NP: nothing.
NR: nothing.
She didn’t take her toothbrush. I can’t even begin to tell you the significance I am TRYING to attach to that sentence. She’s out. With the girls. And with him. And I know she packed a bag, and I don’t expect her for the duration of the weekend. But she didn’t pack a toothbrush.
Is there a travel toothbrush that I don’t know about? Or does she actually maybe plan to come back here? Or did she just forget?
I’m racking my brain for answers. I’m trying to figure out what outfit she’s taken out of the garment bag that’s been untouched for over a week. I’m half a second away from trying to figure out what bra and panties she’s wearing. Would I even be able to process-of-elimination it from what’s still left in the suitcase on the floor?
I just read the line from Durrell: “There are only three things to be done with a woman. You can love her, suffer for her, or turn her into literature.”
Why did I have to read that just now? I’m supposed to be writing the forceful, impactful first paragraphs of a story. Now that’s just too much pressure.
A work of fiction? Is any work of fiction truly a work of fiction? I find it hard to believe.
I’m no wordsmith. I’m a blunderer and a plunderer trying to work through my pain using the written word. I hate every word I type. This isn’t my voice; this is my written voice. That semicolon gets sounded aloud in my head when I’m writing, but not when I’m just thinking a typically disjointed thought that requires the semicolon. I don’t reject the punctuation and the lexicon: I reject my willingness to bend to them.
And I know the ellipsis is not long to follow. It follows me everywhere. I use it extensively, and it can only be a metaphor for my life. [Instead of typing “life” just now, I accidentally typed “laugh”. Is that my subconscious telling me that my life is a joke? It just might be.] Thoughts unthunk, sentences unfinished. Harebrained schemes half-hatched and aborted via neglect. My life requires the ellipsis, because I can’t locate a period. Even though I sense the end paragraph symbol is lurking just round the bend.
1:43 AM Instead of txting you i will write myself every time i think of you.
1:47 AM I hate that i dont get to go out with you and have any fun. Im really afraid of the dynamic thats begun.
2:48 AM This is killing me. I dont want to share you. I dont think i can handle it.
3:34 AM I hate this job. Every half hour i get up from the poker table and immediately start thinking of you.
3:36 AM As bar time approaches my skin starts to crawl even more.
3:38 AM I love you.
4:17 AM All i can think about is getting home and finding you in my bed and how happy that would make me. And how sad im going to be
4:17 AM when its not true.
5:15 AM I dont know if i can do this. Im falling apart.
5:27 AM There are only three things to be done with a woman. You can love her, suffer for her, or turn her into literature.
6:09 AM This is the worst.
6:25 AM Ive never been more depressed in my life.
3:39 AM Im sorry... I cant stay away. I love you no matter what. I hope you had fun tonite and are safe. Many kisses spiggy.
I had actually sent the last one to her. I’m ashamed I did. It’s pathetic and petty and weak. And pathetic. I’m pathetic.
I’m angry. I’m more angry than I let on, but I’m actually even more sad than I let on, too.
9:13 AM As sad as i am and as confused as i am… I want you to know one thing. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please come home.
Not officially timed, but… Why are you wearing your sexy boots tonight?
I’m devastated.
---
All of the above was sent to her at 9:13 AM. Neither she, nor Christopher (the other man), nor her toothbrush responded.
