The Pseudo-Chronicles of Mark Huntley

Something Blue - 9/16/04

Thursday, September 16, 2004

Pardon any incoherence in tonight's entry. It's been a Miller night and I might not be at my sharpest. Not that there's anything wrong with such a night, understand. In fact, I'd like to be having them more often… maybe I should. 

My eyesight hasn't acted up lately. That's something to toast. I've been careful not to strain my eyes, both at work and my supposed life outside it.

No more glowing graffiti, either. Raise your glass to that!

I had a classic long lunch with Dale today, which made me feel pretty good. Soon after I returned to work in the afternoon, though, Carrie took me aside and started jibbering about her upcoming wedding, now only two weeks away (“and counting!”). That shrunk my mood balloon into a small, hard nugget in the bottom of my chest. 

Don't take that the wrong way. Carrie is a very sweet girl and the sharpest copy editor the U.S. Divide could hope for. I'm very happy that she's found true love... few people deserve it more. But Jesus, I'm the last person you should talk to about anything marriage-related. 

It's not Carrie's fault. Dale is the only one at work who knows anything about Lucy. So Carrie's been unaware that all this time she's been gushing and fussing about her wedding to the great Wife Stealer of Capitol City.

It wouldn't be so bad if I just had to hear about the wedding, even on a daily basis. The thing is, though, that I'm supposed to go. She invited me way back when, and I said si. This was pre-Wife Stealer Mark, when times were purer and babes lay down by the wolf. 

I need to find some way to get out of this. Remember, this is a guy only recently emerged from a Zone of Bad Karma—I can only offer negative support, even to my friends. And you don't want a Spouse Robber hanging around the premises on a day of matrimony. Maybe I can fake a serious illness beforehand. It's in Carrie's best interests, after all.

I haven't heard from Lucy again since her phone call the other week. I was thinking about dialing her. Okay, I actually did pick up my cell phone tonight and dial her, except for the last digit. Maybe I’d been taking this Bad Karma stuff seriously for a moment.

Then I thought: Leave it alone. And I went to a neighborhood bar with Thursday-night discounts.

Lucy’s play is opening in a few days... I really should still go, since it's important to her and I'm not a complete bastard. But I don't want to go through the awkwardness of facing her. 

I think I have a good plan: I'll just get there as close as possible to the beginning, and duck out the second it's over. Sit in the back. No face time. She won't even know I was there. I mean, I'll tell her afterwards, so I still get credit for this.

And hey, I could also tell her that I’ve gotten into the drawing thing after all, won’t she be proud? Except I didn’t need any goddamn six-hundred-dollar class to help me along. Just a weird-ass dream instead. When I came back from the bar tonight, I sat down with my drawing pad and started again on the symbols—and this time didn’t let up for about two hours. It was like I was in a trance. What do they call it, the “flow state?"

This time, though, I was drawing symbols that I know I didn’t see in the dream. It’s like they were on the other side of the zodiac, or even the “armillary sphere” if you want to get fancy. The side I wasn’t seeing then. So I’m just making stuff up now, I guess, but it all feels right.

I had to cover the page of symbols up, though, once I was done. I… well, I felt like they were looking at me.

Time for bed. Too much beer today.

posted by Mark Huntley @ 11:44 PM

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