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yet another domestic crisis
Monday, May 10 1999
You can never be too old to learn (or, perhaps, relearn) a basic life lesson. The one driven home to me today concerned the subject of saying random shit to strangers. You have to watch what you say. You really do.
I'd been kind of hungover at work all day, despite having gone to bed at something like 8:30 PM last night. Still, despite my vague waves of nausea, strange emotions and such, I made good progress on a message board system I've been building from scratch. Then I got a call from Kim at about 5:00 PM. She was freaking out; she'd just been told by Lawrence, the underachieving janitor dude, that I'd admitted to not being in love with her. My first instinct was to deny everything. Indeed, at the time I didn't even remember the specifics of the conversation I'd had with Lawrence. In my extensive experience, you see, I've found alcohol-induced blackout to be an incomplete kind of amnesia. The memories aren't actually lost, you see, they're all recorded as usual. It's the connections between these memories and the neural database keeping track of them that seems to get damaged. But these connections can be repaired with a little help. If someone tells you a little bit about an incident that happened while you were in blackout, sometimes the whole scene can pop back into memory, occasionally with astonishing vividness.
That's not exactly what happened to me, but over time I gradually recovered my memories of the conversation in question. After all, I had plenty of time to think about it all on the ride back home; I certainly couldn't stay any longer at work with this sort of crisis in my relationship. That five mile bike ride never gets any longer than when I'm wondering if I still have a relationship waiting for me on the other end of it.
So, back in Ocean Beach, I explained things and somehow Kim and I managed to put this issue behind us. We're in love still and everything is cool. We celebrated this latest success over chaos with carne asada take away.
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