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06.29.03 - 3:41 a.m. i wish the phrase "booty call" was in the dictionary. Since i was little if i was involved in something that i didnt understand i would look it up in the dictionary: intimicacy, trust, phobia, masturbation. For some reason, seeing the words written like that, in the most concrete way i knew made me feel better, secure, and less out of control. If someone had defined it, it couldnt be ineffable, it couldnt be too chaotic; someone, somewhere had lasoed it and put it down. Some postmodern thinker somewhere along the line suggested that, "there is power in nomenclature," the capturing of something evasive and non descript. I was so thankful for that choke hold of whatever i had in my hands. All week at the beach i thought not much of smoking. I thought much of justin kissing me instead. One vice thrown into the fire and another one pulled off the shelf. I kept it between my shoulderblades, the thought of him holding me, all week until my muscles were sore from it, until my back ached with his weight, the absence of him, heavy. I wrote to him, silly letters that i wouldnt send of course. I told him awful things and then apologized...i wrote to myself- busily nailing up boards against the option of him and then tearing them down and gazing at that empty space again. I decided against him and then found myself thinking of how he held both of my hands-tight- and how it was scary for one second, how i wanted to run. I would find myself thinking of that. In real life he is some boy who works at a coffee shop. Just some boy. And part of me spends so much time raising standards and finding fault. I do know enough to know that hes not the ONE, the other shoe, hes not, even, really, a size ten. I know that i am not in love that i might not be, and its this that has me wishing webster had included booty call in its catalogue of defined and refined words. Because i came home, took a shower, and headed for his house. I hoped he was home as i had made up another lie and it would be suspicious for me to turn around and head back home as i was rhetorically headed for someones house who knew i was coming. We smoked of course and my hair smells like it, and his pillow and him, of course. In real life, im just this girl. I dont think i will do it again. Heres what i can define: I felt different than who i really am--if i really am--i was some other girl. I was the kind of girl who knew exactly what she was doing but lied about it anyway. It was a wussy booty call. I told him i was stood up. It was a lie, two of them in one--interconnected lying. Ive been trying to get away from that. But there is no other way with him, i cant have that in the open and keep these last few weeks sane at home. And in real life, hes just some guy who is hoping to get laid. And this time, in real life, i wasnt the one who was pursued...he did what i came for but i was the one doing the asking, and it was strange. Not in a good way really, yet anyway. I wish i could just grasp my sexuality and get it over with. I wish that taboo wasnt in me. Did i say i wasnt going to do it again? Im not i dont think. I always feel more sure when were doing it. I get scared and he cant tell i dont think. I am romanticizing the issue. Romanticize: To treat or interpret romantically, esp. to falsify so as to make more pleasing. Hmm. And in real life, in "truth" he is just a guy hoping to get laid (by a white girl from the suburbs) The parenthesis denote my own crippling assumptions. If this was the movies he would woo me honestly until he won the trust i lost when, you know, my husband cheated on me or when i was abused as a child or whatever. And then he would die of cholera and i would live a life of abstinence having lost the one thing that made me whole. Forever. In real life it's one inch deep. Us. Im not expecting anything and if i am its because i want to believe that holding another person like that means something more indefinable and less as a means to an end. God. Could this sound more trite? How come it seems crucial? Maybe i will hook up with him again but not for awhile, anyway. And maybe tomorrow. Will someone tell me that this transformation is normal and even, maybe, healthy? Because i feel stupid and ill equipped. This is hard. His smell is everywhere. Goodnight. � 
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