She didnít take her toothbrush. I canít even begin to tell you the significance I am TRYING to attach to that sentence. Sheís out. With the girls. And with him. And I know she packed a bag, and I donít expect her for the duration of the weekend. But she didnít pack a toothbrush.
Is there a travel toothbrush that I donít know about? Or does she actually maybe plan to come back here? Or did she just forget?
Iím racking my brain for answers. Iím trying to figure out what outfit sheís taken out of the garment bag thatís been untouched for over a week. Iím half a second away from trying to figure out what bra and panties sheís wearing. Would I even be able to process-of-elimination it from whatís still left in the suitcase on the floor?
I just read the line from Durrell: ďThere are only three things to be done with a woman. You can love her, suffer for her, or turn her into literature.Ē
Why did I have to read that just now? Iím supposed to be writing the forceful, impactful first paragraphs of a story. Now thatís just too much pressure.
A work of fiction? Is any work of fiction truly a work of fiction? I find it hard to believe.
Iím no wordsmith. Iím a blunderer and a plunderer trying to work through my pain using the written word. I hate every word I type. This isnít my voice; this is my written voice. That semicolon gets sounded aloud in my head when Iím writing, but not when Iím just thinking a typically disjointed thought that requires the semicolon. I donít 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 ďlifeĒ just now, I accidentally typed ďlaughĒ. 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 canít 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. Iím ashamed I did. Itís pathetic and petty and weak. And pathetic. Iím pathetic.
Iím angry. Iím more angry than I let on, but Iím actually even more sad than I let on, too.
9:13 AM As sad as i am and as confused as i amÖ I want you to know one thing. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please come home.
Not officially timed, butÖ Why are you wearing your sexy boots tonight?
All of the above was sent to her at 9:13 AM. Neither she, nor Christopher (the other man), nor her toothbrush responded.