I am in Kansas until Friday, visiting my nephew, sister, and brother in law. I took the train. I edited part of a play manuscript, read some of John Gardner’s book for young novelists, and listened to a lot of Dan Savage’s lovecasts. It was strange to leave from Union Station, because I hadn’t been there since my mother died. I walked past the bench where xb sat and waited with me before my train arrived. When we parted that day, it was the last time I ever kissed him. I thought that my mother’s death meant that he would un-break-up with me. I thought that there was no way he would abandon me when I was going through something so awful.
I thought wrong.
Why does so much always come back around to him?
I talked to my special friend* the other day, and we agreed that I was most likely not thinking of him to be thinking of HIM, but rather I was thinking of our relationship when it was good and wanting to have that again—with SOMEONE ELSE. I think that is exactly right.
Every mirror I look into shows me a different image of myself. It is incredibly frustrating. Walking from one room to the next can completely shred my self-esteem. I know many of my pants don’t fit (which I am working on) but still, from mirror to mirror shouldn’t be such a radical difference. Stupid fucking mirrors.
*I hate the word therapist. Counselor sucks too. Anyone have any better words for it?
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