. Donít think of me.Ē

ďOk, I understand. I freaked you out. Iím sorry. But, you donít know what youíre missing...Ē

Iím sufficiently disturbed. Iím just happy that Iím going to be working most of my days at our other clinic soon.

I donít understand it. Iím not gorgeous, Iím not particularly friendly. Hell, Iím not even remotely social.

And people wonder why I donít go to bars. Itís because I donít find nice, normal guys; I find psycho, awkward freaks.

Now, it's time to go back to work. At least I'll be alone. Only the incessant barking of the dogs to keep me company. Ah...

Dear God, donít let me find a stewed bunny rabbit on my front steps when I come back home.

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I'm Not Dead, I Swear

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