selective memory

The G-geist household is on again in our on again/off again flirt with buying a place or renting elsewhere. The process mirrors that of any dysfunctional relationship: The initial spark of interest, the honeymoon spent reveling in newness and the unknown, hope and comfort, the hazy blinders of love, followed by the first hint that there might be...a problem, they drink to excess, say, or hate your friends, some problem that is completely insurmountable, then denial, hurt, a perfunctory fuck you pretend is a reconciliation but you know is goodbye, the cut and run in the night, broken but grateful you got out with your sanity. Because you were happier before, yeah, happier alone.

And then you run into them in the grocery store a few months later. They look great, wearing that sweater you used to pad around their apartment in on Sunday mornings. You wonder, though you know it's not possible, if it still smells like you. You lean in for a friendly hug...oh Christ, it does. They say, "It's funny we ran into each other. I've been thinking about you a lot lately." And you accept an invitation for a quick drink. Just one. For closure. You owe each other that. Just one quick drink, that's all.