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10/16/2006: "And So It Goes"

I confessed my deception to Carly over a mid-morning phone call last week, one in which I admitted my altruistic intentions and ultimate failure as a friend. She was forgiving but understandably disappointed. I offered to set her up on a date with the real Chestnut, but after learning he was the one that carved a six-foot swath in her rhododendrons and left half a pant-leg hanging from her backyard gate, she politely declined. She ended the call with an invitation to keep in touch.

In my brain I skirted around the underlying futility of my actions, that regardless of how deep our connection might have grown, romance would have eluded this author with a body so different and place in the world so odd. But that's never something to dwell on too long. There's always wine and writing.

I think I'll do both.