I called him last night. I didn�t call to say �hello.� I didn�t call to check in on the cats. I called to hear him say that I�m going to be fine and that I�m healthy and will remain healthy for years to come.
I�m getting tested on Tuesday. I would imagine that, for the average person, getting tested is a stressful experience. In this situation I am not the average person. For nine months I slept with someone who is HIV positive. Of course, we were nothing but safe, but there�s nothing 100% about this situation. I don�t necessarily have it, but I could. I could very well have it.
My friends have repeatedly assured me that I�m fine and, when in the proper mood, I can even assure myself of that. I want to hear it from him, though. He�s the expert here. Or I want to hear the truth. I want to hear him say, �Yes, Taylor. You could very well have become infected.� I just want to hear something from his lips.
I have to keep reminding myself that the test is not the bad guy here. The test is the good guy. If I have it, I have it and that�s that. The test isn�t going to make me or break me. The test can only reveal the truth of the matter.
I feel like I would know - like my body would be sending me messages. I grip tightly to the few facts I do know about HIV infection. In my head, those few facts are almighty. They are Truth and Absolute. According to those facts, I am fine. I am healthy.
Posted by Taylor on January 30, 2005 @ 10:44 amHow do you tell her you just don�t want to see her anymore? It�s not like when you break up with a boyfriend. You can�t cite the same violations. You can�t say �This just isn�t working for me.� because there isn�t a �this.� And we�re talking about a friendship, not a relationship, so there really shouldn�t be much to work at. I don�t have to work at any of my other friendship. They just work and that�s that. They work because they work.
So when a friendship doesn�t work, what can you do? Especially when this friendship has been going on for years. Nine years. It used to be a wonderful friendship - a best friendship. We were young, though. We we young. We were young. I�m not young anymore. Well, of course I am, but I�m not that young anymore. I feel like I�ve moved out and moved on. I�ve gone places and seen things and met people. She�s yet to do those things and I just don�t feel like we fit anymore.
Would it be wrong to tell her that we just don�t fit anymore? I already say so much. And that�s when I actually speak to her. I never return her calls. The only time she ever manages to catch me on the phone is when I pick up too fast. I tell her that I want to be left alone - that I don�t want to go out and I don�t want to watch movies or play board games. I don�t want to listen to her crappy work stories, crappy school stories, or crappy boyfriend stories. I don�t want to ride in her trashy car or look at her trashy outfits. I don�t want I don�t want I don�t want.
How do you tell a friend, after nine years, that you just can�t do it anymore?
Posted by Taylor on January 29, 2005 @ 11:22 amIt was some file-for-your-taxes-online kind of thing. It shows these few-second cuts of this woman checking her mailbox out in front of her house. Finally, on the last one, she gets so frustrated that her mailbox is empty again she rips it out of the ground, swings it around and starts screaming �Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!� Then it says, �Don�t be that woman.� Can I tell you that I am about 14 seconds away from being that woman?
More importantly, I suppose, I have an interview today. Some office job at a local newspaper. I think I have a pretty good chance of getting it, which would be nice because a) I would be making money and b) if I work 30 hours a week or more I get health benefits. I really enjoy both money and health benefits.
I did receive a nearly $400 refund check from the Academy. I don�t know what they�re giving me that money for but I�m not even going to question it. I�m going to put that right into the back to contribute to my Shiny New Powerbook Fund.
Lastly, I really need to redesign this crap layout. Now that I�m starting to put the finishing touches on Kate�s new layout I can really see just how bad mine is. I�ll work on that.
Posted by Taylor on January 28, 2005 @ 9:18 amSometimes, when people tell stories, they pick large, random numbers to exaggerate the humor in the story. When I say that I�ve had to pee for 53 I mean that I�ve actually had to pee for an actual 53 minutes. I woke up at 8 am because the dogs needed breakfast (asparagus, mushroom, and brisket omelette. Ahem) and the dog�s breakfast is just one of the many things that I take care of here now that I�m home. So, as most people do, I had a slight stinging - a little pressure - down in my upper nether region (upper nether? Is that legal?). I skipped up the stairs, ready to start my day. It was going to be a good one! It was going to be a productive one! I was finally going to call the doctor! I was going to get my portfolio all set and ready to go! I was going to - POTTED PLANTS, people. There were potted plants everywhere. Of course, by �everywhere� I mean one in the bathroom sink and three in the tub. I couldn�t very well pee with potted plants draining in the sink and tub! My brother was in the very next room! He could have heard! I wouldn�t have been able to squeeze out a single drop! There wasn�t going to be a pee, a piss, or a piddle until I could get some running water up in that joint. We�re talking 1 hour and 19 minutes later now, and there are still potted plants preventing me from peeing. I�ve been specifically told not to handle the plants. I�ve asked numerous times that the plants be relocated, but my requests have not been met with action. ACTION, people. I NEED ACTION. And now I think we�re heading down an entirely different road.
Something else I need is a job. I�ve only been looking for about three weeks now, but the search has not been going well (hence the needing of the job). I�ve applied to roughly every acceptable restaurant in the area. I even called in to inquire about a data entry job I saw in the paper. Data entry. We�re talking lowest of the low here (no offense, of course). I was always under the impression that primates, robots, and the socially inept took care of data entry nowadays. Apparently not! Equally as apparent, thanks to the lady I spoke with, is that you need experience to be a data enterer. You need to have done a little data entry in the past. This was not a job for a novice. This is was not a job for someone trying to break into the prestigious field of data entry. Having no more experience than a 22-year-old should in mindlessly entering information into a database, I was not hired.
If this isn�t the part where I go hang myself I don�t know when is. I couldn�t very well do it from the shower rod, though, because then I might fall and crush the potted plants that are still in there.
Posted by Taylor on January 27, 2005 @ 9:23 am