Monday, August 8

Dead Cat Night

You know, one of those nights when you can't swing a dead cat without hitting an old lover. Well, I have been having that kinda month, a "High Fidelity" month, if you prefer, when old friends are showing up unexpectedly and en masse. Jung would have some sort of explanation for why these things happen all at once, I suppose.

But it has left me thinking about some old relationships. One guy, whom I'll call K., and I dated in college. He was bright, and funny, and despite being fairly conservative, liked liberal old me quite a bit. He was perhaps one of the most principled people I have ever met. If Americans ever elected folks with real character, I could definately see K. as a senator. After graduating, he went through the interview process with the CIA, which he described as proctological in its rigourousness. The offered him a job (I'd tell you the job description, but then I'd have to kill ya), but he was on the fence, so they kept upping the ante. Finally, they told him that they knew about his girlfriend, and that they would be glad to hire me, as well, to sweeten the pot.

Do you remember that odd, hysterical screeching sound you heard one day in August 17 years ago? That was me, laughing at the idea of this. "K.", I said, once I revived, "K., Honey, I can't spend my days in a white, windowless room shredding blank sheets of paper. 'Cause you know that's all they'd let me do." I also couldn't see marrying this great person if there was even a chance he would run for public office. All the press family photos would feature Senator K. with his hand over Mrs. Senator K.'s mouth. Nope, neither a spook's or a senator's wife could I be.

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