The Week
I'm so used to having time to write in this at work, that having my day be full is new. I'm not the only new hire, so we've been trying to work together at learning the database, both using the same computer. Our work machines were supposed to arrive before us, but apparently the best-made plans are ganging aglee as usual. It'll be a laptop, which is potentially cool, although I'm used to a real keyboard and mouse. I'm trying to keep to myself that I see it as a nifty new toy.

The Misha thing finally struck us as weird upon seeing each other sober last night. Not in an "everything's awkward" way, but in a "this is the strangest, funniest thing that ever happened" way. We're seated in Uno's, kind of giving blow-by-blow of what we each remember from Sunday night, and both laughing hard. I ask how Telly's taking it, and he's like, total ostrich situation. Treating it like his "brother" met a girl, and his "sister" met a guy, but these two stories don't necessarily overlap. Not that they have to, right?

Right. We were just satisfying curiosity, or at least I was - what it's like to sleep with someone who knows your body like their own. Yeah, he says, curiosity.

So, of course, we never made it to the movie.

Afterward, I'm rubbing the burn on the back of his neck, saying it must have a story, and he says he's not one to talk about what happened in the Ukraine. It's apparently not as bad as what Carter went through, but bad enough - they didn't want the newly big and strong Shelley to be in any shape to chase them down. I asked him why they didn't just kill him, and he says he doesn't know. Not complaining.

I still don't know whether we've got a real thing going here. I just hope like hell that there's no pheremones involved.

-Marti
- posted 9:11 PM - - (archive use only)