A conversation Friday after work:

CS: The reason I bought you on this coffee outing is because I think we need to discuss the discourse of our friendship.
Peas: Oh. Why?
CS: I feel we’re in a place where things are progressing fast, from friendship to something else.
Peas: Oh. Why?
CS: I’m trying to be the good guy. Warning you that I’m a dickhead. And I’ve been a dickhead in every relationship ever. But I’ve never sat down someone that I’m really good friends with, am attracted to and love their company, to warn them of my bastardness.
Peas: Why you doing this again? [sips a lot on wine]
CS: Because I dig you. And I know you dig me. I think of you all the time, I want to take you and ravage you on your couch, I want to do non-friendship stuff to you, but I can’t promise I’m not going to turn around tomorrow and think differently.
Peas: Right. I’ve also been a dickhead in most of my relationships. Except the latest maybe.
CS: I care about you enough to warn you. Do I lead you on?
Peas: Do you?
CS: Don’t I?
Peas: Fuck, I don’t know. Let’s just do this formal dinner thing as friends. As planned. I’m not pushing you into any corner. You can make your own decisions. I’m in a good place right now, so cool, fine.
CS: I’m not ready to be tied down in a relationship. I’m scared I’ll hurt you.
Peas: You don’t know till you tried.
CS: Sure. But I need time. From my last relationship and to think things through. I can’t at the moment.
Peas: That’s fine, I’m not asking you to. Again, we’re mates, why we having this conversation again?
CS: Just don’t put all your eggs in my basket.
Peas: Well that’s kind of arrogant and self-assuming.
CS: But I dig you. You’re sexy as hell. You make my brain go fuzzy.
Peas: But none of my eggs are in your basket.
CS: Well I’d like some of your eggs in there.
Peas: If I meet someone incredible tomorrow I’m not going to wait for you through your shit.
CS: Good. That’s what I want.
Peas: Good. Whatever.
CS: But if you’re single in a couple of months time….
Peas: What?
CS: Don’t wait for me, but you know.
Peas: No I don’t know. No more attention - expendable attention headed your way. That’s all I know.
CS: But I love it.
Peas: That’s the problem. Right there. It’s fine whatever. Who cares. I know what I want. And I know I don’t want to be fucked around right now. Especially by a former mate. I’ve had enough of that for one year.
CS: OK.
Peas: OK.

Pause.

Peas: So what are you actually saying?
CS: We're mates but keep things open-ended.
Peas: This is fucked up right here. Let’s change the subject. How is your mother?

Sorry, what the fuck just happened there? Actually, I don’t even want to know.

The formal dinner is going to be like a wet day in Benoni. Not particularly incredible. Even though Klo’s dress fits me like a dream, and apparently I look delicious in it.
Fuck men, fuck everything.

I drank two glasses of Chablis with Klo, N and E2, went home and straight to bed, even though everyone went out in Melville. I figured it’s best not to over-analyse and get emotionally drunk over a potentially fatal blow to the upper scapula with a proverbial sledgehammer.

And for once, I’m just going to carry on carrying on. I actually do not care. Seriously, whatevah. I was so disinterested in giving a shit, I even agreed to go along to a party at his place on Saturday evening. With E2 and The Ant.
Wait for it, I wrote the account of Certain Someone’s party severely under the weather:

Saturady:
Ok. Bear with me, wrot ehtis when drunbks:

I am hammered. But you’lll be so proud opf me cos I left his [party before I looked like idiot., That’s right. But we ponly had like one bottle wino.

But hyere’s my iniotials ocnernt: Concerm: Concern: I left party without being ridiculous and ddidn’t lunging him, evenb after he personally serenaded w me with some Oasis song on his guitar, but whatevere, and I left. Befdire o could consider me a drunk person. He bought me wine and shit when we were in an odd part of his ngarden. And phonedc me to see if I was stillk here, but whetever, and I am at hoime,’ I know now when to leave. Am discplineefd.
Whatver,

But. I stopped at Engen Glenhove before got homke. HOW EMBARRSING,. Everybody wa staring at me, I nearly died, and bought like half of the shop. NO but6 sreiously. Biltongh, a Heat magaxzinr, and a nilkshake, and Marlboro lihgjts. And a b deaoderant, and a pie.

Fuck. Everyone staring, and I feel like a dumbass get me outta this shop malerady.
E keeps on phoning me to see if ok. Shweet, thanks babe,I’m fine!!!!!!!!!!

Home nowe, but chrsoit,. I am freaked out by Engen Quicxk Shopss. I will never go therevplastered again. It’s too hectic.

But end of storyL : left Csertain Someone’s house before any of my drunkness coame out. Walked me to my car abd acted as sober a spossible. Never blog when skutters, but what fun.
I’ll read this on Monday and be horrifiedg.

And I did. And was.
I got home at 10:00pm. Luckily no scene.