Quarantine, Day Nineteen - Entry Two

Notebrains:

Just a short Quarantine entry... I've got more waiting in the wings. I'm'a working on it. Trust me.

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Quarantine Day Nineteen
Entry Two

Something I’ve noticed in my twenty-six-plus years living on this crazy ball of rock we like to call Earth: punching someone in the face is just about one of the best ways to cap off an angry rant ever developed by humankind. It just puts one big ol’ exclamation point at the end of the whole thing. Of course, if you’re me, it also makes your hand hurt like hell, but we won’t talk about that.

Jeff and I stood there in awkward silence for a while. What did you say after something like that? Was there even anything you -could- say?

I waited for the inevitable (or so I thought) reprisal. I expected him to take a swing right back at me – to maybe “put me in my place” as payback for hauling off and cheap-shot-decking him the way I had. I wasn’t much of a brawler, but I was pretty light on my feet and knew how to duck, so I wasn’t too worried about losing any teeth.

Only… he didn’t move. Instead, I watched him reach up to his mouth and dab the blood away from his lip with the cuff of his sleeve. It took a few seconds, and during that time I watched the expressions flash past on his face: from annoyance to anger… but then it softened and settled on something… neutral. And then he shrugged. “Ok.” He turned to leave.

Well… I wasn’t having any of that. I reached forward, grabbed his shoulder and hauled, spinning him back around to face me. “And where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Anywhere but here,” he replied, his tone as completely devoid of emotion as the rest of him appeared to be.

“You think you can pick a fight with me and then just walk away?! Have you been drinking Clorox again?!”

Jeff apparently found much of interest down by his feet, as he kept staring at them. “Coll,” he began, his voice tightening up some. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore. But if I stick around, that’s what’ll end up happening. We’ll fight.” I saw him try to stifle a sigh, but he only managed to squelch it off after half of it had already escaped. “Look. I made the mistake of not giving you the time, and the room you needed to figure out stuff on your own. I’m not making that mistake again.” And this time he did look up. He put a hand on my shoulder and looked me right in the eye. He said his next words without flinching, without even blinking. “If you need me, come find me. But if you don’t… then don’t. Either way, I’ll be around… just… not nearby.”

And then he left without another word.

I’m not sure exactly what it was I had expected, but this wasn’t it. I’d landed a good, solid punch on him, and… that was satisfying, in and of itself. Mostly satisfying, anyway. But even with all that, I hadn’t managed to get him as angry as I was. I’d been spoiling for a knock-down, drag-out fight. I wanted one. He saw that, he knew it… but he didn’t rise to the bait… and that was…

That was what? Disappointing?

No. That’s ridiculous.

Wasn’t it?

-----

Whether by sheer luck, or by the fruits of my labor (as in my attitude and I had successfully managed to run everyone off who might possibly have thought to bother me,) I ended up spending most of that afternoon and evening completely by myself. Most of the mall’s population was still concentrated in the food court, and none of them had thought to venture into my neck of the woods. Even the scouts on wide patrol seemed content to tough out the bad weather in their own nooks, which meant I had plenty of peace, plenty of quiet, and plenty of time on my hands.

Unfortunately, I had a well-deserved reputation for being able to handle peace, quiet, and free time only in small doses. Had I been the contemplative type, this would have been the perfect opportunity to sit and… I don’t know… meditate… start down that long, but rewarding path to enlightment and inner harmony.

But this was me we were talking about, and I was getting unbelievably fed up with the whole notion of having nothing to do but navel-gaze, twiddle my thumbs and picture Sarah Michelle Gellar in my living room wearing nothing but a bra and some frilly, pink panties. So I got up – got up, walked around, gave myself a guided tour of the mall. Unfortunately for me, there wasn’t much to see to begin with, and even less that I hadn’t already laid my eyes on at least a dozen times over. But, walking usually helped me clear my head.

Usually.

Problem was, normally the whole walkabout thing was better for my brain than that… thinking… nonsense. -This- time, though, all the walking was doing was giving me a sore pair of feet. And as much as I’d been hoping to avoid having to think about any of it, there wasn’t much else I -could- do but mope about my multitude of problems – all however many of them. Everything from that whole… “being dead” inconvenience, to my continued, and utterly inexplicable, inability to determine whether or not Dr. Kari Byron was straight or what.

Unfortunately for my developing frustration levels, I came to no... satisfying conclusions that afternoon.

-----

The sun had gone down early, and I was still alone, sitting in the small alcove I’d commandeered for myself, and avoiding all human contact whatsoever – including a certain someone who I still wanted to smack for being a pain in the ass. I hadn’t seen him since the morning; figured he’d found someone else to go annoy. At least he was someone else’s problem.

It’d been a few hours since we’d last… “talked,” but nothing had really changed.

How dare he… how dare he make me relive all that stuff. How dare he try and force me to think about it. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about as it was. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate, already. As if the world wasn’t already trying its very damnedest to break me… and succeeding.

I didn’t bother eating that evening. I really wasn’t very hungry, and being as upset as I was tended to ruin the appetite. Besides, at the time, sleep was a far more inviting option. I hadn’t been getting enough of that lately, and I was tired. Tired, cranky… fed up with the whole stinking mess. I’d been stupid enough to stay in town even when all the sane people had tried to get out… stupid enough to think I could actually accomplish something by volunteering to stay behind.

And what did I have to show for it?

Not much.

Just a short Quarantine entry... I've got more waiting in the wings. I'm'a working on it. Trust me.

Need more Omegas stuff.

Something I’ve noticed in my twenty-six-plus years living on this crazy ball of rock we like to call Earth: punching someone in the face is just about one of the best ways to cap off an angry rant ever developed by humankind. It just puts one big ol’ exclamation point at the end of the whole thing. Of course, if you’re me, it also makes your hand hurt like hell, but we won’t talk about that.

Of course, while it can cap off an angry rant, it can also start an even nastier fist fight afterwards.

I waited for the inevitable (or so I thought) reprisal. I expected him to take a swing right back at me – to maybe “put me in my place” as payback for hauling off and cheap-shot-decking him the way I had. I wasn’t much of a brawler, but I was pretty light on my feet and knew how to duck, so I wasn’t too worried about losing any teeth.

Because the loss of a few teeth wouldn’t make any difference? Nah, I refuse to believe that.

Well… I wasn’t having any of that. I reached forward, grabbed his shoulder and hauled, spinning him back around to face me. “And where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Anywhere but here,” he replied, his tone as completely devoid of emotion as the rest of him appeared to be.

Right, because she obviously doesn’t need you.

Jeff apparently found much of interest down by his feet, as he kept staring at them. “Coll,” he began, his voice tightening up some. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore. But if I stick around, that’s what’ll end up happening. We’ll fight.” I saw him try to stifle a sigh, but he only managed to squelch it off after half of it had already escaped. “Look. I made the mistake of not giving you the time, and the room you needed to figure out stuff on your own. I’m not making that mistake again.” And this time he did look up. He put a hand on my shoulder and looked me right in the eye. He said his next words without flinching, without even blinking. “If you need me, come find me. But if you don’t… then don’t. Either way, I’ll be around… just… not nearby.”

Hmm. Well at least he seems to mean it when he says he’s there for here. Hmph.

Unfortunately, I had a well-deserved reputation for being able to handle peace, quiet, and free time only in small doses. Had I been the contemplative type, this would have been the perfect opportunity to sit and… I don’t know… meditate… start down that long, but rewarding path to enlightment and inner harmony.

Yeah, it’s a bit of a nightmare for the hyperactive type like Coll.

But this was me we were talking about, and I was getting unbelievably fed up with the whole notion of having nothing to do but navel-gaze, twiddle my thumbs and picture Sarah Michelle Gellar in my living room wearing nothing but a bra and some frilly, pink panties.

*thinks a bit* Nope, not really all that exciting, I’m afraid.

Problem was, normally the whole walkabout thing was better for my brain than that… thinking… nonsense. -This- time, though, all the walking was doing was giving me a sore pair of feet. And as much as I’d been hoping to avoid having to think about any of it, there wasn’t much else I -could- do but mope about my multitude of problems – all however many of them. Everything from that whole… “being dead” inconvenience, to my continued, and utterly inexplicable, inability to determine whether or not Dr. Kari Byron was straight or what.

Go see her! You know you want to! You know we want you to!

How dare he… how dare he make me relive all that stuff. How dare he try and force me to think about it. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about as it was. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate, already. As if the world wasn’t already trying its very damnedest to break me… and succeeding.

Awww.

And what did I have to show for it?

Not much.

Volunteers. *snerk* Those people who volunteer for something, anything, obviously had not been around when they were handing out the brains.

Need more Omegas stuff.

Trying, but Colleen's an attention whore... and I adore her.

Of course, while it can cap off an angry rant, it can also start an even nastier fist fight afterwards.

True... which is why Coll prefers to fight with her words. There aren't all that many that can keep up with her in that kind of fight.

Because the loss of a few teeth wouldn’t make any difference?

Um... she's not worried about losing teeth not because she thinks it wouldn't make any difference, but because she's pretty sure she's nimble enough to avoid getting hit and therefore doesn't have to even entertain the possibility.

Right, because she obviously doesn’t need you.

Logic error: Abort? Retry? Fail? Ignore?



No, seriously. What do you -expect- him to do? Seriously, what would -you- do in this kind of situation?

C'mon, man, you give him a hard time, but you're not making any sense. When he tried to get her to talk, she shot him down... and you got a little irked about him pushing so hard when she clearly wasn't ready to discuss it. Then, when he decides to walk away and give her time to clear her head, you imply that he's a poor friend...

You can't have both, my man... what do you expect the poor guy to do in this kind of situation? He can either stay, or he can go... obviously, he can't do both... (Shrug)

Hmm. Well at least he seems to mean it when he says he’s there for here. Hmph.

JG: "Oh for cryin' - I meant it -before-, too, you know. Geez. I can't win with this guy!"

*thinks a bit* Nope, not really all that exciting, I’m afraid.

CN: "Not particularly. She was wearing clothes... now if she'd been naked, that would've been something."

Go see her! You know you want to! You know we want you to!

CN: "Uhhh... so... what? I'm just gonna go traipsing around the zombie-infested city, all by my lonesome, to try and make my way to the hospital where this hot girl is working? Yeah... I'm gonna -need- a hospital after that..."

Volunteers. *snerk* Those people who volunteer for something, anything, obviously had not been around when they were handing out the brains.

Exactly. She's not very bright, and she also thought she could help people. Damn, but that girl is stupid. [/sarcasm]

Logic error: Abort? Retry? Fail? Ignore?

No, seriously. What do you -expect- him to do? Seriously, what would -you- do in this kind of situation?

C'mon, man, you give him a hard time, but you're not making any sense. When he tried to get her to talk, she shot him down... and you got a little irked about him pushing so hard when she clearly wasn't ready to discuss it. Then, when he decides to walk away and give her time to clear her head, you imply that he's a poor friend...

No, his reaction was perfectly natural, and like I said, it's a credit to him that he did imply that she can seek him out if she wants it, which is basically the most we could have expected from him at that situation.

I'm just not inclined to be fair, you know? It's Jeff, after all. I'm rooting for Colleen in all their fights.

It's like being a rabid sports fan - fairness only extends as far as your team!

It's like being a rabid sports fan - fairness only extends as far as your team!

Well, goddamn it, man, I wish you'd told me that earlier...

And here I was wondering I was actually doing a poor job of writing him, when, in reality, you're just taking soccer hooliganism to a frightening and completely illogical extreme!

It's nice to know that your criticque is not based on logic but pure hooliganism!

Something I’ve noticed in my twenty-six-plus years living on this crazy ball of rock we like to call Earth: punching someone in the face is just about one of the best ways to cap off an angry rant ever developed by humankind. It just puts one big ol’ exclamation point at the end of the whole thing. Of course, if you’re me, it also makes your hand hurt like hell, but we won’t talk about that.

ID: *raises an eyebrow* "And I'm the barbarian here? You laud physical violence as the pinnacle of expression and I'm the barbarian? So, you want your words on whole wheat or white?"

Jeff and I stood there in awkward silence for a while. What did you say after something like that? Was there even anything you -could- say?

ID: "Well, using your formula, you could just punch him a few more times, get in a really complicated argument about spirituality and the flat tax."

I waited for the inevitable (or so I thought) reprisal. I expected him to take a swing right back at me – to maybe “put me in my place” as payback for hauling off and cheap-shot-decking him the way I had. I wasn’t much of a brawler, but I was pretty light on my feet and knew how to duck, so I wasn’t too worried about losing any teeth.

ID: "Considering your adherence to the rest of the defensive training from the Force, I'm finding it highly unlikely you could avoid the determined attack of a soldier. However, it does seem unlikely that he's going to punch in that mouth of yours." *sighs* "Then again, this is one hell of a mess, so... it's probably a good thing he didn't."

Only… he didn’t move. Instead, I watched him reach up to his mouth and dab the blood away from his lip with the cuff of his sleeve. It took a few seconds, and during that time I watched the expressions flash past on his face: from annoyance to anger… but then it softened and settled on something… neutral. And then he shrugged. “Ok.” He turned to leave.

TK: "Isn't much else he could do."

ID: "Not anything that'd do either of them any good."

TK: "Glad you haven't actually punched me yet."

ID: "Why, because you wouldn't get up from it?"

TK: "No, because I'd hate to break your fist."

ID: *rolls eyes*

Well… I wasn’t having any of that. I reached forward, grabbed his shoulder and hauled, spinning him back around to face me. “And where the hell do you think you’re going?”

TK: "Chaboygan."

ID: "Michigan?" *blinks* "Better than here."

TK: "No kidding."

“Anywhere but here,” he replied, his tone as completely devoid of emotion as the rest of him appeared to be.

TK: *nods* "He's hurting. And hurting bad."

“You think you can pick a fight with me and then just walk away?! Have you been drinking Clorox again?!”

TK: "Again? A buddy of mine, hell if I know he's still alive, is an EMT, got called out for a kid who decided that he needed to get the red off his tongue after eaten all the popsicles. So he drank a bunch of bleach." *looks pained* "They did all they could."

Jeff apparently found much of interest down by his feet, as he kept staring at them. “Coll,” he began, his voice tightening up some. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore. But if I stick around, that’s what’ll end up happening. We’ll fight.” I saw him try to stifle a sigh, but he only managed to squelch it off after half of it had already escaped. “Look. I made the mistake of not giving you the time, and the room you needed to figure out stuff on your own. I’m not making that mistake again.” And this time he did look up. He put a hand on my shoulder and looked me right in the eye. He said his next words without flinching, without even blinking. “If you need me, come find me. But if you don’t… then don’t. Either way, I’ll be around… just… not nearby.”

*nods* I really can't think of anything else he could have done. The breach was there and it couldn't have been sealed anytime soon. Not easily at least. Time is probably the only solution. So that at least one of them is clearheaded.

And then he left without another word.

I’m not sure exactly what it was I had expected, but this wasn’t it. I’d landed a good, solid punch on him, and… that was satisfying, in and of itself. Mostly satisfying, anyway. But even with all that, I hadn’t managed to get him as angry as I was. I’d been spoiling for a knock-down, drag-out fight. I wanted one. He saw that, he knew it… but he didn’t rise to the bait… and that was…

That was what? Disappointing?

No. That’s ridiculous.

Wasn’t it?

ID: *looks at CN* "No, it's not."

And yeah, I get that one. Ho boy. Nothing like have a good rage and the other person just doesn't have the decency to play along.

Unfortunately, I had a well-deserved reputation for being able to handle peace, quiet, and free time only in small doses. Had I been the contemplative type, this would have been the perfect opportunity to sit and… I don’t know… meditate… start down that long, but rewarding path to enlightment and inner harmony.

ID: *arches eyebrow*

But this was me we were talking about, and I was getting unbelievably fed up with the whole notion of having nothing to do but navel-gaze, twiddle my thumbs and picture Sarah Michelle Gellar in my living room wearing nothing but a bra and some frilly, pink panties. So I got up – got up, walked around, gave myself a guided tour of the mall. Unfortunately for me, there wasn’t much to see to begin with, and even less that I hadn’t already laid my eyes on at least a dozen times over. But, walking usually helped me clear my head.

Ahh... Buffy. Course, I'd rather see a Willow/Faith sandwich, but the Buffy is still quite the hotness.

Problem was, normally the whole walkabout thing was better for my brain than that… thinking… nonsense. -This- time, though, all the walking was doing was giving me a sore pair of feet. And as much as I’d been hoping to avoid having to think about any of it, there wasn’t much else I -could- do but mope about my multitude of problems – all however many of them. Everything from that whole… “being dead” inconvenience, to my continued, and utterly inexplicable, inability to determine whether or not Dr. Kari Byron was straight or what.

Those are a raft full of nasty problems. Poor Coll.

Unfortunately for my developing frustration levels, I came to no... satisfying conclusions that afternoon.

Considering that raft load, yeah, that's a pretty believable.

How dare he… how dare he make me relive all that stuff. How dare he try and force me to think about it. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about as it was. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate, already. As if the world wasn’t already trying its very damnedest to break me… and succeeding.

And that's exactly why he was doing it. Pain shared is lessened, but kept inside it will destroy a person eventually.

I didn’t bother eating that evening. I really wasn’t very hungry, and being as upset as I was tended to ruin the appetite. Besides, at the time, sleep was a far more inviting option. I hadn’t been getting enough of that lately, and I was tired. Tired, cranky… fed up with the whole stinking mess. I’d been stupid enough to stay in town even when all the sane people had tried to get out… stupid enough to think I could actually accomplish something by volunteering to stay behind.

And what did I have to show for it?

Not much.

TK: "No crap. I should have gotten out when I had the chance. Except my aunt would still be in here... and I can't leave her here alone."

ID: *shrugs* "It's the job. That's what I do. There are still people here, got to protect them."

Good chapter Alpha... nice follow up and really solid.

VH

ID: *raises an eyebrow* "And I'm the barbarian here? You laud physical violence as the pinnacle of expression and I'm the barbarian? So, you want your words on whole wheat or white?"

CN: "Well, the fact that you're freakishly oversized, choose to clothe yourself in the skins of dead animals, and the fact that you no real lanugage -other- than violence... that's what makes you a barbarian. The world's a violent place... there's no shame in realizing that. Now, if I were like you, and could only get my point across with loud grunts, rude gestures and popping someone in the jaw with a truncheon... that's when the problems start."

"Then again, this is one hell of a mess, so... it's probably a good thing he didn't."

CN: "Plus, it'd be a shame to ruin my cute smile."

TK: "Chaboygan."

ID: "Michigan?" *blinks* "Better than here."

TK: "No kidding."

JG: "Seriously... just about anywhere would be better than Malton right now... even northern New Jersey would be better than here..."

CN: "Well, let's not get crazy..."

*nods* I really can't think of anything else he could have done. The breach was there and it couldn't have been sealed anytime soon. Not easily at least. Time is probably the only solution. So that at least one of them is clearheaded.

Well, you know Jeff. If either of the two of them could be called clearheaded, it's probably him.

Ahh... Buffy. Course, I'd rather see a Willow/Faith sandwich, but the Buffy is still quite the hotness.

CN: "Alyson Hannagan and Eliza Dushku for the win! Mmmmmm... nummy."

And that's exactly why he was doing it. Pain shared is lessened, but kept inside it will destroy a person eventually.

JG: (Shrugs) "Yeah, well... hopefully she's realize that eventually... just gotta wait until she does."

Just a short Quarantine entry... I've got more waiting in the wings. I'm'a working on it. Trust me.

That looks a politicians smiley to me.

Something I’ve noticed in my twenty-six-plus years living on this crazy ball of rock we like to call Earth: punching someone in the face is just about one of the best ways to cap off an angry rant ever developed by humankind. It just puts one big ol’ exclamation point at the end of the whole thing. Of course, if you’re me, it also makes your hand hurt like hell, but we won’t talk about that.

Yes. That means you won the argument. Because you punched him. Sort of trial by combat thing.

Jeff and I stood there in awkward silence for a while. What did you say after something like that? Was there even anything you -could- say?

Do you want ice for that?

I waited for the inevitable (or so I thought) reprisal. I expected him to take a swing right back at me – to maybe “put me in my place” as payback for hauling off and cheap-shot-decking him the way I had. I wasn’t much of a brawler, but I was pretty light on my feet and knew how to duck, so I wasn’t too worried about losing any teeth.

All it would take is one lucky hit...

Jeff apparently found much of interest down by his feet, as he kept staring at them. “Coll,” he began, his voice tightening up some. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore. But if I stick around, that’s what’ll end up happening. We’ll fight.” I saw him try to stifle a sigh, but he only managed to squelch it off after half of it had already escaped. “Look. I made the mistake of not giving you the time, and the room you needed to figure out stuff on your own. I’m not making that mistake again.” And this time he did look up. He put a hand on my shoulder and looked me right in the eye. He said his next words without flinching, without even blinking. “If you need me, come find me. But if you don’t… then don’t. Either way, I’ll be around… just… not nearby.”

Usually that's the best thing to do when emotions are high... just to seperate yourselves from eachother until you've both calmed down (or for someone to forcibly seperate people until they have).

I’m not sure exactly what it was I had expected, but this wasn’t it. I’d landed a good, solid punch on him, and… that was satisfying, in and of itself. Mostly satisfying, anyway. But even with all that, I hadn’t managed to get him as angry as I was. I’d been spoiling for a knock-down, drag-out fight. I wanted one. He saw that, he knew it… but he didn’t rise to the bait… and that was…

That was what? Disappointing?

No. That’s ridiculous.

Wasn’t it?

People certainly do go looking for a fight when they get mad. Usually though, you pick a fight with someone smaller than you. That's why Aerie actually gets bashed quite a bit in my stories, because she just happens to be a bit smaller than everyone else.

Unfortunately, I had a well-deserved reputation for being able to handle peace, quiet, and free time only in small doses. Had I been the contemplative type, this would have been the perfect opportunity to sit and… I don’t know… meditate… start down that long, but rewarding path to enlightment and inner harmony.

I tend to pace around a lot when I'm really deep in a thought.

But this was me we were talking about, and I was getting unbelievably fed up with the whole notion of having nothing to do but navel-gaze, twiddle my thumbs and picture Sarah Michelle Gellar in my living room wearing nothing but a bra and some frilly, pink panties. So I got up – got up, walked around, gave myself a guided tour of the mall. Unfortunately for me, there wasn’t much to see to begin with, and even less that I hadn’t already laid my eyes on at least a dozen times over. But, walking usually helped me clear my head.

So long as it's Season one Buffy... by season four she looked like a scarecrow.

Problem was, normally the whole walkabout thing was better for my brain than that… thinking… nonsense. -This- time, though, all the walking was doing was giving me a sore pair of feet. And as much as I’d been hoping to avoid having to think about any of it, there wasn’t much else I -could- do but mope about my multitude of problems – all however many of them. Everything from that whole… “being dead” inconvenience, to my continued, and utterly inexplicable, inability to determine whether or not Dr. Kari Byron was straight or what.

Tarant: That's why we usually give Aerie chores. If she starts thinking about stuff she makes herself miserable.

I didn’t bother eating that evening. I really wasn’t very hungry, and being as upset as I was tended to ruin the appetite. Besides, at the time, sleep was a far more inviting option. I hadn’t been getting enough of that lately, and I was tired. Tired, cranky… fed up with the whole stinking mess. I’d been stupid enough to stay in town even when all the sane people had tried to get out… stupid enough to think I could actually accomplish something by volunteering to stay behind.

And what did I have to show for it?

Not much.

Aerie: But you did the right thing...

Tarant: Yes, no matter how badly you've failed you can take comfort in having took the moral high ground.

That looks a politicians smiley to me.

Well, I'm not lying... I'm generating new material on a daily basis. Honest. The only problem is not a lof it is immediately applicable...

Yes. That means you won the argument. Because you punched him.

Yeah... "won."

I... wouldn't call it much of a win. She hasn't changed his mind, she's just... punched him.

All it would take is one lucky hit...

Right. But Colleen's Irish. Luck is always on her side.

People certainly do go looking for a fight when they get mad. Usually though, you pick a fight with someone smaller than you. That's why Aerie actually gets bashed quite a bit in my stories, because she just happens to be a bit smaller than everyone else.

Well, as Imoen noted last chapter, if you're going to start a fight, better to start a fight with someone whose ass you actually -can- kick.

So long as it's Season one Buffy... by season four she looked like a scarecrow.

Well, as mentioned above, we could always go with an Eliza Dushku, Alyson Hannagan combination...

Aerie: But you did the right thing...

Tarant: Yes, no matter how badly you've failed you can take comfort in having took the moral high ground.

You know, you're right... he really isn't happy unless he's miserable, is he?

Notebrains:

brains...want brains...

Jeff and I stood there in awkward silence for a while. What did you say after something like that? Was there even anything you -could- say?

"You had this HUGE fricking mosquito on your cheek! Had to get it, before it sucked out all your blood!"

“You think you can pick a fight with me and then just walk away?! Have you been drinking Clorox again?!”

actually, everyone is drinking clorox...one of the ways to disinfect contaminated water is to toss a capful of bleach into about several gallons of water...of course, boiling it would taste better...

I’m not sure exactly what it was I had expected, but this wasn’t it. I’d landed a good, solid punch on him, and… that was satisfying, in and of itself. Mostly satisfying, anyway. But even with all that, I hadn’t managed to get him as angry as I was. I’d been spoiling for a knock-down, drag-out fight. I wanted one. He saw that, he knew it… but he didn’t rise to the bait… and that was…

That was what? Disappointing?

'cause you prefer to fight over sitting down and thinking...about your problems...

Unfortunately, I had a well-deserved reputation for being able to handle peace, quiet, and free time only in small doses. Had I been the contemplative type, this would have been the perfect opportunity to sit and… I don’t know… meditate… start down that long, but rewarding path to enlightment and inner harmony.

colleen: OMMMMMMM.....OMMMMMMMM....DAMN IT, WHY ISN'T IT WORKING!!!

But this was me we were talking about, and I was getting unbelievably fed up with the whole notion of having nothing to do but navel-gaze, twiddle my thumbs and picture Sarah Michelle Gellar in my living room wearing nothing but a bra and some frilly, pink panties. So I got up – got up, walked around, gave myself a guided tour of the mall. Unfortunately for me, there wasn’t much to see to begin with, and even less that I hadn’t already laid my eyes on at least a dozen times over. But, walking usually helped me clear my head.

yum...Sarah Michelle Gellar...yum...(drool smiley)

Problem was, normally the whole walkabout thing was better for my brain than that… thinking… nonsense. -This- time, though, all the walking was doing was giving me a sore pair of feet. And as much as I’d been hoping to avoid having to think about any of it, there wasn’t much else I -could- do but mope about my multitude of problems – all however many of them. Everything from that whole… “being dead” inconvenience, to my continued, and utterly inexplicable, inability to determine whether or not Dr. Kari Byron was straight or what.

walk into her hospital wearing nothing but a pair of frilly, pink panties...

Not much.

yep, except if you had run, you'd never forgive yourself.

brains...want brains...

So do I... it'd be nice to be able to fill my head with more than just air.

"You had this HUGE fricking mosquito on your cheek! Had to get it, before it sucked out all your blood!"

She needed brass knuckles to kill a mosquito?

colleen: OMMMMMMM.....OMMMMMMMM....DAMN IT, WHY ISN'T IT WORKING!!!

CN: "Seriously! How do people do that stuff?!"

yum...Sarah Michelle Gellar...yum...(drool smiley)

Yes, but the sentiment seems to be swinging in favor of an Alyson Hannagan/Eliza Dushku sandwich. I would have to agree... mmmm...

walk into her hospital wearing nothing but a pair of frilly, pink panties...

And watch Tory and Grant have brain hemorrhages.

yep, except if you had run, you'd never forgive yourself.

Well, actually, that much -is- true. Of course, it may not seem like it now, but it's still true.