Quantities limited, while supplies last.

This is what I say, “You know what I want.”

This is what I want to say, “Hey, I really like you a lot and could really see this working out between us and I was wondering if you felt the same way and maybe this could advance to something more and I’m SOOO tired of waiting for you to say something because just saying my name over and over and OVER again and then sighing really doesn’t explain anything to me and I don’t speak your mysterious silent language of eye-gazing so could you pleaseeeeeeeeee just say something, anything to let me know what the EFF is going on in your head and what you’re thinking and what you want from me and I’m not saying boyfriend because that whole thing is just silly but do you want to enter into some kind of a committed relationship even though we’re both liars and both broke and both so confused and have crazy schedules and run around with our friends and get drunk because honestly life’s so short and I don’t wanna waste my time anymore and I like you.”

Seriously. Kids, there’s only one of me, and uh, she moves pretty quickly off the assembly line. I’m gonna give him till the end of this week, oh look its Friday already! And oh look! I’m going to get drunk Saturday night in Atlantic City and probably wear something entirely too short to the point where Law begs me to wear underwear and act like the reckless whorebag that I once was and probably end up on the ground laughing hysterically about how fabulous I am and what douchebags guys are. So this is me (in the spirit of the election season), casting my final ‘I give up because you’re a pussy that’s afraid to express yourself freely to me’ ballot.

I would have saved myself a lot of trouble had I cast this ballot for Sho in the early months of budding spring, rather than TRY SO HARD, and SACRIFICE my self-respect to PRY things out of him and deal with his giggles and squirms and stammers at the mere utter of the words relationship, boyfriend or girlfriend. I deserve more, I deserve someone who WANTS me to be THEIR girlfriend, THEIR GIRL. I suppose I’m looking for some kind of pride, to feel worth something to someone else, to feel so desirable and necessary in someone’s life that they wouldn’t leave me, or wouldn’t want to leave me, and would WANT to have something with me even if it meant craziness, because hey, I’m worth it. Even A-bomb refrained from his travels to be with me! DAMN!

You don’t “have” me, you never “had” me, and you never will.

“Where’s my girl?”

Tidbit.

My usual response to confirm my dislike towards someone is, "I hope they get herpes."

Only today I realized that no, herpes is not a strong enough form of ill will towards an enemy.

Instead, "I hope they get honeymoon cystitis."

Guess how my day is going. Go ahead, guess.

Bracelet.

Author's note: I wrote this in the beginning of September. I wasn't comfortable with posting it then, but I want to share it now. I really like it.

I took off the bracelet. I was actually stripping down in the bathroom, about to get in the shower, and after I had removed the last article of clothing, I still didn't feel naked. I had that feeling when you realize you're still wearing your socks in the shower.

So, I took off the bracelet. I placed it on the sink counter, and I stood there staring at it, but I felt good about it the moment I did it. It felt right. Terribly heartbreaking, but right.

I didn't shed any tears, my heart didn't race...I just stood there watching the bangle rest on the white sink countertop, listening to the hum of the fan above. I turned and got in the shower...Total disregard.

The thought of putting it back on crosses my mind...as if putting it on will make magic happen. As if that will make him stay, and I'll wake up in his bed with the sun slightly visible, cool breeze blowing in, making the curtain gently lap at the window. I'll rise from those crimson sheets and put on my shorts and open the door and find him sitting on the couch in his plaid house shorts, watching the stock market rise and fall, macbook positioned on his lap.

"Did you sleep well?"

6.7 billion people in the world, only one you.

Halloween is fast approaching signaling the end of October and the days are so cold now, oh so cold. The change in seasons is something I tend to resist, and I have dreamt my entire life about living somewhere where the seasons are only slight changes in temperature, where a winter jacket is a thing of memories. However, the change in seasons is so good, so crisp…so refreshing. It lets the mind forget, creating new memories and banishing old ones to an unlit part of the brain. Those synapses take a rest, until the particular season starts up again. The seasons change, and the clouds part, the temperature rises, and the memories come flooding back like a tidal wave, crashing upon me, and stirring up emotions that have lain on the sea floor of the brain, unknowningly festering; dormant for so long.

Autumn is different in this way; it is a good time. The chilly breeze does not remind me of any significant emotionally-aching relationship. Yet, my head can still be stuffy and so unclear at times as to the source of specific personal motivations.

The thought scares me… to have a man in my space, to view my life in material form… It’s not that I have anything to be wary of, I have a fondness for the smell of Mr. Clean. I am just so unwilling to share it. It is mine, and I do not want anyone to even know my life. Surely, they can know me, but not my life, not even my friends. To imagine a scenario makes me feel like a circus animal, expected to do tricks. I would die to know what they were thinking.

There is nothing physical that sustains the momentum to keep men at bay, away from my space. My roommates are considerate and friendly, my apartment is quiet... why couldn’t he come over? And hang out? My apartment is clean, and semi-neat most of the time. Why not? What imaginary line would that cross in my mind?

I guess it’s just too close. Too close. Yet, I am always the one yearning for closeness, seeking to create a cocoon with another person, a safe place. But this place is never mine. It is never my place. It is always ripped away from me – painfully, like the buttons on a jacket. And I accept this and replicate this situation over and over again until I swear that I won’t let it happen again. And then suddenly six months later I am waking up in someone else’s bed every morning, and happy. So happy. But it is not mine. My life, but the situation is not mine, it belongs to him. And I become a possession, an item of decoration amongst his things, an added bonus to his life, a source of ideas and amusement…in his life. He never makes his way into mine. And when I am casually discarded amongst his other personal material possessions I am left dumbfounded and in shock. How did this happen?

The steps of intertwining are absent, and my defense becomes my own vulnerability.

Fall.

Monday thoughts.

"I need no permission, pay him no attention
'Cause you had your turn, and now you're gonna learn
what it really feels like to miss me.

Don't be mad that you see that he want it,
'Cause if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it.

Your love is what I prefer, what I deserve...
Say I'm the one you want
if you don't, you'll be alone,
and like a ghost, I'll be gone."

Oh, Beyonce... pointin' me all in the right direction, 30 blocks south on the island of manhattan.

Nostalgic.

I forgot to acknowledge that it was October! Oh gosh!

October is defined as my craziest month. It has always been this way. But last year, October of 2007, was definitely the craziest of my life. Wine, I would say, was the main character in my play called "October 2007: Kristy Loses Her Marbles." Beer and tequila were supporting actors.

I cannot say that I regret anything. No, not at this point anyway. There have been some days where I wished things didn't happen, but I'm quite comfortable with who I am, and what I've done.

Back to the subject, I was too intoxicated on random nights, for no reason. So drunk, that I fell out of cars, vomited on myself, woke up in strange places (like the sidewalk), and put myself in more dangerous scenario's than I ever could have enjoyed sober. It's a shame I wasn't writing then...

October is also a marked month for me because I lost my cool (which used to occur often), only this time, I suffered the legal consequences of my hot-headedness. My risk-taking was at an all-time high.

Anyway, I did a bunch of shit that I'm not proud of, but I wouldn't be who I am without it...how cheesy. Try again: I completed unnecessary headache-inducing things that were not worth the aggravation caused. No, not at all.

But, I still secretly enjoy them, revel in them, contemplate that I endured that and survived it. AND I've managed to avoid any kind of rehab, medication, handcuffs, and metal bars. Yet I still am guilty of wreaking havoc in people's lives. In particular, one person. Oh, and every guy that attempted to wrangle me down and wife me during that period of time. Sorry for straight up ripping your heart out and then letting my dog chew on it and then giving it back in a pretty box, 'cause that was fucked up.

It is still deeply troubling to realize your own duality. Just when you think you know yourself, just when you have yourself pegged as the type of character in your play of life, you realize that you are not that character at all.

I enjoyed being the victim, so to suddenly be the criminal was heartbreakingly sad, but it hit me like a cool, minty burst of energy when I embraced my criminality. I suppose this is as close as my Mary Sunshine image was going to get to an "edge" so I should make the most of it. It's sick and sad to think that when I left the precinct that rainy day in October of 2007, I giggled to myself that I had joined the ranks of Britney, Lindsay and Paris. It was a much-needed moment of relief followed by an intense month of anxiety and sleeplessness as I imagined the judge seeing through my shiny exterior to the horrible things I dreamt.

I had been on this incredible wave of emotion: loneliness, sadness, guilt, shame, grief, helplessness, hopelessness....lots of irresponsible behavior. And it took that to bring me back to my senses. Or to at least bring me to a better place than I had ever been in my life.

Admittedly, Law got me through it. She single-handedly acted as my savior via telephone some 1 hour away. I don't believe I've ever appropriately thanked her. I really should.

Hm. I'll do it tomorrow.

Now is time for showering and getting pretty in order to get drunk. Break open the wine!

Still fabulous.

And I quote: "Shouldn't you be married by now?"

Fuck you. 'Cause you'll be crying into your glass of Jameson the minute I change my facebook status knowing that I'm gone like the midnight train to georgia.

You've been a bad, bad body...

I just signed up to have a personal trainer kick my ass on Saturday morning. And I'm paying him, and I even...I think I instructed him to be mean; more than once. Someone... check my temperature.

Public Information

I have long debated the question about how much to post, how often to post, what to post, how much to reveal... and my answer changes day to day. It is at times like this when I am being so carefree and open that there is a slight tug, a reminder, that making private things public can be detrimental. My mother would tell me to "never write anything down" and she even discouraged my incessant journal writing in my childhood.

I stopped posting in the autumn of last year exactly because of this. My words, my words... MY WORDS were being used against me. To provide evidence for accusations. Blatant accusations about my character, my personality, about what I was "thought" to be capable of. Accusations about who I was. I had a lawyer fighting my case tell me that she was dropping it because I was "a very sick girl" - all because of one post where I was...well, I was very depressed. I was at my lowest point I have ever been in my entire life. And I was judged. Judged on those twenty minutes that I couldn't stop myself from pouring my guts onto the keyboard. By the courts, by the lawyers, by the law enforcement, by my peers, by my enemies.... I was judged because I recorded my lowest point in the best method I knew how. I wrote it all down. Every feeling, every emotion was written or typed and then I chose to put it in a public forum that was attached directly to my real life person. Perhaps that was my mistake - that I could be identified. That my real character was up for the judging.

I stopped writing last year, and I'll never again make such a hasty decision. I ripped down all of my postings, and even destroyed the majority of them. Precious words, my precious words, gone forever. I can never get them back. And some of them I loved, some of them I would reread as a constant reminder of where I was and how far I had come. Of what I had felt and lived to tell about.

So the lesson here, is to be careful. Remember that people do not always remember that day where they felt like they wanted to hurt someone, or they wanted to rip the hair out of their heads, or they wanted to be swallowed up by the sea.

Tread lightly, kitty. Tread lightly.

The Great Schism

Separation of worlds mentally.

We are not under the same sun, and we do not look up and see the same moon. We are in two different worlds, separated by something stronger than distance, than miles. Stronger than any force or magnet or even fate. Traveling in two opposite directions, and my boat has its sails at full mast...swallowing the wind in its thick white linen canvas, carrying me along in my world.

And it seems as I look around I am not in a new place. Everything is familiar and known. I do not feel the presence of a great loss, as I am still where I was before. How peculiar that I am not grieving a loss. Just acceptance. I wonder if his world feels familiar or if he feels like a stranger in his own life?

It is strange. He never wanted to or attempted to...carve a place in my life. He was removed like a Band-Aid, easily, quickly and with a slight sting at the end. The slight blemish he had created was too small to create a problem for the functioning of the system.

This is not to say that he did not leave an impression. For sure, I will not forget - but I can stand on my own.

Small note

Everyday I read many, many different things. Or in the words of Sarah Palin, "all of 'em, any of 'em." Namely: huffpo, perez, the times, radar articles, jezebel, feministing - and these sites bring me to links upon links upon links, unti I find myself lost in the internet. I also listen to NPR in the car (a newly acquired habit) in the hope that my vocabulary will be expanded and my voice will suddenly morph into one of the calm, serene whispers of the womeon on NPR. If you don't know what NPR is, I'm not telling you and maybe you should think twice before procreating, if this involves any thought at all for you.


I've fallen in love with Angelina Jolie. These pictures of her breastfeeding (due out October 21st) are groundbreaking. Yes, she's doing it for attention. But it's more about awareness.

Most of the American public views breastfeeding as a taboo subject. Women are constantly being asked to "cover up" when they're simply feeding their child. Others that are covered are asked to move into bathrooms or closets. One woman was removed from her flight for feeding her 22-month old. It's the law that a woman can breastfeed, bare breast exposed or not. So stop ogling, put your eyes back in your sockets, and move on. Although, in Missiouri, you have to "use as much discretion as possible." Conservatives, psht.

So, she's doing it for a reason. Breastfeeding, it's what the cool kids are doing. Studies have shown that children that are breastfed "cope better," have less incidences of asthma and allergies and may even have higher IQ's! You're doing a disservice if you don't breastfeed.

(Update: Breastfeeding means you have to maintain good health, meaning no alcohol, minimal caffeine etc. So if you're an alcoholic, drug user, or eat only McDonald's, don't breastfeed. But then again, if you're any of the above, maybe you shouldn't be a mother at all.)

And this Twilight vampire nonsense is being described as porn for women. Which makes total sense. See why here. It just keep doubling, tripling in coverage. I literally wanted to punch myself in the face while watching the trailer. Patriarchy, patriarchy, patriarchy. Anyone willing to give up their soul for love today? Anybody? The price is just a small bite!

Finally, my Britney is back, just at the same time I'm back. How funny! How parallel! Loneliness, is universal. And I'm in love with THIS idea! I think I've found it, folks.

One more thing before I go, is it wrong to kinda like Ayers ideas about education despite his label as "U.S. terrorist/socialist?"

Where the Wild Things Are

I went to downtown brooklyn today to take care of my 6-week-can-you-believe-i-haven't-broken-anything-else check-up, namely with a man in a long black robe. I decided to drive, which works for and against me, as I hate driving and get agitated easily, but I was running late due to overextended sleeping. I got there early, and parked far away in Cobble Hill in a free spot on a residential street. I was the first person called, and I was OUT of the entire building before 11:00 a.m. I decided to partake in some shopping and explore the area.

I purchased: stone grey leggings, two garbage cans, a raggedy ann wig, a thong, a pumpkin spice candle, "wicked" nail polish, and a william james book. Total: around $70.00.
Things I almost purchased: a $312.00 flowery SHIRT that I was convincing myself I needed, a pair of PATENT PENNY LOAFERS (omg I'm still drooling about them) for $110.00, a purple clutch (smooth as silk) for $298.00, a pair of open toed, very high stacked heeled booties that laced and had a weave pattern on the front for $140.00, a pair of deliciously unique large earrings for $60.00, and a grape short skirt that could double for work/going out for $458.00. The cheapest clothing item in my hand all day today (after four "boutiques") was a turquoise winter jacket that I LOVE! that was $120.00 that I'm trying to get my mother to purchase for me. At some point I also almost bought three mason jars of varying sizes.

My credit card was laughing somewhere, because I LEFT IT AT HOME. However, I'm home now, and I still have that driving desire to purchase, purchase, purchase - and I'm shopping online, drinking red wine, and eating vanilla almond cereal. This is going to bad places.

I feel the need to buy this and this makes me really excited.

As a sidenote: I found the Trader Joe's out here, and I'm more in love than ever.

Where the Wild Thing Shopped today:
http://www.lilybrooklyn.com/Welcome.html
http://www.shopbird.com/
http://www.alikatnyc.com/
And a very messy store that had wonderful staff and just about anything you could want, including organic soap and halloween decorations.

P.S. Vanilla almond clusters are delicious in rice milk.

I want to smack you and kiss you simultaneously.

(Side note: my formatting skills for scripts are a little rusty and blogger won't let me justify and properly space the dialogue.)

FADE IN:

INT. TABLE AT A LOCAL CHAIN RESTAURANT NIGHT

Bee and Kay are seated on one side of the booth at the table. Jay is seated on the other side. A large ice cream sundae, a coke, a basket of fries, 2 large beers, and mozzarella sticks are on the table.

KAY

(confidently)

I'm done. I stopped talking to him.

BEE

When?

She sips her beer.

KAY

Today. After he basically said he has

to accept to want nothing from me

because of the physical distance.

Because I wanted to hear him say "I

want nothing from you."

She searches their faces for a reaction and takes a gulp of her beer.

He wouldn't say it, but I just want

to hear it. Because I can't move on

unless he lets go.

The waitress approaches the table. Kay's face is adorned with a scowl that makes the waitress back away. She sips her beer.

JAY

Yeah, but I mean...I never thought I

could love someone as much as I loved

MAN X and look at me now. I'm living with

the person I love and I didn't think I

would ever be able to live with someone.

She pauses and then eats a scoop of her

ice cream.

KAY

(agitated)

I don't even want that! I'm just tired

of shaving my legs!

Kay reaches for her beer again. The table mumbles in agreement that shaving your legs is a torturous but necessary aspect at some point or another. The waitress returns with two fresh beers.

BEE

(turning in the

booth)

You can't think that way. I'm sure that

when you were with him you didn't miss

out on meeting the right person.

KAY

(making wild hand motions

and talking loudly)

Yes, but my resume relationship is

complete. I don't need any more

relationships. I've had tons of bad

ones, learned from 'em and I'm better

because of it. But I just wasted my time.

He wasted my time.

The people at the next table turn to look. Jay looks up from her phone and chuckles.

BEE

But you knew he was leaving from the

beginning.

KAY

(aggressively loud)

Yeah, but I was expecting ANYTHING,

anything at all, and I got NOTHING. I got

"it will be alright when it's alright."

EFF THAT. It will never be alright. He

packed up his life and left on a whim.

She reaches for her beer again.

JAY

(frowning)

This is true that he did leave you for

really no solid reason.

BEE

(casting a disapproving

glance)

Despite how he feels about you. And he

knows what he wants. He's 30, after all.

She sips her beer and bites into a mozzarella stick.

KAY

(popping french fries

into her mouth)

35.

BEE

(concerned)

WHAT?! Every time I talk to you he gets

older!

She sips her beer.

JAY

(looking up from

her iPhone)

No, she told us he was 35.

BEE

(clutching her beer)

Wait, he should want something then? It's

just sad that he's that age and giving up

on a relationship so easily.

KAY

(hands waving wildly)

Well, I told him that he's making a big

mistake. And that when he comes back in

3 years or 6 months or whenever, I either

won't be in New York or I'll be in love

and serious with someone else.

JAY

This is true.

She sips from the straw in her coke.

BEE

(pointing)

Um, you're wearing an "A" necklace.

JAY

(leaning forward)

I didn't even notice that until now!

Bee chuckles and Jay smiles.

KAY

(looking down

into her beer)

Yeah, it's the second chain for it.

Kneading the dough.

I thought I would provide a little break from the wishy-washy-ness of the past few posts to update you on my internal state, which I have separated from the external situation in order to function and smile and be happy.

Every three weeks I panic that I don't have my shit together. I look, ahem, at friends profiles on facebook - not good friends, just people I went to school with/admired, people I thought would one day "be something." I look and investigate and come to the conclusion that they have it all figured out, and what the fuck am I doing, and I had better start working harder. This is my dilemma.

I was laying in bed, contemplating my future (don't fret, I do this almost every night), and suddenly, the thought occurred (thank you to Michelle for putting this in my head Saturday night) that maybe these people who I *believe* have it together, are just really good at portraying that they have it all together.

Then I took it a step further. Facebook is one huge internet site, full of individual profiles of people who are all PRETENDING to have it together. Who add up fragments of their life to create something that truly is not there. However, to an innocent reader, it would seem that they have a wonderful relationship, very close friends, and a lovely family. It would also appear that their career/school choice is going swimmingly, with no doubts about their present state or future.

I have doubts, they are numerous. I imagine them as floating bath bubbles that hit the sunshine below the trees and have hints of soapy rainbows, so I don't run screaming in all different directions. It is easy to overcome a fear, but to overcome a doubt is ... it is overwhelmingly unthinkable to begin to overcome. I feel that my doubts are enormous as compared to everyone else's. Hearing about others problems only seems to rectify my dilemma's and encourage my thoughts of doubt and self-defeat. I am always afraid to take one step left or right, front or back, for fear that I will activate one of the many land mines surrounding me. I suppose it is this belief that prevents me from taking risks, and doing things that I imagine as impossible.

Someone once said to me a few months ago, "Well, you have it all together." And I looked quite puzzled when I responded, "No, I don't! What makes you think I do?"

I suppose it's all about the view - and if my view looks good to others, why doesn't it look good to me? Me, the only conductor of the k train?

Mark it on your calendar.

I've fallen ill, with the inevitable autumnal bug that everyone seems to have, in one form or another. I went out last night, I probably shouldn't have. I skipped many other things, most notably a very special celebration on Staten Island, where my two closest, favorite-est girlfriends were. I feel particularly guilty today. However, I digress.

I went out last night to boost my self-esteem - to dance and sweat and drink too much and act recklessly on the lower east side... where I can wear an ex-boyfriend's very-thin, ripped up, stained army-issue brown shirt that reads "I probably hate you" in cryptic small letters on the back. I wore this with nothing but a black bra, stretch pants, and brown boots, and WAYYYY too much eye make-up. Whatever, I feel better today, despite the snotrags that surround my frail body at the moment. I feel better mentally, like I'll be better, and there are so many boy options...we'll see. New horizons.

But it sucks to have to place myself looking toward the new horizon when I can't help but keep looking back. Keep reaching back. And am I holding on for the right reason? Does he want me to hold on? He'll say no. But does he really mean yes? If he could put my feelings aside, what would he want? Ultimately.

And I'm terrified of this. Terrified. Out of control, falling back into the same trap. But it's different this time I tell myself. But is it? The doubt is there.

I call, and he calls. And I'm so happy for this. But one day he won't call, and that is something that seems inevitable...we're headed down a deep, dark slippery hill with just our exposed bare feet. Destined for the doom of the end. Boom. The end. How far away is it? How much farther do I have to slip down until I'm at the bottom, so I can slither my way back to the top?

My mental projection goes something like, we'll call and go back and forth for a few weeks, if that long, and then the calls will fade...the memories will fade. And we'll both be onto something new, with a little personal sadness thrown in for good measure.

When will it end? I want it to be over.

Gestalt Closure Principle

I was a bit distracted at work this morning. The fact that he was swapping out New York for Los Angeles today for an undetermined lengthy amount of time was the reason he wouldn't leave my thoughts. So I was mentally occupied but very far from upset, not really sad. I was totally fine, I was myself.
I left work, to pick him up and drive him to the airport. I was still fine; even more so than before. I was looking forward to seeing him and happy to spend a few remaining minutes with him.
We drove for under an hour, laughing, talking about this and that. I kept catching him looking at me; his brown eyes big and round and soft. I would smile and look away - too much there to confront at the moment. I still felt ok. I wasn't about to cry, or overwhelmed with sadness or any other dramatic emotion.
We arrived at the airport. He retrieved his belongings. I jumped out of the car. We embraced. Neither one of us let go. We both let go. It was terribly sad as it all came to fruition in that one particular instant. Boom. This was it.
Yes, I was so sad - I would even say heartbroken. My protective casing had broken like a Cadbury egg, spilling that mysterious caramel buttercream ooze. It seeped everywhere. We embraced again, I told him I would miss him. We pulled away. I felt his hands fall down my back and rest at my waist.
"So we'll keep in touch?" he uttered. We let go. I backed away and grabbed his hand. He grabbed mine back. I went to turn around and my tiny, baby midget hand slowly slipped out of his soft, man hand. I didn't feel his too long fingernails.
I got in my car, put my seatbelt on, put the car in drive, looked to the left, and pulled away from the curb. I didn't look back. I didn't look to see if he was looking. At that moment I decided, I chose, not to look back because of power. It gave me a false sense of power - not looking - not watching him walk into the airport. I didn't look to see if he was looking, and I realize now that I made that choice because I couldn't look back. I couldn't look.
The defeat (if he wasn't looking toward me) would have cut me like a broken piece of glass on a bare foot...warm, dark blood goo-ily dripping everywhere.
I felt dirty when I got home but opted to have a piece of toast instead of a shower. I was short on time. I put all of my things away, cleaned up the kitchen a bit, put sweats on, packed my schoolbag, and took off. I was late for class. I felt ok, even at this point. I hadn't yet realized that I couldn't look back toward him. I hadn't realized that I feel so empty and so unsure if his feelings for me are mutual, or real, or if they mean anything at all to him.
I wasn't even thinking about him as I walked the 4 blocks and one hill to school.
I sat down in class, talked to some classmates, whipped out my pen and notebook. I grabbed my phone to silence the ringer. I looked quickly and saw that I had a text message. I check it. I am suddenly frozen in time and space.

I immediately, slowly close my phone. It's really over. This is the final blow.

The whole sha-bang - driving there, picking him up, dropping him off, saying good-bye, driving back alone - I was fine. No tears, no anxiety - some uneasiness and sadness yes. But nothing dramatic, no sobbing - I even sang and chuckled to myself on the way home. I WAS IN ONE PIECE. MAKING DECISIONS THAT WERE THE BEST FOR ME.I WAS TAKING CARE OF MYSELF. SELF-SOOTHING. (I came prepared with a piece of chocolate - sorry to sho for not sharing).

Five minutes after I had dropped him off he had texted me: one text, twelve words. This hurt me more than everything else.

Hurt me more than the fact that he left me - despite how wonderful, intelligent and beautiful he tells me I am; he still left. He still packed up every ounce of his life in New York and left. Poof. Gone. 83rd Street no longer belongs to him.

He punched me in the gut with absence and inaction in May, then again in August, and now again, on October 1st. Only this time, he also slapped me with his words.

"Be good to yourself."

As if I would ever choose anything else. I didn't write back. My answer was clear, he didn't know me at all.

"There is no such thing as closure...in perception." - L. Brosgole, Ph.D.