This Thanksgiving holiday has been, well, rather substandard. Monday and Tuesday I still didn't feel well. I didn't do a spectacular job of taking care of myself during my long sickness. I'm still pretty tired. I lost seven pounds, and at 11:30 on Sunday night, I'm still ravenous. I ate 23 pieces of nigiri and a bunch of Norwegian rolls last night with Larkin at Pepper Chino's. I ate too much during Thanksgiving. I woke up at 3 PM this morning and ate several muffins, a bagel, a gigantic apple, and a bunch of sausage. I sort of fucked myself up, and now I'm trying to gain the weight back so I don't look like that little stick guy from the Blair Witch Project. Christ. I've been healthier.

I suppose I ought to talk about it. People will ask me why my Thanksgiving sucked, and people like Rob will ask me why I told them to "tell Larkin I'm extraordinarily sorry and that I'm an asshole" if they saw her on AIM.

I've made promises this week that I couldn't keep. I'd say I'd be free, I'd be here to be the affectionate little thing I always am with Larkin, be free to walk around and go out for coffee and all that. I usually am, I sometimes aren't. I've got obligations, of course. Everyone does. But I felt (and still do) like a royal asshole when I basically stood up Larkin Dennis for Michael Potter, DJ Malone, and the Mormon LAN boys. Fucking hell.

Basically, Wednesday evening, I got home from mowing a big lawn with Sterling, and as my relatives were with me, dad was busy cooking, and things were generally hectic around the house as mom couldn't respond to whether or not Uncle David was coming over, I realized Larkin and I wouldn't be able to do much. Tired, thoughtless and confused, I foolishly hitched a ride to Bret Miller's LAN party.

That kinda sucked. I got there, played Counterstrike for several hours until that game stopped working, tried to fix my computer, and eventually gave up to watch others play Korean strategy games. I basically came, got pissed, drank a bunch of cream soda, and left at midnight. I didn't tell Larkin I'd be gone, and the whole time she lingered at home waiting for a response for me. I told her I'd be free.

Thursday was allright. I had a grand time cooking with my dad, throwing artichoke hearts, chopped pimentos, and portabella mushrooms in a saute pan, making dressing, roasting turkeys, and engaging in other very interesting culinary activities. Larkin came over around five, and we had a grand feast. My parents proclaimed how fond they were of Larkin, and she was delighted, we retired to playing Scrabble on the couch, which was fun, but ultimately unsatisfying as my Southern Baptist grandparents were directly in front of us the whole time, restricting any affectionate movement whatsoever. I promised my heart out I'd be there tomorrow, so we could really spend some quality time. I was pretty tired and sore from cooking and eating so much. I sent her home at about ten, stayed up too late playing EverQuest, which is fun, but, well, fuck EverQuest.

I woke up late, showered, and told Larkin I was free. I got an IM from Michael Potter before she came over begging me to come to his LAN. I received the invitation hesitantly, but for some hellish reason, I got all noble and decided I'd "go take care of my buddies" and bring them a network hub and an extra sarcastic bastard, since I always blow them off. I didn't really want to go. I ended up fixing peoples' computers, losing at an AoE2 game, playing some dumbshit Worms:Armageddon-style Korean multiplayer game the whole time while ignoring a bunch of loudass motherfuckers obsessed with Super Smash Brothers, retreating to the kitchen a lot to collect myself so I wouldn't have to stab anyone, and trying to snooze on the floor. I mean, it would've been okay for an hour or two, but not all Goddamned night. I phoned my mother in the morning and got home at 11 or so. I looked like shit: bloodshot eyes, dirty hair, lint-ridden trenchcoat, and the incredible desire to shower and not lift my computer up a flight of stairs in three trips.

In the car, my mom mentioned that Nelda Cochrane, my neighbor, called for the hojillionth time this month and needed her printer set up. I realized that she was probably pissed, really on edge with all those damn teenagers always partying at her house, and setting up for some office party that she wouldn't enjoy. I also had the thought capacity of a Klein football player at that moment, and decided to go fix her computer. How long could it take, right? A Basque-speaking ten year-old could set those things up, and it'd be an easy ten bucks. I'd forgotten about my solemn promise to Larkin and Allah that I'd be there tomorrow for her. She was extremely irritated that I went to THAT LAN and only told her three hours before, breaking my previous promise.

I went over to the neighbors', took the thing out of the box, plugged it in, and got really frustrated when the software for the stupid plastic piece of electronic donkey shit told me it would "take 15 to 45 minutes to install these drivers" and then I'd have to restart.

I barely tolerated that. I do not like computers. Luckily, I didn't have to make much small talk or be polite with the neighbors either: they were busy. When the thing finished, Nelda wanted me to show her how to use it. Well, fine. I expected that. I showed her that everything she would ever, EVER need was centralized in one piece of software, and that there were big icons with shiny names for her to fax things to her relatives. I looked at the clock on the computer and remembered my promise pretty quick. I also realized that again, I had not told my beautiful and intellectual underwear model of a girlfriend that I'd be working on these things.

Unfortunately, Nelda wanted me to make copies of a picture to test out the scanner, have me stand there while she tried out the fax machine, email a scanned photo to her friend, print the scanned photo, and all this shit that I played no vital role in whatsoever. I looked at the clock, it said 1:30, and I declared I had to go. FIRMLY. She paid my twenty bucks and I ran to my house, forgetting my coat. I ran back to get it, and then ran to my house. I IMed Larkin, telling her I'd shower and be right with her. She wasn't there at the moment, so I doused myself and missed a call from her. She wasn't happy.

After speaking with her briefly on AIM, I began to go into cardiac arrest, and walked outside immediately to wait for her. I'd hurt the thing I love more than spicy tuna rolls. I'd betrayed my greatest friend, my greatest ally and companion in this world of people wanting only to change me or take me for a social outcast with no desire for affection. I'd hurt her feelings, and it was like she'd already just abandoned me, left me out in the cold to die, alone in my freshman year, with no one to talk to but Thunker the Conquerer or my cat. Not only all that, I'd betrayed myself. I'd broken my code of honor and walked all over what I hold closest to my heart to get to some rich guy's house for a computer party. I felt like the biggest asshole in the world. I was ready to sprint into the barbed wire fence behind my house, throw myself in front of a Mack truck, start using all my knowledge of knives to sharpen one and drain some blood from myself so my heart wouldn't beat so fast, but not before begging forgiveness on my bloody knees.

When Larkin got here, I instinctively half smiled in front of her van as it pulled up, but she looked at me with pure indifference. The expression nearly tore the remaining composure I had from my feeble body like the husk from an ear of worm-eaten corn. She still slid into my arms, however slowly, and I began pouring out apologies. She feared the same thing as I did: some horrible breakup, some tragic episode of never speaking again, except awkwardly about the weather or how "things were going" every other week or so. We began to cry into each others shoulders as I assured her I meant nothing of the sort, that I loved her with all my heart, and that I couldn't lose her. I meant it. I couldn't lose her-I'd lose myself.

I said "began". As I started that, my mother came out with the phone. "It's Nelda. Something's still wrong with her computer."

Larkin and I were still hysterical-she was asking me why I'd done all the things I had, broken my promises and all that, but for some Goddamned reason, I instinctively went over and grabbed the phone, nervously asking her what was wrong, clutching the seat of that ugly riding lawnmower in my driveway with my weakened forearm in an attempt to crush it as I looked frantically for an oppurtunity to SHUT HER THE FUCK UP so I could apologize to Larkin. This wasn't what I wanted. I knew I couldn't put my neighbor's printer or my silly little computer maintenance talents in front of what I'd spent my adolescent life trying to find. I'd sooner tear up the money the old woman had given me, and burn it atop my wretched body. I told her quickly that I had to go, something urgent had come up, and hung up in time to see Larkin backing out the driveway, fire in her eyes, flooring her van through my neighborhood and shouting in rage at me on her way out.

I threw the phone into the bushes. Mom came out and called me, and I snapped back with a "WHAT?" as I trembled with humiliation and sheer pain. I felt a physical fire in my veins, an acid seeping through me, and worry for what Larkin would do. I searched for a plan to remedy the situation, any plan, and realized I really, really had to find her. While thinking about what to do, I also realized I'd been standing in the driveway like a sculpture, eyes wet and lip trembling. I was waiting for her to come back, while Larry Morris stood staring at me, perplexed, gas-powered hedge trimmer in hands. She didn't return.

So I found the phone, took it inside, and told my parents I was going for a walk. Apparently my mom knew what I was doing and told me to call the Dennis household first, which I did, with no luck. Larkin wasn't home, and I told her mom to relay my apologies if she came back. I told my parents I'd walk around the block anyway, to collect myself.

I took off, walking at first, then jogging, then walking again because through all this, I was still tired, my eyes still bloodshot, and my heart isn't in good shape for jogging anyway-I've never been good at it. I walked as fast as humanly possible, striding down Louetta with an expression on my face that was probably pretty horrible. My mouth and lips were dried out, I was getting cold, and still feeling like sleep-deprived shit, but I didn't realize that, because I was too intent on getting to Larkin's house. She wasn't there when I arrived. I paced around her neighborhood, bottle of water from the Dennis household in my hand, waiting for her van to show up. I sat in a parking lot darting my head in both directions on Wimbledon Estates drive. I got some strange looks. She didn't show up, and after pondering how unpleasant my life would be if I lost her, I resolved to go back to her house and sit. I wouldn't give up. I was going to wait there until the same time the next day if I needed to, and the day after that. I had a seat in an armchair and changed positions a lot, sipped the water bottle several times a minute, mainly to try to keep from crying. It would've been an unpleasant ordeal in front of Ari, Liz, and Larkin's parents if they all gave me a group hug, or some shit.

To my unimaginable relief, Larkin's van showed up at the house, and I ran outside to be hugged by a beautiful little thing in a wool sweater. I really cannot express that joy in writing. My unconscious mind is an incredibly cruel device, and likes to come up with worst-case situations (i.e. Larkin driving off a cliff or getting killed in a wreck). I was so worried, and afraid of losing the thing that's changed my timid, insignificant life over the past eight months. The fact that she hugged me nearly made me die with happiness.

She took me upstairs and we exchanged kisses and forgiveness, and I nearly became a spiritual person as she once again took me in her arms and let me cry on her shoulder, and vice versa. We went out for a sushi dinner and came back to host a splendid movie night full of the usual sexual humor, gory movies, and a little more cuddling than usual.

So everything's back to normal. I'm still pretty shaken up, actually, physically (the walk over there didn't do me too well, so I slept 15 hours last night) and emotionally, but it's more of just being stirred up from the whole event than any pain. I still feel bad about what I did, and I resolve to always keep my promises, no matter how much it will suck to screw the Mormon LAN crew over. Probably not much. I will keep my priorities straight. Love is better than CounterStrike-I know that and always have, and from now on when I'd rather spend time with Larkin than go pretend to have fun clicking the mouse a lot with a virtual assault rifle, I will tell people rather than do something I don't want to, and I will expect people understand, or not give a shit. Either is good with me. Oh, and I didn't really mean to turn that into some English paper or narrative, but I wanted to tell the story, because it helps me find some closure with it, and it'll help me be a better person. I don't ever want to hurt anyone.

I love you, Larkin.