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Okay. Seriously, I’ve been sitting here for twenty damn minutes and I haven’t a hot clue how to start this thing. I mean, Jesus. I’m not a writer. Rosalind started with this big thing about feelings and how hard it was to be a Turk and shit (I don’t mean that what she put was shit. It would be if I tried it, but it wasn’t when she did). I dunno about any of that stuff. I suck at writing things. Tseng made me quit writing mission reports because none of what I put down has anything to do with what I’m supposed to be reporting on (the mission, duh.)
Goddamn, I hate this. Stupid stupid stupid. I dunno why the hell I started…oh, wait. Yeah, I do. Right. Yeah, maybe that’s something to start with.
Okay. So I was over at Rosalind’s place, waiting for her to get home from some mission or something. She was going to be a couple hours, so I thought I’d be there and surprise her. At the time, it seemed like kind of a nice idea and stuff. So I was just killing time, watching TV or whatever, when all of a sudden something got screwed up with the cable. Complete snowstorm.
I went across the hall and asked St. Andrew if his TV was screwed up too and it was. Then we went to check the lounge and the TV in there was also busted. Then some guy came down and told us that for some reason (I can’t remember why) the cable was out and that he hoped that wasn’t a problem.
Of course, it was a problem. I have a very, very poor attention span (for various reasons, blah, blah, blah…) and waiting up for Rosalind for three hours without anything to watch was going to be boring as all hell. I didn’t think I’d be able to do it, actually. It’s pretty pathetic that I need constant stimulation to be happy, but that’s just the way I am. In any case, I figured it was at least worth a shot, and if I happened to be asleep when she got back, or if I did something stupid like eat everything in her kitchen, at least the sentiment would be there.
So I went back to her apartment and poked around for a while. I thought I’d taken up like an hour poking around, but it was only six minutes. I remember it was six minutes because I went around and checked all the clocks to make sure it had really only been six minutes. Rosalind has four clocks. They’re all synchronized, too. That astounds me. I don’t know how many clocks I have, I just know that none of them have the right time, because a few times I’ve forgotten to set some of them for Daylight Savings time, and then some of the others have fallen off the wall or had stuff spilled on them and got all gummed up, or I couldn’t figure out how to set them, so I just tried to plug them in at approximately twelve noon so I wouldn’t have to. I was really, really bored. (Like, REALLY.)
Anyway, for some reason or other, I decided to pull up the couch cushions (I might have been checking if her couch was a pullout or whatever) and I found this little white book. I thought that was kind of weird, so I opened it up and started reading.
Long story short, it turns out I was reading Rosalind’s diary (which is weird too, because it was long and I usually can’t read anything for more than half an hour before my brain explodes, but I stayed with this thing for like four hours.) And when she got home she saw I was reading it and got really, really upset. At the time I didn’t really think I’d done anything wrong, but I guess I should have made the connection between privacy and a diary hidden under the couch cushions.
Now, when Rosalind is mad, that gets me kinda bent outta shape. Especially if she’s mad at me. I hate it when she’s mad at me. She doesn’t get mad at me often, so when she does she’s usually justified about it. So, needless to say, I was feeling pretty shitty about the whole thing, since there wasn’t exactly an excuse for me reading her private stuff, and I kept apologizing and everything and asking how I could make it up to her.
Sometimes, though I’m not entirely sure about this, I think Rosalind has a bit of a mean streak in her. Just a little one, mind you, but still. In a person as nice as she is, that’s a big deal. So she told me that since I’d gone rooting through all her personal stuff (I hadn’t really), the only fair thing was that she get to see something personal from me. I couldn’t really argue, since fair is fair and all that, but I figured I was in the clear because I didn’t have any personal stuff like a journal or whatever. However, I think she kind of expected that.
“So write one, sir,” she told me, with those big, innocent green eyes like it was the most obvious damn thing in the world.
And yeah. Now I’m writing this damn thing. Shows you, Rosalind. I told you I was sorry, but noooooo, you have to make me prove it. Nyah.
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