time travel
I’ve been going backwards in time ever since I left my husband two years ago. At a really fast rate, though. Living more intensely than I needed to before, maybe so I can hurry up and go through it all before I die?
Right now I’m where I was at sixteen, seventeen. Hoping and trusting only to be shot down. Things aren’t as bad as they were, but I apparently still have a lot to go through before I reach all the way back to where I was at twelve. When I was still smart, before I learned to worry about stupid things.
I wonder if I’ll keep going all the way until my birth. Maybe I’ll be born again. And then maybe I can start over.
same theme, different tone
Weight-wise, I’m only where I was at nineteen. Right before I got pregnant for the first time, but after I had lived in a college town for a while, gorging on the sensation of not being hungry through the grace of a full merit scholarship.
I went to Old Navy to gauge my progress. In Old Navy math, I have a size sixteen waist and a size eighteen ass. Shirts extra large if I don’t mind my bra showing through the buttons a little. Last month I wouldn’t have even had the nerve to walk into the store.
I’m doing good. I will not fail. I made brownies for my son’s birthday this evening and didn’t touch a single one. (Real birthday party on Saturday.)
Christ, loser, leave me alone.
My fucked-up ex-husband called. And called me names. He’s angry that he got investigated by a certain government agency. More than one person had every right to accuse him, but he blames me and I reap the punishments. We screamed at each other like we used to — pretty fitting since what would have been our twelth wedding anniversary just passed. Normally I don’t engage — just hang up on him, but tonight I’m tired and life’s not going my way. Way to celebrate a child’s birthday — making him remember why he now celebrates his birthday twice each year.
The phone’s turned off while I blew my nose and read the bedtime story, and now while I type this and wait for my babies to fall asleep. Then I’ll turn the phone on and call the police. That bastard is going against the restraining order.
When it rains it pours.
I didn’t get my car financed today, either.
hope is my middle fucking name, baby
Pretty soon something’s gotta go right. I’m so freaking close. Surely happiness can’t run from me much longer. It’ll get tired — get trapped in a corner. That’s when I pounce. I’ll hold on to it with both hands and my teeth, too. I’ll bleed it, bruise it, make it cry… but never let it go.
