My friend from boston knows slightly more of the story — hence the “piece of shit” comments which are slightly more justified… but only slightly, and only if you take his (admittedly sometimes horrific) actions out of their psychological context. He’s not a monster. I’ll say again: he’s not a monster. He’s just old. And lonely.
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…because my mother earlier today called me and my friend from Boston “codependent”… which is only partially true. At least right now.
...read more hereAnd interestingly enough I just started a two-week coffee-and-alcohol fast the day before yesterday. I don’t even know what I’m really trying to accomplish by that. Lose weight/inches? Clear up my complexion? Deny myself something I like so I can pretend I’m doing something beneficial for myself?
...read more hereI lauded my friend for how smoothly he had handled the situation. He’s not usually good with unexpected things, but he was very classy in this one and I told him so. He looked me squarely in the eyes and said “We need to get another drink.”
...read more hereI got in at just about seven am, still reeling from a bit too much rum at a time when everyone else in my God-fearing pseudo-suburbia neighborhood was chasing down the Penn-station-bound railroad while clutching to a thermos of caffeine, probably wondering whether I had been fucking Prince Charles last night.
...read more hereSo out it came, jealousy like a toppled-over bitter stew, garnished with leaves of the desperate loneliness of an old man with no girlfriend, somehow propelled at me in accusations of enjoying my time spent away from him, while I sat stiff as a board with my right hand clenched around my purse’s handles. I have a metrocard. I have my father’s railroad ticket. I don’t have to be here. I don’t have to take this…
...read more hereI think people were laughing at me behind my back. Why would I think that? Because one of the hostesses at a restaurant laughed in my face. Go figure. I asked her “Ou est le salle de bain?” … I must have pronounced it wrong or something.
...read more hereThe little girl is three and can pick me up. No seriously. This morning she wrapped her tiny little arms around my legs and I stood on my toes. “Wow, you almost lifted her clear off the ground.” The little boy is eight and can actually lift me off the ground… provided I jump. “You kids are strong!”
...read more hereThey were both delighted when the train arrived in Penn Station. Delighted that they had met. Delighted that they had made a connection. And that they were back in the city.
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