2003-02-03 @ 5:29 p.m. | Laundry and grief

Song in my head: more Hedwig! can't get enough!

Mood: ready to go home

Current book: hasn't changed yet


I need to do laundry so seriously. I hate hauling my clothes to the laundromat so much, yet I need to do this, and I am so completely unmotivated. I am not sure at what point I will be forced to go to the laundromat. I do have clean undies. I haven't yet started to wear them inside out (which, no, I don't do as a general rule, although I've done it when I spend the night somewhere unplanned-ly and don't have fresh), and I haven't yet run out to buy more, but it just might get to that point. I was gonna do it this weekend but damn prepping for that damn date.. if only I hadn't wasted my time.

And I still miss John considerably. I think about him all the time. I unbelievably ran into his brother Bob (I always think of the Arrogant Worms song "Jesus's Brother Bob" when I think of him) on 14th Street on my way to yoga on Thursday and it was a stunner, I hadn't seen him in over a year, and hadn't spoken to him since he called in December to tell me about John, and I cried a bit to talk to him, and I still miss John so much. One of the last places he went on vacation was San Francisco, and I immediately wanted to email him to ask him about what the best places to go were. I remember him telling me how so much of it had become touristy, just like Times Square here, and he missed the old days. I miss the old days with him. He was such a confidant and mentor to me, and I imagine I must have given him something back in return, and I'll never ever forget him, but it makes me so sad to think that he'll inevitably fade in my memory and I'm glad that I've written about him now that he's still fresh because I don't ever want to lose my memory of him.

Ironic that I write that; his father is in a nursing home with just about no memory, and he'd been calling John's old house leaving messages for his wife (John's mother) who'd been dead for 10 years. When John told me about this, he told it in such an amusingly scornful way that I couldn't help but crack up - which with anyone else I would have been horrified to do - but he was delighted, he couldn't wait to tell Bob how I was the only person outside of them who understood the absurdity and frustration of his situation, and he adored that.

And I remember going to the apartment on Washington Place that he housesat for every summer (funny, I feel like I know his friend Nick because I had dinner there every summer for five years but we've never met) - I had gone in the late summer or early fall to deliver a half ounce of weed that I'd gotten from my brother for him - I wonder if it's still in his effects? Bob said that he still hasn't been able to get into the apartment yet - and it was sort of a spur of the moment thing, not really planned, but he invited me in and made me a vodka and tonic and we sat on the tiny black iron balcony and ate cashews and strawberries as I waited for a phone call from the old married guy I had a brief fling with and was not looking forward to meeting up with, and John and I just had the loveliest time, so unexpected, and I could taste summer ending but I wanted to hold onto it anyway, and I think that may have been the last time I saw him.


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