THE CURSE OF THE PRETTY GIRL

Man...

I was sort of long overdue for one of my patented piss-and-vinegar tirades. But last night's post was closer to fire-and-brimstone-- even I have to cringe upon re-reading it.

But it's how I felt, and I don't take any of it back. That doesn't mean that I don't feel differently, and that's the thing: right now I'm feeling much better about the whole shebang.

Halfway through the post I knew that, after some food and some sleep and some deep breaths, I'd be calm again. Reflective, perhaps. It comes and goes. I keep my emotions strapped to the operating table of my soul, and then all of a sudden (like Boris Karloff in full monster regalia) I break free from the shackles and go on a rampage so naked that John Ashcroft wants to cover it up.

I'm sorry if anyone took exception to the harsh vibe. But I don't believe in holding back my emotions when I write. Sometimes I probably should, but (to quote from Todd Solondz' movie Storytelling) once it's written down, it all becomes fiction.

Thanks for the comments, by the way. I know, I equate silence with death when it comes to feedback. I'm trying to not let that get to me as much. A while back, I realized that commenting is cool but (for me) it can also turn into a variation on that classic standby, the crank call. When I would go around to other sites, especially conservative "pundits" and the like, I found myself relishing the opportunity to stir up shit a little too much for my own good. It became unhealthy. I stopped, or at least I've lessened my obnoxiousness a shade. Now if I can only do the same about my nicotine habit, I'd be golden.

**

I got home and slept a blissful sleep, like a tired child done with his tantrum. I had dreams, but they weren't coherent enough to recall. I woke up occasionally, and laid in my bed thinking about the past week, and what I had planned for the rest of the year. I thought about Eve. I thought about how cavalier she was when telling me the gory details. It's as if she expects this shit to happen to her all the time. Knowing her as long as I have, she has been victimized and brutalized left and right. It's the Curse of the Pretty Girl-- she is trapped by qualities that she really has no control over.

She didn't cry or break down. She was so candid. She said it was no big deal. I can't get my head around that, but at least I could tell she meant it. As heavy as her words were, she was being honest. And I appreciate that. She didn't have to tell me as quickly as she did. I didn't ask, because it isn't my place to ask her to bare her soul like that.

I'm really in no position to tell her that she's making bad choices. I mean, I have friends who no doubt wonder why I never went to college and made myself into something more respectable. I've heard the speeches about wasted potential, and there is some truth to them in the sense that I could be further along than I already am if only I'd fly straight and stop dreaming so much. I'm sure that it frustrates some people in my life to no end when I document and glamorize the squalor of a certain type of American living.

If I don't recognize my peers' assessments of me, then how can anyone else accept my assessment of them?

I woke up officially at 4 in the afternoon. I got a call from an old co-worker, inquiring as to whether I could procure some cocaine. Yes, cocaine. I don't do cocaine, and I don't know anyone who deals it. But the guy was insistent, and he kept telling me it was "for some girl I know" but that means that it's either for him or he wants to get with some girl who likes sugar boogers. He seemed sure that I was just being coy, trying to keep it "low pro"-- it didn't help that I had scored him weed and E in the past.

I'll hold on to the money, on the off chance that someone I know actually has some coke to sell. But I think this guy's going to be getting a refund, because really-- I don't even know how much a bag goes for nowadays.

Anyway, talking about cocaine reminded me to call Eve. I didn't want to call her at work, so I showered and shaved, ate food and listened to some vinyl on my new turntable. I smoked a cigarette. The ire from twelve hours before was dissipated, a faded blue-jean memory. God, I was so worked up yesterday.

I remembered back to ten years ago, to the year. Eve had been assaulted in the summer of 1994... or was it 1996? It was a long time ago, but I'm sure she hasn't gone a day without remembering it. Feeling powerless, I unnecessarily heaped tons of guilt upon myself for not being there when I thought she needed me. Granted, we were already broken up by then, but I still made myself feel bad, because I didn't know how else to deal with the news.

This time, I don't feel as guilty. I feel bad, but I don't feel like I failed her somehow. This happened while I was out of the picture, with the man she was in love with for almost a decade. I had no bearing on this. It was her situation, one that she helped to foster until it got out of control. My reaction to this latest bit of violence committed against her was natural, but now that I'm feeling a bit more even I can see that, however bad it sucks what happened to her, there's nothing I can do to reverse the process. The only thing I can do is let her know that I am trying to understand it all.

"Sorry my phone died. I have a cheapie land line here. It won't bug out on me."

She laughed. "It's all good."

"I gotta give you props for being so forthright. I knew that you would tell me in your own sweet time, but I didn't know it would be so soon. Thank you for opening up to me with all of that."

"Thanks for listening," she said.

Just like with my mom and her decision to handle things with less malice than she was entitled to, I can't cast judgement on what Eve decides to do. She joked that she might buy herself a gun, but then she also scolded me when I inferred that Dick had better watch his step if I'm anywhere in the vicinity.

"I don't want anyone else getting involved," she said. "This is my mess to clean up."

"Yeah, well, we're practically neighbors," I replied. "Don't be afraid to call if it's life or death, okay?"

On the whole, we had a lighthearted conversation, and afterward I felt even better than I was already starting to feel. She had to go to a class, and I had to go catalog several dozen audio CDs pertaining to the animation over at the Garage.

I guess I wouldn't get so bent out of shape when someone I give a damn about gets temporarily squashed by the cruelty of human nature, if I could just remember to live and let live. But sometimes I feel like Eve isn't the only one afflicted by the Curse of the Pretty Girl. I think it rubs off on other people, especially if they get too close. Sometimes it drives other people mad, but I think I'm finally building up a slight tolerance to it. It's an overwhelming cloud to have hanging over one's head, but I have gotten better at weathering the emotional storms that come with this desperate living that we call existence. Not much better, but better nonetheless.