THE NEED TO PURGE

February 10, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your home life is somewhat off-kilter right now, but you can tell that it's temporary. Someone needs their space, and if you give it to them, then you should find everything rosier in a day or two.

Laura’s Log:
The past few days have been all about the boyfriends. Not mine, of course. The words Laura and boyfriend seem incompatible.

I did the good thing and called Tamara just to check in and she’d gone from teary to hostile, spewing venom about Edmonton like it was The Other Woman. “The place has black flies. Nothing’ll get rid of them!” “People aren’t serious when they move to Edmonton. Maybe they’re attracted to a better salary, but then they tire of the snow…in May!” Tamara handles anger SO much better than grief. I do pity Andy though. He’s in for it. Should never have given Edmonton a second look.

Dinner last night with Nadia and Bradley. Another big boyfriend reveal. I’d known Bradley a few years ago when I was stupid enough to join a coed volleyball league. Bradley—or Brad, then—was on my team. The guy only wanted to spike the ball. Especially when women were the target. Yep, hard to believe he’d stayed on the market long enough for Nadia to scoop him up. He was the classic Nadia boyfriend: loud, ill-mannered, a total ass. Still, as I waited inside Joey for their late arrival, I tried to imagine a new improved Brad.

Nadia seemed stressed as they walked in. She started to apologize for being fifteen minutes late, but Bradley cut her off. “Nothing can speed up Nadia. Went in and redid her hair like fifteen times. Looked the same every frickin’ time. Only person I know who has to wipe down the counters before going out.”

I waited for Nadia to put him in his place, but she just bowed her head, forced a thin smile when she looked up and then studied the menu like there would be a test on it. We ordered and ever thoughtful Bradley interjected as Nadia chose the seafood pesto linguine. “Can they go easy on the garlic?” he asked the waitress. Then, to Nadia, “You know how bad you reek when there’s too much.”

Whack him! The menu has some weight to it. Let ‘im have it! Self-defense. Nadia just took his cue and switched to the maple salmon.

Dinner was painful. All I wanted to do was ask Nadia what the hell she was doing. Could the real Nadia please come out and play? In the month since I’d last seen her, my friend had gone from feisty to diminutive. I couldn’t eat my meal. It didn’t help that “Badly” dominated the conversation, loudly whining about the Olympics killing his business while he savagely gnawed on ribs, licking his fingers and picking bits out of his teeth. Was this all that was left for single women in their thirties? I wanted to call Tamara and say, “Do it! Move to Edmonton! Don’t let Andy go!” But more importantly, I needed to find a way to get Nadia alone and ask her what the hell she was doing.

Got home to find Tupper had redecorated the apartment. The puddle in the kitchen was nothing new. (Wish I’d turned on the light before wading in it though.) The living room had little piles of vomit scattered about. Chronic renal failure is a bitch. Of course, I was out of paper towels.

Barely slept. Kept hearing sounds, thinking Tupper was getting sick again. Kept worrying about Nadia.

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
I MAY NEVER GET CLARA COMPLETELY OUT OF THE CONDO. THIS MORNING I PULLED OUT THE PHONE BOOK TO LOOK FOR A PHYSIOTHERAPIST—SEARING PAIN FROM KNEE AT 3 A.M.—AND CAME ACROSS A PHOTO OF US AT WHISTLER & A FRIED TOFU SANDWICH RECIPE SHE’D HANDWRITTEN IN PURPLE INK. (DON’T KNOW HOW I KEPT THAT MEAL DOWN! GUESS WE’LL DO ALMOST ANYTHING FOR LOVE.) TOOK THE PIC & THE PAPER AND RAN THEM THRU THE SHREDDER. I YELLED AS THE MACHINE DID ITS THING. MILDLY THERAPEUTIC.

PLEASE, NO CLARA MEMORIES FOR THE NEXT MONTH. SHE HAUNTS ME.