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She was thinking of going to the pizza place - even though she's gorged herself to the limits to try and get through the symbolic hell of a mocking v-day.
It was to be around at least one person - people. Staying inside her house with the two cats was
a
bit maddening.
But so much drove her mad. She ended up taking a rare anti-anxiety pill. The kind he used to blame on his lethargy until she pointed out that he was tired anyway.
His voice was in her head all the time. She had so little to distract her, and she was so fucking bored with booze. She put on a 48 hours murder - the kind that used to be her mindless drivel, and couldn't take it - turned it off in five minutes. All of her books were heavy feminine writers she checked out so that she could emulate them. Joan Didion was a depressfest to her - reminding her of a female John Updike.
It was all so fucking heavy.
The fact that she'd done this three times before - one she used to fuck her marriage up, two almost drove her into the madhouse, and now this one.
She wishes so much she had had the balls to call it to the wall, "so, where are we? it feels like there's a lot of distance between us." She wished she had progressed. In marriage #2, she now knew it had just been parallel play and both of them using the other to not be lonely. She was still confused at the whispered "I love you so much" but that was negated.
She had never learned to ask this one, "So am I imagining this? are we going anyway? Are you just opposed to cuddling and kissing or just with me?"
She could sooner do that than say "do you like me"
And she could only do that when she had liquid courage. It was maddening. All the therapy - all the degrees, all the knowledge, and she still sank on her knees in the face of a brilliant man who made her swoon.
If only.
If only.
If only.
she had told him not to come "Hey, you sound tired, and you're hungover. let's just wait until you feel better"
but of course it had been the holidays and she was already in the different mindset "what the bloody fuck, we both are off two weeks and you want to see me one day? and I guess we're just not talking about New Years?"
and the bitch of it was
when she didn't like you, it didn't matter.
she could communicate like a champ.
she could risk because you didn't really touch her heart.
When her heart was touched, it was like armageddon alighting in her nerves and brain spinning thoughts.
She had deleted his contact.
It was the least she could do for the both of them.
a hilarious aspect of it was she had kind of in her heart of hearts thought that he loved her.
She had thought that about the other two - well to be honest, they had both told her they did. This one, he gave no tells.
she was just fucked and bored.
but god knows it wasn't going to be just anything
that amused her.
the usual.
She was limping. She wished every spare thought wouldn't be him. Was this love? she had no idea anymore. She just wanted that voice out of her head - his voice - his smile - his bounce. She even masturbated to the last time.
It was all terrible, and she had been in the rabbit hole for six weeks going on seven.
She was pissed off at the daffodils and the tulip trees and the camellia flowers saying hello in the spring weather. She wanted it to stay dead - to match her love.
Her only hope was that tomorrow might be better.
always.
and her other hope was that she had done this before, and she didn't want either the marriage breaker, or the maddening scientist. Now she just had to get through the television commercials.
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