Josie (3)

November 11 (continued)

I tell myself you're scared, want to slow things down and maybe, have your reservations about a poor writer. I understand and I don't understand. I tell myself, you're afraid -- Saturday is approaching and you don't want too much to happen, and so you're setting the tone. All the above has hope.

On the other hand, you tell me, you're cleaning house because when Warren drops you off, he may want to come in and see your new place. I say, "uh-huh." Just keeping your options open -- open, closed, open, closed. Your options open, your heart closed; your options open, your door closed; your options open, my case closed.

I've told you your friend at work gives up too easily; you say, you think I love a challenge. Here's the truth: I am playing strong in a game at which I am appallingly weak. You riddle me with your point blank, high calibre questions and now, I'm watching doubts waft into my life.

November 12 (6:38 a.m.)

I have been awake since 6 a.m. I refuse to go into the living room or kitchen. My father is awake early as is usual for him. For me, this hour is not so usual. How can I tell, this man, my father -- any man for that matter -- that a girl, in a remote location, in the west end of the city, plots and controls my sleep patterns? And the only choice left to me is what to do with the extra time. I can't sleep. I can't sleep. I can't sleep.