10 July 2000 ~ Judy's turn to cry...

This evening I did something very important.

I refused to be secondbest.

And so instead of taking part in, "what can we do for the next two hours before my movie comes on?" I came home. If I'm only welcome as a distraction, to keep two hours busy, why would I stay?

Because of all those other times I shouldn't have stayed, but I did anyway... Why did I stay when Peter would say, "My friend is coming over in a little while, but we can hang until then"? Why did I wait when I knew he wouldn't show up -- he was in another town with somebody more important. Why did I stay when he was making love to me just twenty minutes after complaining that so-and-so wasn't in love with him and so his life was meaningless?

I really don't know.

But tonight I decided that since an old Judy Garland film was the highlight of the night, well, hell... I thought it best to walk home. I know, it was a small thing. But I don't LIKE feeling as though I'm taking my turn and any minute now, it's going to be somebody else's turn... (Judy, being a far more recognized faghag than yours truly, deserves a turn, of course, but it shouldn't be ABOUT taking turns... THAT is my point...)

So now, of course, Peter's telling his journal that I'm guilt-tripping him, which I wasn't. Somehow, things always have to be about him; if I want to go home and read my book and go to bed instead of occupying his time until Judy, it simply means I want to go home and read my book and bask in my own little world instead of helping him fill up his time. It doesn't mean anything more or anything less. Just that I respect myself.

Besides! There was no reason for me to stay there tonight! We'd had dinner, we'd watched a movie, Peter had complained about the movie, "Brokedown Palace," (the soundtrack was brilliant and Claire Danes is a babe, and yeah, that's about all I can say for it) and he decided to find something for us to do in the interim before Judy, and so then I went home. Seems like Movie Night was pretty much complete. I hope he wasn't expecting a night of passion or something. If so, he really should have given me a more clear indication than, "you don't HAVE to go home; I'm not kicking you out..." Even if that WAS the case, even if that IS why he was upset about me leaving, I might feel a little queasy having sex knowing that it was Judy's turn next for attention. I wouldn't be able to shake that feeling that he was thinking of her.

[On a semi-related tangent, one of the most important life lessons I think I've learned is that one should never have sex while thinking of somebody else... It's disrespectful to all involved... In the case of Judy Garland, I believe that would be disrespect for the dead, which I believe is some kind of cardinal sin.]

So I went home. I didn't want to take my turn and go to sleep while Peter watched Judy in the other room. It didn't feel right. And I've done things MANY times that don't feel right, just because I've thought it would be okay in the end... This time, I thought I'd go with my gut. My gut is usually right. As a matter of fact, July 10th is a historically good day for following my gut.

Part of me is sad I didn't stay. I like spending time with Peter most of the time. But what would we be doing right now? Cuddling and giggling and waiting for Judy? I'm better off coming home and quietly reading myself to sleep alone.

On the way home, I dropped my keys on the sidewalk on the corner of Centenary St. and Court St. They clanged and the sound echoed off silent buildings. It was an eerie sound. It reminded me of the sounds ghosts make on Unsolved Mysteries: weird clangs and things... Suddenly, very vividly, I imagined Binghamton as it must have looked in the 1920's. Probably pretty much the same, except without the streetlights and asphalt roads, and with the old buildings looking shinier and newer. And I imagined a young woman walking alone at night and dropping something. I imagined it clanging off cobblestones. Long after I'm dead and gone, I suspect my keys will echo off the buildings there. Supposing I end up a restless spirit, I guess Centenary St. would probably be where I'd spend the afterlife clanging things around, although I'd rather believe in reincarnation than an eternity of Centenary St.

So I'm home now. I think I'll go to sleep. It seems like the most important thing to do at this point...

Love,
~Helena*

"...dont go for secondbest, baby..." --Madonna.