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2004-12-04 23:11

Last night Greta went out drinking with Bart [and, we discover on Monday, surprise, the grapey Godfrey of Oenophlygia . Ed]. I was pretty upset ‘cause I had expected her to be there when I awoke from my overdose of sleeping pills. The cruelest thing she could do was not to come home. So that’s of course exactly what she did. I kept calling her cell and various land lines, tracking her around the city. Sometimes she’d answer and tell me she wasn’t coming back, she was out with friends having fun, she wanted to be young, and I should just get over our breakup; mostly she wouldn’t answer. Around 3 am I called Bart’s mom and got his cell number, which he just turned off as soon as he saw it was me. Of course, they had my car. But I had her G4! I figured I gave it to her; I could take it away. By then I’d had two bottles of very nice Zinfandel all to myself. So I erased all her files—past courses, current courses, current teaching, huge music and photo collections. She showed up with Bart around 5:30 am and started grabbing her stuff. I’d hidden her computer and wouldn’t tell her where it was. So she took my iBook and smashed it totally to bits on the ground. The vicious effort made her fall backwards in a really embarrassing pratfall almost into the fireplace, which obviously hurt her tailbone a lot. I laughed hard. I told her I’d e-mailed all her students and her professors (she knows I have access to her faculty account and distribution lists) and revealed stuff she knows would definitely kill her at BU. I didn’t really. But she freaked. She kept screaming at me how I was acting completely crazy and that she never knew I was such a maniac and couldn’t deal with a simple break-up. She was pretty much falling apart. Bart took her away.

OK, so, to make a long story very short . . . she showed up this evening looking like shit. She wore that battered appearance behind her eyes she had worn before she went to McLean the last time. Her parents were waiting in the car. She didn’t know what to do. I told her she could stay with me. I told her that I wasn’t about to erase all her files without first making a back-up. She’s sleeping on the couch next to me now. Rory, one of the cats, is sprawled unconscious on top of her. David Bowie’s “Heroes” is playing. We really could be. Just for one day.


  ·  greta-garble


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