My last phone call to Steven.

Last night, I was in such a mood upon leaving my office - after 8 p.m. - that I, in frustration, answered a call from Steven. Steven's been calling me for about two weeks, apologizing for that phone tag-maybe date fiasco.

Since he was staying in for the evening to do necessary homework, I suggested, in spite of my better senses, that I come over and watch a movie. He told me that was fine, and he suggested that I bring a toothbrush with me, in case I needed to "crash." Then, he asked me if I wouldn't mind picking up a pack of Doral Ultra Lights for him on my way over. (Granted, he'd already heard about my money woes. He still asked me to buy him cigarettes. I don't even smoke. What sense would it make for me, low on money, to buy cigarettes?)

While talking to him, I became so distracted that I ended up venturing the wrong direction down I-85. So I told him that I'd see him in a few minutes.

Then, getting off the phone and turning around at Jimmy Carter Boulevard, I thought about whether I really wanted to go over to Steven's.

It was late. I was unshaven, unfed, broke, tired and depressed. He only has VHS, and he told me that I could bring over any movie from my own collection that I wanted to watch. When I met him, he smoked cigarettes instead of kissing me.

As I got back on the interstate, I considered both the feasibility of seeing Steven and my actual desire for Steven.

Then, noting the irony, I called him back and cancelled the date that I'd just set up three minutes before. I apologized. I told him I wasn't trying to be funny or rehash the reason that I was initially upset with him.

I just told him that I wasn't in the mood.

And I wasn't.