the beach at Arbroath, Scotland

10 February 2004
nothing is safe

sometimes i think i'm a really sick person. like why, when i'm getting ready to tell someone something really awful, i almost can't help smiling, imagining their reaction. like i have an awful piece of news, and i am going to release it upon you. maybe it's merely nervousness and anticipation. but i know it's nothing even remotely close to happiness.

the long and short of it is: i broke up with John on Friday. since then the pain i'm feeling seems to be manifesting itself in a degree of klutziness that is exceptional, even for me. since friday i have: walked into a pole at the Hamilton NJTransit station, walked into a glass door at the Starbucks where i was hoping to be employed, slipped and fell on the ice a few times, and in the case of this morning, locked my keys in my car in the parking lot of a Wawa.

i've chosen not to speculate too hard on the reasons for this ending. no doubt it will reveal itself eventually, in various ridiculous and painful ways. all i know is, every day i remember something else that i'm losing, and it's like cutting another string. and every one is another small insult. sometimes they come in great clumps, like crashes, and sometimes just little pin pricks, reminding me.

"you're numb." Delaney said to me last night. "that's good."


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