Those Who Stayed

This vegan thing is still going strong, and Thursday is Vegan Pizza Day at Ian's. Oh, and now Stella has a few vegan pastries, which is nice.
Yesterday, hm... there was a beautiful bike ride to Lincoln Park, during which I passed Wrigley Field and thought, "Huh, what a gorgeous day for a baseball game." When I got to Toby's house, Mrs. Lerone offered me a pair of tickets to that evening's game (versus the New York Metropolitans), so I took 'em. And it sucked. The wind wrapped around the bend of the stadium and was funneled directly into my mid-section. I was wet and cold and we left in the 5th inning when the wind was too much to bear.
After picking up my bag from my mom's apartment and my bike from under the train tracks, i headed for the platform. It felt like my bag had become snagged on something, but when I turned it was Lucy. We talked for a minute before she caught the brown line and I thought to myself, "How did I ever go back to a past girlfriend after the initial break-up?" I still don't quite get it. I mean, if something doesn't work, why try again? At such a young age, and with something like 7 billion people on this planet. And it's safe to assume that nearly half are female, though any percentage over 25 still allows pretty good odds. This is all beside the point, though, as the thought of a girlfriend is nearly nauseating at this point in my life. Here's why:
When I was with Lucy, I was the best boyfriend I could possibly be... to a point. See, I was nearly obsessive about being a good boyfriend: I took her out on dates, called her regularly to show that I cared, dropped what I was doing when she needed a ride home from babysitting... you know, the little things and the big things. One thing I couldn't do, though, was talk about her to other people. Well, except for the problems. But that's not my point. What I couldn't do was sit in a conversation and say something like, "Yeah, my girlfriend and I like to... (I don't know... uh, go shopping for records together?)" I just couldn't do it. And other people in seemingly healthy relationships do involve their significant other in conversation with ease. So that could mean various things. Maybe I didn't appreciate/respect Lucy, or maybe I took her presence as an affront to my own ego. I wasn't even comfortable telling people I had a girlfriend, though I had no intention of being unfaithful. My immediate conclusion was that I am a flawed human being in regard to intimate relationships, but I think it's safer to say that Lucy was not the right person for that part of my life. Whether or not there is one is a tough question, but no amount of conjecture will change the fact that only empirical evidence can supply a sufficient answer.
I tried to get coffee before the Cubs game last night but Lincoln Perk was closed. I was taken aback, as a side effect of being in a mild stupor, I kept trying to open the dead-bolted door. A lady who seemed to be hovering around the age of 50, with gray hair and a Trader Joe's bag, was nearly as surprised as I was. After a minute of answering the conundrum with a defeated, "Well, I guess it's closed," she asked me about the Chicago flag on my shirt. "Chicago Police?"
"Nah, just Chicago. It's a band... from Chicago."
"Japan?"
"No, no, a band..."
Little did I know, this "miscommunication" was merely a segue for her to begin telling me about various Japanese techniques of meditation. I wasn't particularly annoyed, and I still needed to think of a non-Starbucks option for coffee, so I let her impart some of her knowledge to me. Throughout the conversation, she casually mentioned that my eyes made me look Italian, and that there's something "deep" about me-- neither of which I sincerely understood, especially coming from a first impression of mine (well, I guess a first impression is as strong as any for a physical feature).
Anyhow, work is nearly done and I have a full day ahead of me, including Toby, pizza, band practice, and possibly a few beers before I head home.