2005-11-09 - 10:30 p.m.
Nya is not dead. I am not single. Her ex called her Monday night right after she talked to me, which obviously upset her. Then yes, she did indeed decide to take a breather for a bit. She turned her cell off and didn�t even get my desperate calls. It�s probably a good thing that I didn�t talk to her while I was too incoherently upset. She left me a message yesterday afternoon letting me know she was okay and would call me later. We talked and I begged forgiveness and she came over late after her Second City class.
I had decided to go over to her place as a show of how important she is to me. It�s only two blocks, but I assure you that�s pretty hard for me. I�m just not that good yet at getting around in my wheelchair. I�ve figured out that it�s easier if I push myself backwards, the way many people with cerebral palsy do. But it�s a little hard to control because I can only really push with my left foot. I need to manipulate the wheels a lot to steady my course. But I had decided I had to make the trip.
Now when my appointed time for this came, Wednesday morning, we were back together. But I still wanted to do it to show I could. She went home for a bit and I asked her to meet me halfway, at the caf� on the corner. I had kind of been worried about going by this place backwards. People might think it was strange and come at me offering to �help� (I hate that). I made it down the block backwards and then turned around to go forwards when I got in front of the caf� to wait for Nya.
I bought the coffee there; I was the party in the wrong after all. (I guess I should count myself lucky that I can mend some bridges by getting coffee for us.) Afterwards, we went to her place and I pushed myself the rest of the way there (although she did help me cross the street). So I feel like I did sort of follow through on my intentions. But this was about me and what I wanted to do, not what I needed to do for her.
So yes, I told her that she�s more beautiful to me than anyone (certainly than Cindy Crawford and Elle combined). Because I realized I truly believe this. A comment in my guestbook made me think of things a lot differently. Nya is beautiful to me by definition. She makes me smile, hers is the face I want to wake up to. She makes me happy, therefore she is the most beautiful. QED.
I was very touched that so many people signed my guestbook and left me notes and sent me emails and even wrote entries in their own blog expressing their concern. The general consensus was of course that I had indeed fucked up, but I could still recover. Maybe it�s dumb to place so much weight on the feelings of strangers, but I really felt like I might have no hope of saving things before I read your comments. It occurs to me that this couldn�t have happened before the advent of online diaries. Nya wants to thank you all too for bringing me around.
The Victorian-era version of all this:
Good sir:
Your distress is most palpable. After reading of your tribulation in the Weekly Gazette, I felt it necessary to send a dispatch posthaste by carrier pigeon. My good man, take courage. Have a spot of opium as a nerve-calming tonic and ensure your ladylove that her ankles are certainly as comely as any in the land. I assure you, you will successfully resolve this situation within the fortnight.
I remain, your faithful reader,
c00lbeanz666
Nya�s father reads this journal and he was understandably worried today. Although she has already called him to say she�s safe, let me repeat it here. She�s not dead, I�m just crazy. After I wrote my last entry I was in fact a little concerned that I came off as a psycho-obsessive nutjob. However, Nya insisted that my calling the police was one of the most romantic gestures that�s been made for her (and will go into a comedy sketch soon). And I thought afterwards that I was just being ridiculous.
� 2005 Geoff Gladstone
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