don't look where you fall, but where you slipped

    Wedding last Saturday. The day: cool, cloudy, threatening rain. The outfit: Kohl's sweater (numerous discounts decreased the price ~$36)--in rose red, swingy knee-length skirt (black), strappy black sandals (too cool for them, but what the hell), new ruby necklace, totally adorable hair (thanks, Meg!), and non-matching earrings (including some gorgeous emerald studs). The wedding ceremony: perhaps the most heartfelt and personal I've ever witnessed, and also the shortest. It was lovely, and the entire bridal party (16??) was in and out, ceremony concluded, in probably 5 minutes flat. The reception: also very personal, which was alternately beautiful and heartbreaking. Have you ever had one of those experiences where everything should be just right, but something inside you makes it just wrong enough to be not right? Like if you're in a sad mood when you see the happy movie, it might not seem to be the best movie you've ever seen? That was my experience Saturday night. I wanted to love it, and the circumstances were in place to make it possible, but my heart was heavy and I couldn't do it. I slipped out as dessert was served, got some air, realized that air—peace, alone—was what I needed, and just kept walking until I was home.
    During the best men's speeches, though (which were some of the best I've ever heard, rollicking funny and clearly personal), I'd obeyed one of those independent voices that occupy my mind. Toby (Ullyses' best friend) had texted a couple of weeks ago, out of the blue after four months of silence. I hadn't responded, and my silence was wearing on me—my rudeness, not truly justified by his rudeness (and whatever else it could be called), was wearing on me. In a moment of remorse brought on by all that hale fellow well-met-ness, I texted him. Apologized for having left him hanging, though I also said that it was essentially because I'd been so surprised to hear from him after so long. He wrote back almost immediately, apologizing too for having "bailed" on me and for being rude, too. Said maybe we could get together for a drink sometime....
    And so we did, last night. The rationalization and justification are beside the point. We're both single adults, so, why not? He came over for a drink.
    Ostensibly.
    It took a while to realize that he actually came over (1) to plant seeds of information about Ulysses in my brain, (2) to ask questions about my relationship with Ulysses (whether as fact-checking to take back to U. or just out of curiosity, I don't know), (3) to get really, really drunk on my alcohol, and (4) because he thought that "getting together for a drink" implied offer and acceptance of an implied contract of sexual favors.
    He had limited success with #1. He failed miserably at #2, although I doubt that he realized how miserably because he succeeded beyond my realization with #3--he was completely wasted before long. Not surprising, given that he'd had a few before he came over. The guy drinks a lot. Therefore, when he determined that it was time to attempt #4, there was trouble. He's not a terribly big person, just a couple of inches taller than me, maybe outweighing me by 50 lb., but he's both more fit and he was extremely drunk. So there was no "reasoning with him," only outwitting him. That was...new. For me. Not outwitting, but needing to. That's literally never happened to me before.
    He tried to push me into something that I wasn't going to do, so I pushed him away, and he nearly fell into my living room windows. Naturally, I tried to prevent that, and when he started to fall in the opposite direction, he landed with all his weight on his heel--on the top of my left foot. I don't think it's broken, but it's bruised and swollen and looks wretched and feels pretty bad. When I woke up this morning and realized that it felt tender, and saw the bruise, I wished I could have gone back in time and let him fall out the Goddamned window.
    So. I got far too little sleep last night. I woke up this morning pretty badly hungover. I slept with my contacts in. When I wrote this morning that "people generally keep suckin' if they used to suck so expecting any changes in that department is just stoopid," I meant that Toby was a jerk before, so deluding myself into thinking he was anything but a jerk...not smart. My apartment was trashed, with furniture moved all over, things tipped and a couple of things bent or broken, pictures on the walls hanging crooked, and the bathroom a complete mess.
    And when I chose the Don Marquis quote ("I drink only to make my friends seem interesting")--wow, I didn't mean my real friends. If I ever need to drink, especially to that extent, I hope someone cares about me enough to stand between me and my bottle and help me clean up my life.
    (Despite my strong opinions on the subject, the bully's on his own.)

[title quotation is an African proverb]