January 3, 2012: Sleep to Dream

Letter: A
CD Number: 10
Track Number 21

Song: “Sleep to Dream” by Apple, Fiona from Tidal

Break Up Hand, Too cold, too cold

When Ginny burst into the party, I confess it took me a moment to process that she was there. You get so used to seeing someone day in and day out that you kind of don’t find anything odd about them being there. Even after you’ve broken up with them.

Her beet red complexion quickly reminded me of my choice though. Because, yes, I had broken up with her. Earlier that day. By phone.

Okay, okay, I admit it. It is hardly the classiest of moods. But I’d been calling her all week. And…and…she’d be ducking me. Now answering the phone, calling back when she knew I couldn’t answer or would be asleep. Ducking me. Totally. And don’t try and tell me it might have been something else because, well, no, I don’t think it was. Although she’d probably say it was.

So, yes, I called her. I was very nice though. Very polite.

“Hey Ginny, it’s Cassandra…Cassie. Anyway, umm…this is sort of awkward, but… let me start again. Hey Ginny, it’s Cassandra. I’ve been trying to reach you all week but have had no luck. I would really prefer to do this some other way, but if you won’t answer the phone, this is all I can do. I am sorry, but…I feel our relationship is over. I care about you, you are a wonderful person. I just don’t see myself as being with you forever, so it would be wrong of me to draw this out any longer. Good bye. Please take care.”

See? Classy. I explained my point of view, I wasn’t rude, I bolstered her confidence. What else does a break-up need.

Apparently, more is the answer. A break-up needs more.

So here we are. On the dance floor of my grandmother’s 90th birthday. And Ginny is yelling at me with all her might. She giving it to me, both barrels. I’m a shit girlfriend. I’m selfish. I’m a space cadet. I am wildly unrealistic and crippled by insecurity. And so on and so on. You get the idea.

This is, of course, a party with my extended family, a rather conservative group of people who were unaware of my sexual preferences until just this moment. The good news is the shock of it seemed to have rendered them too speechless to tell me how they had this friend who went to this camp and now she was married with three kids and living in Duluth. I suppose I will need to thank Ginny for helping me come out someday soon.

For her grand finale, she reveals that I was simply no good at oral—a horrible lie; I am amazing at it and she knows it—and proceeds to rend her garments. She also repeatedly referred to me as a slug hiding from the light of truth under rocks of my construction, built from the lies I told myself about who I was.

Did I mention she’s into theatre?

Anyway, I know I should be mad at her, but, frankly. It was kind of hot. She was all sweaty and mad and…wow…she looked great. I almost kissed her mid-rant, not to cut her off just because this side of her was totally doing it for me. I didn’t though. I thought a break-up by phone followed by a meaningless makeout session that she’d be unaware of the meaninglessness of was probably not a good idea.

In a couple of months though? That’s probably okay, right?

Oh, and Grandma said it was her best birthday yet. Even better than the time Uncle Bob and Uncle Ray beat up on each other for eyeballing each other’s respective dames. And that, I assure you, was a pretty spectacular fight.

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