2005-11-08 - 12:22 p.m.
I really fucked up with Nya last night. She found a picture of Alithea on my old computer, which is now hers. When she came over, she was very upset and apologizing for not being prettier. I said that I thought she was beautiful and the sexiest girl in the world, because I do. She asked if she should worry that I�d leave her. I told her not to be ridiculous. Things seemed to be going all right after that, her unfounded fears assuaged. Then she asked me if I thought she was prettier than Alithea.
I said that wasn�t really a valid question. I truly don�t believe in ranking people by some exact order of attractiveness. Yes, there�s a hot-or-not bifurcation. But once you make the cut into the �cute� category, I think it�s silly to offer some precise judgment on who�s cuter than who. People are beautiful because they�re individuals. Cindy Crawford or Elle MacPherson? (Am I dating myself with my choice of models?) It�s just an absurd question.
Oof. Guys, the answer to the question �Do you think I�m prettier than your last girlfriend?� is �Yes, absolutely!� Always. Even though I truly do believe what I said, it sounds like a pathetic cover-up for secretly believing that Nya�s not as pretty. Of course I tell her that she�s beautiful all the time, but she never believes me. She usually makes me laugh by responding with an obviously fake, conciliatory �Oh yes, of course I�m pretty�. So I feel caught in a double bind.
It�s so frustrating that I can�t seem to get the person I love, the center of my life, to believe that I only have eyes for her. She�s everything I want. Physically, I know I�ve said it before, but she�s hotness incarnate. I can�t get enough. My first understanding of what beauty is and who I want now to be the first thing I see when I wake up. Always. Nothing and no one has ever made me happier. And I don�t feel like I can make her believe that. Poop.
Here�s the thing. After she left, she called me around 9:30 and asked if she could come over. I said of course and hoped maybe we could talk to try working things out. Then I fell asleep for a bit (I was really exhausted yesterday) and when I woke at 12:30 she still hadn�t come over. Intellectually I realized she had probably just changed her mind, but I started freaking out. What if something had happened to her in the two-block trip between our houses?
I called my friend the birthday girl who told me not to panic. Nya had probably just decided to leave my pathetic, gimpy ass stranded in a new city with no reason left to live (and who can blame her?). No, she said that I had indeed fucked up, but Nya probably just needed a break now for like a day. She dissuaded me from calling the police or filing a missing person report. I was being overwrought and I should just go to bed.
Nonetheless, this morning I did call my local precinct. Not 911, just the desk number, just to find out what my options were. (I suspect that the fact that we watched no less than 6 hours of Law & Order and SVU on Sunday may have contributed to this decision�) The cop who answered told me to calm down. He hadn�t heard of anything horrific happening overnight. If something terrible had happened to her and she had ID, the investigators would contact her family (and if she didn�t have ID, they�d put out an alert to all precincts, which hadn�t happened).
Maybe I�m making a bigger deal of this than is warranted. But if anything untoward has happened to her, I�ll die. If she�s decided she can�t deal with me anymore, I�ll die too. (Maybe I should just head off more protracted drama by dying now. Nah, not really my style.) The funny thing is, in the back of my head I always sort of figured that this was too good to be true, that it could all evaporate like a dream at any time. I think I�ve done everything I can to prevent this happiness from disappearing. But maybe I should have done more.
� 2005 Geoff Gladstone
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