The weekend edition of My Side...

A (Alan) hale and (Oliver) hardy good morning to you...

It was... a weekend.

Actually, I have quite a bit to report but I won't mention the two biggest things in this entry. They rate entries of their own.

Let's start with this morning.

Chris, the handsome guy at work who (fortunately for him) has a personality, asked me to get coffee with him this morning. It's just a walk to the breakroom, not that far. "What's up with the Angela's Ashes haircut, dude?" he asked in that "I'm full of shit and you like me" way he has. Okay, so I hadn't styled my hair this morning.

"So, you know how I told you things had been barren as far as women go?" His tone was conspiratorial, as if I was on the inside and I was privy to things others weren't. "Barren? It's a fucking desert. It's the Sarengeti of Procreation. And that's a knock against the Sarengeti - things live there." I wanted to tell him you're more likely to witness sea mammals playing basketball on the moon than to find a woman interested in me - then, he launched into this story about a girl he met at a bar and how he didn't come on to her, she came on to him, and how they ended up at the beach, tearing off each other's clothes and -

His telling was a lot more detailed but I'd long stopped listening. I thought, "What would have happened if that was me? Would I have wanted to talk - get to know her? Ruin the passion with intellect? Is this why women keep me at arms distance, because they...."

And then, he said, "Don't tell this to anyone, okay? I'm trying to get in good with Gaelle's friend." Who is Gaelle's friend, I wondered. I couldn't get past Gaelle, the lovely french girl at work who is tragically devoted to her boyfriend.

I'd come into work this morning wearing jeans. Our dress code had changed and all mention of "Wearing Jeans ist Verbotten!" and "Jean Wearers Must Die!" had been removed. I wasn't intentionally testing the waters, mind you. The thing is, I was supposed to iron last night and I hadn't. Actually, I was supposed to do a lot yesterday I didn't do. After a pretty darned good first half of the weekend, yesterday, I sat in my apartment like someone hit by a bus. I couldn't really move. I just lit cig after cig, hoping the time would pass. Oh, it did and I got very little done. I just felt so alone - so isolated.

So, hearing Chris's story really helped, you know?

I was still stuck in the whirl I'd been put in after watching "Sabrina" last night. It's one of my favorite movies - either version. I'd watched the Sydney Pollack version, which I think is much more lyrical than the original. It's also terribly sad. So, of course, I'd bawled my eyes out last night, thinking about (You now have ten seconds to think of who this mystery person might be...... time's up) Rosa. And a thought occurred to me which repeated even at Chris impressed me with his effortless charm.

Who am I? I'm just a guy who lost his wife.

That's all I am. It defines me today just as much as my marriage did so many years ago.

This depression really sucked, especially after spending Friday night to Saturday night down in San Diego and telling Tim how much better I'd been doing. Tim and I were supposed to run lines - you know, for the play... so I could do it... so I wouldn't fuck up... We ended up sitting around bullshiting mostly, only running lines once.

Okay, so I'm a flake.

I'd left for San Diego, where Tim lives, right after work on Friday. As I'd been getting ready to go, I had asked Annie, one of our graphic artists, what she had planned for her weekend. "More stress," she said, referring to her ongoing househunt. She sees it as stress, which is too bad because it could be so enjoyable. She's a slight woman with this smile that shines like the sun coming out from behind the moon. I remembered looking for a house with Rosa and how much I loved being there with her.

I just saw Annie a few minutes ago and we spoke briefly. All conversations with me are brief because I, well, I don't have Chris's easy charm.

I'm just a guy who lost his wife.

I'm surrounded by ghosts - the ghosts of Rosa. And I can't see past them and see the real people they hide. I'm seeing the world through Rosa filters and I wear it like a shroud.

Is it any wonder I'm not charming like Chris?