You don’t want to hear this again, I know you don’t. That won’t stop me. For a while I forgot who I was/am. I need new bras and a shower curtain. I spend more time devising ways to keep people out than welcoming them in. Sometimes I want to scream, so I yell instead. I go through long stretches where I do not want to get out of bed at the crack of dawn and do it all again. I contemplate the tactile sensation of steel against pallet. I consider the absorption properties of the Sealy Posturpedic mattress. I don’t have anything to say that will add to the conversation. I am marking time until I die. I have forgotten the meaning of me.
I keep chugging right along like the little engine that could. I will not make one disparaging remark about those ungrateful, immature, pretentious kids. I will not point out that there is a reason I chose not to procreate. I will say my heart breaks with every disappointment my husband suffers.
I wanted to crawl inside his skin. He magnified my existence. I married him because I wanted him all to myself for the rest of my life, for the rest of his life, forever. I did the right thing. I did not keep him from his children.
I couldn’t love a man who walked away from his kids the way my father forgot us. I couldn’t respect myself for perpetuating confusion and loneliness in a child’s life. If I hadn’t consented to this we wouldn’t have done it. In fact, if I hadn’t orchestrated it, it wouldn’t have happened.
I know who I am. I will remember who I am as an independent individual. It took me five days to cut my hair. My office upstairs is fabulous. I’m going to see Taj Mahal on the 30th. I’ve got it going on.