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, “I miss you.”
“Funny, because I barely remember you. Why are you calling here?!”
“I haven’t talked to you. I think I wrote my number down wrong.”
“How did you know where I work?!”
“Your friend mentioned it that night at the bar.”
“Don't call here.”
“But...”
“Listen, I’m a lesbian. I’m married. I’ve found someone. Leave me alone. Don’t call me. Don't come here. Don’t think of me.”
“Ok, I understand. I freaked you out. I’m sorry. But, you don’t know what you’re missing...”
I’m sufficiently disturbed. I’m just happy that I’m going to be working most of my days at our other clinic soon.
I don’t understand it. I’m not gorgeous, I’m not particularly friendly. Hell, I’m not even remotely social.
And people wonder why I don’t go to bars. It’s because I don’t 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, don’t let me find a stewed bunny rabbit on my front steps when I come back home.
