Today's Barrage of Hatred and Longing
22 October 2010 at 8:12 am
I read his latest drunken proclamations of love/hate first thing in the morning. If I don't receive one or several, I wonder if the last one will be the last. I keep them in a folder called "Let Me Tell You Of The Men I've Known," which also includes all the correspondence with Johnny Fuckface.
I question whether it is wise to stay mum toward the ex-boy when he sends me emails that begin like this:
"So, my mom has lymphoma cancer. It is apparently attacking her marrow. Its horrible and I don't know what to do/think. In regards to that I thought you might have some advice because of what your brother went through."
My mum suggested sending him a card, but I don't have his address.
I almost went to the Merc last night, was halfway there when the boyfriend called to say his friends, who had just flown in from Texas, weren't up for going out. I had cookies in my car, peanut butter oatmeal fudge monsters, a peace offering to Kristie. I had almost talked myself into dropping them off but got a weird feeling about it and directed the car toward the Mesa. Score one for intuition:
"I just went to the merc, and skulked around the patio entrance. I saw someone who might have been you (glasses are a curse) and essentially ran away."
By the end of the email, it becomes clear that restraining all contact is not only wise, but necessary:
"You said something along the lines of 'we both served a purpose in each others life.' Well, it would seem that my purpose in your life was to re-aquaint [sic] you with cock. Forgive my vulgarity. But you dump me and jump hip deep on the next douche who comes along? Pah. Pah I say."
It's not that I don't have anything to say, but he's in no position to hear it.
mod l post-mod
Hi. Morgan, 27, of Santa Barbara, CA. I am a hypocritical admirer of rhetoric (when it is my own) and an observer of literary trends. A secret: I don't take anything very seriously, and that includes myself.