Why does re-working this paper make me want to throw up, even as I start I am running away from the mother-effing (literally...) thing.
2:12pm: Fuck, aching all over for him. Feel sick with it...
2:42pm: Scared shitless. The real separation from him is beginning, with all the terrifying possibilities (temporary or not) that may accompany it. Fuck, fuck, fuck...
3:53pm: Are we just learning how to live apart?
11:28pm: Epic separation anxiety. Like the ache I've always had for him, sitting on another floor of the house while he remained unavailable, engulfed by his computer. Only this time, the ache is times a billion. Night time, the witching hour. I can't be awake now -- feelings are too strong and untrustworthy. I hate and am in awe of him, that he won't contact me. Does he miss us at all? Or does he have everything he needs, 18 inches away on the screen. Please bring me restful sleep, keepers of the night.
I stood upon the brink. It was utterly dark before my fate.
- @#%^* my histrionics are PUNK ROCK *&%#$
- I'm just your typical divorcee, grad student, single mother of two who wants to A) gripe about shit B) make people read it C) magically lose weight and pin down prince charming while doing it. I'm hysterical and melodramatic -- and you know you like it!
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