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Thursday, June 09, 2005

Tessa makes her move...

5:30 p.m. Friday

I have always been a pacer. Nerves are my battery power. Back and forth, back and forth. It's past dinner on Friday night and I'm supposed to go and get my pills from Jacob, but, I'm so freaking nervous. I feel like he could tell that I'm nervous and that makes me even more nervous. Nervouser? Is that a word?

5:32 p.m.

Maybe I'll sit for a minute, muster some courage. Maybe I'll just see what's on. OH! This is the episode of Oprah I've been waiting for, I better nuke some pizza and grab a throw blanket. I'll go over after Oprah. I couldn't possibly be expected to miss the 'Releasing Your Inner Sexpot' episode?

6:02 p.m.

Ok, I have to go now. Maybe he has plans for tonight and he's waiting on me. Maybe if I wait a few more minutes he'll go and I can just go and see him tomorrow. No, I have to do it tonight. I've wanted to be near him for months and now I have the opportunity I can't just be a wuss and go and wuss out, all wussy-like. I'm not a wuss. Ok, I'm just going to go and get changed and go over there.

6:34 p.m.

CRIPES. I don't have one thing in here that fits me right. Is my ass getting bigger? Maybe the sundress. No, that's too obvious. I have to look like I just stopped by and am wearing what I was wearing before, but good, better than good. Easy and beautiful. Maybe my tight black pants and that sparkly tank? No, that's not it, too hooker. Jeans it is. Jeans and my safety shirt, the one that makes my boobs look big and my stomach flatter. That's it.

6:48 p.m.

I can't cover this pimple for the life of me. He's going to stare at it and think I'm disgusting. I'll wear a band-aid and tell him I cut myself making a sandwich. Making a sandwich? I'm such an idiot. I'll just keep my face facing a little to the left. Maybe he won't see it. That's impossible, it's massive, it's like the size of my face. CRAP. *sigh*

6:56 p.m.

Ok... *sigh*... just walk. Left, right, left, right. Ok, now knock. KNOCK. Ok.

*Knock, knock, knock*

Oh, ok. I did it. Oh god, I'm so nervous. What do I say? I never thought of what to say. Maybe he's not there. Oh god, I hear something. Does he have a dog? Maybe he's in the shower. Maybe he didn't hear me.

*Knock, knock, knock*

*Thump, thump, thump. Click. Clank.*

Oh my god he's coming, oh my god, oh my...

"Hey Tess"
"Uh, Tessa, but that's ok"
"Oh, right, sorry again"
"It's ok, really"
"So, what's up hun?"

Oh my god, did he just call me hun, my face is getting hot. I hope he can't tell I'm nervous. Oh god, is he looking at my pimple? Face to the left...

"Um, well, I wanted to..."
"OH! The pills, right"
"Yeah"
"Listen, about that, I couldn't get them"
"Oh... oh, well... that's ok"
"If you don't mind my saying, I don't really think you need them anyway"
"Oh, ha... thanks, but they're not for me"

Good way to start Tessa, tell a lie. Dumb-ass.

"Good, cause honestly hun, there's no need"
"Ah, thanks"

Give him that look, bashful but sexy, head down, eyes up, keep your face to the left...

"Ok, well, thanks anyway"
"Hey, don't mention it"

Ok Tessa, walk away now, you're staring. He'll think you're weird. Go!

"Hey Tessa... have you eaten yet?"

4 Comments:

  • I feel like I need a nap now. Whoose, Tessa makes a move. I understand how it is to wait and wait and psych yourself and then try to be all casual and breezy when your insides are knotted spagetti.

    "Hey Tessa... have you eaten yet?"

    Cool.

    By Blogger DsK, at 6/09/2005 05:51:00 p.m.  

  • Ya, reading it now kind of makes me out of breath.

    Glad you like it!

    By Blogger ajs, at 6/09/2005 06:08:00 p.m.  

  • nice one i like the lil narritive sidenotes one her body movements etc.. i can relate to that kind of feeling portrayed. reading this almost gives you the nervous jitters.

    By Blogger me, at 6/10/2005 08:28:00 p.m.  

  • I enjoyed reading through your blog. It's full of lots of information about marriage name change
    and other subjects related to marriage name change
    .

    By Blogger lovetips2006, at 10/23/2005 09:24:00 a.m.  

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