It was after 12:15 and 2 beers that I spoke with Piano Man last night, at his request, our first conversation since Holy Thursday. We went through the litany of our respective weekends and the day just ended, after which I branched into a tale about a former love interest. (One of those times that, when I'm buzzed on high-test stout, it seems essential to spare no detail.) Piano Man, to his credit, murmured assents, commented, urged me to continue. After which I felt sheepish for launching into Karin's Greatest Story Ever mode. And thusly declared, "OK! Your turn! Tell me a story of a love lost!" To which he hemmed and hawed (even clearing his throat) and suggested he did not feel like sharing at present and pointedly returned to subjects we have already worn well -- purchase of a keyboard, rehearsal schedule for the show, his addiction to his local wine bar, and if I've recovered from my cold. AKA, we headed back to the surface. Fair enough -- I had brandished my past lover without him asking, but as a way to share an experience that has made me me. I thought. Which I figured if he likes me as he says he likes me, he would want to know. I similarily want to know more about him. Is this not how it works? The deflation was so acute it pinged in my stomach. His sudden discomfort, equally so. Perhaps he and I are at that point where avoiding the depths is stagnating.
Day 26 of 30: 3.0 miles
Day 27 of 30: 4.8 miles
April Total: 58.21
2011 Total: 212.2
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