Day 1

So far, so good. This vision of a skinny me is quite intriguing, especially since it seems within reach. At least for now.

I need a good kick up the ass LOL!

Only thing is the damn shake takes so friggin long to drink, by the time I am done it's time for the next one. I presume that's meant to be good news. I am not so sure.....

Things at home are back on an even keel.

The sky outside is black.

The book is coming along slowly. Characters beginning to come to life. But am struggling still with the structure of the whole thing, how it should start and how it should end.

My dreams are so vivid these days they wake me up.

I Am A Rock

I am convinced an angel looks out for me.

First, I get up, and because you have deserted me, last night I was invited out. And tonight too, and I have to bake a pudding.

I do groceries, the laundry and then people come over to fix the door and the gutter and check the leaking ceiling. It takes all afternoon, after which I am running out of time.

Now I have to go.

I want to cry. But I can't. It's like I'm holding it all in, trying to be brave and strong for my self. This other half of me that is made of rock, that is like a corset that reins my emotional half in is still in one piece. But I feel it fraying at the edges, unsure if we can together make it through a night of smiling and pretending everything is okay and that you are really just paying your mother an obligatory visit. Nothing to worry about.

The truth is farther than the lie than it has ever been. I am alone this time, in my contemplation of giving it all up, of walking away from you. I guess this is what happens when you grow up. You have to be alone to make the painful decisions.

I hope this time you will have the courage to either walk away or stay for good.

Because I do not think this other half of me, the rock that holds me grounded and together, can withstand another storm.

What I Will Miss About Us

The rolling around in bed on a weekend with the dog.

The exchange of SMS-es about the dog's antics, imagined real.

The comforting silence in the house, the feeling that spaces between us are occupied when both of us are quiet and in separate rooms. The lack of emptiness.

The luxury of collapsing, unmasking and just being a vegetable, nurtured in your tender hands. Without you, I have to remain strong for myself. I don't get any time off.

But here's what I already miss:

Your excitement at doing something with me or discovering something new.

Your reaching out for me to cuddle, your telling me of stories to put me to sleep.

Your random SMS-es or phone calls to tell me that I am on your mind.

Your little surprises.

Your being happy. With me, with the world.

Why I Love You

Because you make me laugh, in an out loud, silly way over things only you and I will probably ever find funny. In a continuing, staccato of hiccups when you do something that is endearingly quirky, something that only you can do.

Because I know deep down inside, that I know you in an instinctive way that I have never known anyone else. I can tell your moods without you saying a word. I can tell if you like someone. I can tell when you like me.

Because I already know what it's like to grow old with you and it makes me look forward to the prospect of doing so.

Because you take care of me.

Yearning

If I were the main character in a short story, what would my greatest yearning desire be?

Perhaps, to be at peace. At peace with this burning need to express myself and be published.

At peace with you.

At peace with me and my status - be it single or attached.

Someone told me perhaps when you and I finally talk I should just be there for you and not try to help. I know this is going to be very hard for me to do, me the chronic fixer.

Unfunny

I understand now, after eight years, your need to sometimes withdraw into a cave, even though you are not male.

But to disrespect and disregard me by not calling, not telling me where you are and why you don't come home, even when we haven't had a fight, is inexcusable. I am sorry, but I cannot accept any reason for not doing this one little thing I ask.

Is your perception of me so warped and twisted and beyond repair that I have now become an ogre in your head?

When we fight and you don't come home, and I don't hear from you, I have now learned to shut my concern for your well-being out. To assume that you are okay and not somewhere dying in a ditch. I avoid crossing the river that churns, the one that holds the possibility of you actually being hurt and in need of help, the one time I choose to ignore you. I blind myself to its lurking presence and hope that I never have to cross the chasm.

But when we don't fight. When we sign off on a phone call cordially, with you promising to head home in fifteen minutes and then you don't show up till the next evening, I cannot help but feel outraged. Angry that your only sorry excuse is that you were tired and thought I wouldn't understand if you rang to say you weren't coming home. Angry that you didn't think enough of me to call and say goodnight, I am alright, don't worry.

I dig and dig and dig, and turn the dirt and sift it, trying to figure out why. All I find are worms, real and imaginary that I then hold up for you to examine and explain. But all I get in return are accusations of being high-nosed and psychotic, beyond moral reproach, beyond all manner of normal human understanding.

I don't think I am a snob. I have values yes, and I cling to them fiercely. And I am proud of them. Because I have never taken the easy road, and chosen instead the quiet one where people encountering me will not know who I am at first glance. Because I know that at my age, everything I have has been obtained by my own efforts, my own two hands, my own hours of lost sleep and worry and frustration. These are the things that help me sleep at night. And yet I don't sleep well, because I worry. I worry about you and me, and you without me.

I find increasingly, I sleep more soundly when you are not there. When my body is spread-eagled across the bed, all pillows to my self.

Does this mean I am selfish at the centre of my being?

I cannot help but think that somewhere in the recesses of your mind you have already betrayed me. Even if you haven't kissed another girl. Or said things to them that you shouldn't. Your mind has already wandered and rendered me insignificant. Run away at the first sign of pressure, of commitment, of needing you to deliver and deliver correctly, on time.

You really need a big, fat mirror that hangs off your shoulders so you cannot run away.

But someone told me, you can't change a person. You can only change your self.

So maybe, since I find this part of you so difficult to swallow, I should face the facts. That as much as you make me laugh, the underbelly of our love is unfunny. There is no humour in resentment and fear. No joy in the knowledge that I am farthest from your concerns.

I feel dead inside. The part of me that is us feels dead. Numb. Lifeless. Unmoving. And when I try to shift it, it feels like a dead ox, decaying, rotten and stinking, yet heavy beyond my ability to move.

All I want from you is a clear answer of your expectations and what you want.

But obviously, you don't have the capacity to figure it out since your head is buried so deep in the sand of your own universe. You don't want to see.

I feel bad. Bad for wanting to abandon you in your hour of need. That's not what a friend does.

But I don't know anymore how to help you without dragging myself into your drowning abyss.

The knife is out. All I have to do now is to be brave enough to cut the cord.

Tired

I drove home from the ghost capital feeling weirdly sad today. Like I was alone and didn't have someone to come home to.

I couldn't shake it, all the way home.

Strange.

I loved the way your face lit up at the sight of me when I came home earlier in the afternoon. You must love me.

Life is pretty awesome.